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 May 2013 Ghos
Chris T
Morning newspaper
Greets you with a smile
“Thank you paperboy”
Swallowing tablets
At the sunny ball
Watching the faces
Shape shift into rabbits
Morphing
Into who knows what
Feel like Alice
Explosions of color
And grandeur
Overwhelming voices
Lead the game
“I am God” shouted
They laugh eternally
Though it’s only
Temporally
And clouds devour
The yellow sun
Raindrop suicide
With their mile high jump
Tambourine and guitar
And the dancing
So much dancing
That summer is lost
Among the headbands
And shirtless kids
A blur
A blur
But what a swell time!
poem i'm working on.
 May 2013 Ghos
Chris T
Dilemmas take over
Phone ringing wrong caller
The truth packed in boxes
That all are sly foxes
Sparkling drink
Have you on the brink
Rotting wood
Of guitar should
Tell you about our blues
Detectives lie about clues
There was nothing but sand
And a diamond ring on her hand
Little boy
Buried his toy
In the beach of despair
Washed by waves
A state beyond repair
We know what he craves
So please don’t cry
Or you’ll fall from this heavenly sky
Old. Old. This one is old.
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
White Blanket
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
Left to right, right to left,

the waltz of white, white snow,

                      as it falls, performing

a show, ending in theft:

              the theft of my soul. Snows

gentle kiss, covering,

          in a blanket all. Bereft

of care, the happy snow.

             Wonderland remaining.
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
Land That Was
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
She sat on the greenest of hills,
     Surrounded by a beautiful town,
And a wonderful array of mills.
       The gem of a kingdom... cursed by fate,
She would be brought down.
  On a moonlit night, hours late.
       The sky turned blood red.
           Oh woe, oh no!
               The beloved king, he was dead.
        He, the soul of the land, without him,
          She would lose her glow.
    And so it was, she met her end, how grim!

    Dark clouds did gather,
          The sun shone no more,
                 Life did no longer matter.
      The hills became black,
  The mills burned, turned to soot on the floor.
     No one ever came back.

                                                               But she,
                                                     she stills sits,
                                             The palace of he,
                  Their king. Alone with'a crow,
       Cold, Death's voice... cawing emits.
I believe that this one is from 2009.
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
In a dreamlike state
I submerge into the
Deep, deep waters of your
Eyes. Mystic portals so
Intense that by my throat
I’m strangled forward.
Images strange yet
Sweet, but it’s not right,
I believe, just isn’t,
When I’m near they
Appear. Leave me in
Peace! At first it was
some infatuation
but now it is a
sickness, obsession.
As I put pen to
Paper and letter
After letter graved,
Tears of blood splatter
Across; because of
You, because of you.
Written in 2011. This is an old one so excuse the angst. I look at this, I look at how my writing has changed.
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
The day will start with some coffee
The best type, bitter sweet, hot,
Drinking it ‘neath the morning sun
Heading out, Fall, cool breeze blows,
Colored leafs dance. Sit in the park
On a bench, the birds flying south,
Writing the happiest verses-  poems.
A lovely girl will pass, smile,
Eyes look into eyes, love making,
'Twas but a second. Whistling
Strolling back to a small diner,
Lunch, something fierce, dessert too,
Music playing, a cool sax tune,
Jazz for the background, waitress
“Will you have anything else, sir?”
“Coffee, black, and the check. Thanks.”
One last cup before taking leave,
Sipping, thinking and with joy,
Great tasting like the earlier drink.
The sun’s going down, sky’s orange,
The loud cars honking on the street.
Back in the apartment tired,
The notepad on the bedroom desk,
Sitting on an old armchair,
Looking out towards the city,
it’s all full of life, sleep creeps
near and I slowly doze off.
And this is how I wish to die.
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
I’ve been reading two other poets
Two girls that are around my age
They do not know that I do this
Reading them and comparing them
Being jealous of them as well and
I see how different we are
The girls and I that our way of
Thinking and feeling is unlike
Each others that their style is great
But so so very different
And one is Plath and the other
Reminds me of Neruda’s works
While I’ll try to be Bukowski
I wonder who is the better
Poet realizing that it’s likely
Not me but that I do not care
They do not care either I hope
We write for ourselves and it is
Us and not those writers mentioned
Then I want to tell them how much
I love and hate their poetry with
The fury of a junkies crave for
His next fix and I want them to
Tell me that they love and hate me
Like that or in their own surreal
Way even if I know that they
Do not read my own poetry or
Know who I am or that they would
dislike my work so very much
I’ve been reading two young talents
That are around my age which means
That I’m young too and that I them
Have futures in this writing thing
Well at least I hope I do be
-Cause those two girls sure as hell do.
I think I’ll tell them lovely girls
Just not now because I hate them
At this terribly fun moment.
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
Waking up in some
Seedy room
Stinking of ***
And cigarette smoke
And cheap ***** perfume
Can’t remember the night
Your wallet is empty
Emptier than what it was
Before last night
Hating yourself
Hating this life
Yet it beats
Being a robot
Conforming
To repetition
Of jobs and wife
And kids and taxes
And worry and troubles
The clocks ticking
The time wasting
Away telling
Yourself that you
Are happy when you
Know you are sad so sad
Better to not remember
The past night
Or where you are
Or what happened
Or anything at all
And to drink and smoke
And **** through life
And die
At the least
You died with some
Soul
Even if a weak
Soul
But you didn’t sell it.
I wrote this back in mid-2012. I'm not entirely sure why. Not my best but it is raw and honestly I like it a bit.
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
She does have a beautiful face
And eyes that work like witchcraft,
Slow, hypnotic and dark,
And the body of some goddess,
But she’s a rotten one,
Cold down to her core.
And I hate her so very much,
And I hate seeing her wherever I go,
And I hate when she appears in dreams.
Why! Oh why does this happen
When I hate her this much?
Not green nor whiskey work
To drown it out,
She’s a stubborn one,
Refusing to leave me be,
And it makes me hate her
So much more.
late 2012
 Apr 2013 Ghos
Chris T
There was something
That made me
Feel scared
In
Watching Hearing
Mother crying
At night
Those
Savage brutal
Nights moon up
And dark
When
Dad left us then
Not a light
Not one
But
Sad tears cried by
The heavens
The sky
Stars
Why do they hurt
Each other
Why this
Why
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