Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
I found parts of me
inside my poetry
I could never see
in strange reality.
***
****** angel slept

in silence

softly curled into a ball

a sweet song in nylons spirited

away in dream rapture
  Jun 7 guy scutellaro
Grace
the wind is a song
that bends those velvet petals
for the lips of bees
Harry,

always in a room without windows
a straw up his nose
a bottle of Jack Daniels
on the moveable food tray.

Harry, he

lived his life like a hurricane
violent and fierce yet
beautiful
in the havac he caused

the lone wolf,
never a destination
all he owned was time


Harry,

lived,

the neon sky, dark,

afire with visions
of  the wounded women
partially wrapped in night, hears

the song the sirens sweetly sing

so he chose to fly

soar

above the high wire trapeze,
grasping for tranquility with a straw
and with ease
he follows the shadows
into rooms without windows

a solitary wanderer in the heartland

the man who chose to fly

strange fish, my friend,

Harry.

I salute you.
!!!
haiku attempt 1.

the bums are barbequing

rats by the river

I'll bring the barbeque sauce.

haiku 2.

with billions of stars
and billions of planets
what if we are it.

god's experiment is failing.

haiku attempt no. 3

oooppps,
I forget to hit "draft".
true love is hard to find.

it's like turning lead into gold,
water into wine,

ketchup into barbeque sauce.

miracles do occur,
most often times
under moonlight

and sometimes under saffron and silky streetlight.


(play your wild card, Sam.
bet the jack of hearts,
run with the feeling.)

(she has

ICE,  BLUE, EYES,
and so innocent.

he wonders what it will feel like to hold her.

(think Sam,
use your imagination.)

(the clock is ticking on you, Sam,
let's do something crazy)


the what IF?

(with billions of stars
what if,
we are???

you can't always be an angel???)

he is searching for the perfect line.

Sam does not know she will bury his heart
in silent sorrow

she turns and smiles at sam.

he does not see the ghost in her eyes,
the blueness of ice and empty tears
gk
george collects baby doll heads

my guestion to george,

do you cut the baby doll heads
off the dolls?
Next page