Muse of a new day, how is it that you are the way you are? -- feeling so much, so that you may wish not ever to feel, as if you were not the one chosen, still dressed in a cloak of a million lights.
But I claim that is what makes you brilliant, though feeling does not save.
You can travel all the way to Mars, digging up the waters of your sub-consciousness to serve as your thoughts. Please, don't plead to the skies and lead your life astray, looking at constellations too long might make you want to stay among the grey.
You and I, we’re not so different.
Too long have I lingered in studies of the stars and missed the comrade human hours. Sad as the monotone of the sea, I tossed away the stone of my powers. And now, as I weightlessly wing amongst the churches of my nameless city, I see it all so clearly:
The monotony voices the unspoken plea, of a life better lived than pondered, better felt than conquered.
Shake out your shining tresses, Love Undress their dark contour as the pink stars rise And drowse around the smoke-ringed moon, Like roses in a whiskey glass. Take time to dream a dream, my Love, Tresses fallen across the curve of your face -- Sleep away the late summer moon, Spooning the stars asleep in pink lace.
Lay down your weary bones, my dear, Stretch out on vanilla feather-winged dreams My whisky rose petal kisses blown into the night Finding you on glittered opalescent moonbeams Grab hold of pink-starred sweet slumber As silken tendrils puddle upon your chest Tangled up in each other's lithe limbs Our blissful hearts beat together in tender rest
Like stars spilling from whiskey dewdrop lips Words streak across a midnight sky of longing
What proverbs may come from these whiskey lips For every lightless night spent apart For every unspent voucher to destinations we will never travel to Find something beautiful And don't let go All things of beauty Must pass away Maybe one beautiful thing can stay
Hold tight the breathless moments spent dreaming in aurora skies For every darkness carries the remembrance of the sun How it left warm kisses upon fluttering eyelids In this way we too will find heaven
That undiscovered heaven whose patterns we have run through and dimly remembered sun the hopeless light that sits quietly In the souls of the storm-born That far that distant That's where the hurt is That is the proof of love
Every one is the superstar of his own reality, the hero of his own story. Many men emerge as kings in some realm and declare according to their own understanding. Women have been called Queens for ages. The problem is that the Kingdoms most men can give them are not worth ruling.
There's a lot that a bird doesn't know, but that doesn't change the fact that the world is happening to her all the same. The course of my life is changing and, without close thought, I wouldn't even see it.
Of all the random movement In the world It seems no one has time To notice your struggles Anymore than one is saddened By a broken sidewalk Or demolished daisy And now I know How far from here I have to go The thought of you Causes me to tremble Put in simplest terms - So much for fine words No one can live up to them Let me wake from this Dream of life And fly finally past the darkness That reaches out for the darkness
I want to dedicate myself to coming up with a phrase that will be repeated and remembered for all time Something like still water runs deep or look before you leap or even Little Bo Peep has lost her sheep Four or five simple words How hard can that be, right? Ha Right
Each realized desire only grows a new desire. Fulfillment can never make you happy because desire is endless and fulfillment is limited. There will always be the next want or desire making you unhappy. Therefore, the wisdom of poets who transform desire into beauty.
Dreams Cannot Live In the Bright of Day Dreams cannot live in the bright of day. What the world calls hope is nightbound, And reaps the whirlwind. Fast speeds the night; Fast comes the day. Fortunes in feeling are squandered in broad daylight. Moon-tossed dreams of Kate navigate the night. Though thoughts of you never die, Fast flies the day; Fast dies the night.
This July, the thought and creativity that I would have given to a Fourth of July poem were reserved to help save a kitty's life. A frequent front-porch visitor, Princess knew nothing of "amber waves of grain," "purple mountain's majesty," and "rocket's red glare." Rockets shot high above her five-word world, that had little to do with patriot's dreams and everything to do with the promise of tomorrow. Right now, I am the only man in the world who cares about this cat's existence. The truth is I am just as stricken, and we lie side by side equally dying.
In the brief day, or rather, the night called Life, dream how easily a speck may be distanced from itself; and how hard also it is to remove that same grain from your proud eye. Look at the lightning over the green corn and learn the virile meaning of our lack of power under the traveling stars. Turn on the lights silver-electric to see in what dark rooms you have dwelt, yet tried to be happy. Open and close your eyes and feel the weird proximity of doll-like death. Talk to the moth and trot the eternal wheel of boredom, tolerated by a life that cannot wait to immolate itself on a fuel lighter for love of the gamble. Come near the heartbeat of an animal and touch your own heart to take the pulse of the planets and experience the split-second hypocrisy of love. Unwrinkle your bones with deep calm and purest feeling, unfurling your reddish hair, and you will bare your heart in all your poems. Pity the mania of poetry and the helplessness of its wisdom to hope or heal or even to dare to come down from its own shiny cross. In spite of all, extinguish any light at its source and you will work in vain to prevent its survival in some remembering soul.
Thoughts spin softly toward the unsayable Impossible to resist like the city's dark glamour or a wicked woman's kiss Each turn of her face an eclipse giving birth Each cigarette a torch held high Only to have died all gorgeous and sad As the city and abyss stare each other down
I recently saw something I wrote published in Poets online under the name Pamela Hope. Does anyone know anything about this person, or did I mistakenly write a famous older expression into my work? I don't recall that, and this is why I am reluctant to post any of my better efforts anywhere but in a published book.
-- we get woven into each other's life sometimes without realizing it
I felt it when the sun came up this morning I knew that I could not wait another day There is something I must tell you A voice is calling to me
Until we find the bridge across forever Until this grand illusion brings us home You and I will always be together From this day on you'll never walk alone
You're a part of me, I'm a part of you Wherever we may travel Whatever we may go through Whatever time and space may take away It cannot change the way I feel today So hold me close and say you feel it too You're a part of me and I'm a part of you
So it's us against ourselves. The mind is the adversary. And what is that? A mere dream within a dream. What does forever mean? Some hazy lines... A blur of self, A little talk, Between you and me?
A heart lost in translation is in me, while forever is to be free of wonder. Humans hungry for home and hopeful for hunger. Life is one long plunder For the lost ones of Silent thunder.
Are these lost ones so lost? Or will these sons of thunder Flash like lightning? How far do you have to go Before no one understands at all?
As far as the fog found clouding the light that sits quiet in the souls of the stormborn. The light that breaks the beaten barriers of sound and gives life to the lifeless.
That distant light called Hope by some; A hope that may only protract disharmony. A skillful prolongation To the battered. It is said that hurt is proof of love, But what's left to prove When the uncalmed storm Engulfs us?
By light I live, but by love I die. Pray to every god that we are left in the eye. The only proof we need is meaning, something bold to live by. But we crave happiness, and there can only be one, So what could anyone do but try and cry?
First of many, I'll have Joseph title it since I don't feel like I have a place in doing so...
My words are italicized #love #life #question #storm #existence #meaning #paris #collaboration #joseph
The moon is missing Old stories oppress the scorned clock's hand What is this interminable waiting? Lost are the World's metaphors Lost and fled to a dark place Once beehives born in new orchards They now dissolve in time's dead way And die in the viciousness of niceness Densely social and devoid of empty Do I dare ask these forbidden questions She is missing, missing to me I know where she is but I can't find her but now I see the harvest corn and a bursting city of goldenrod
We should legit organize our own Celebrity Softball Game. Play another Poetry Site Or Intramural. Show America a different side of stardom. Rent a sandlot. Wolf starting pitcher, Soul starting catcher. Eliot umpires. Everyone gets an At bat. Instead of hating on each other, Play together as a Team.