Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Apr 2013 Matthew M
Thomas Wolfe
Oh, will you ever return to me,
My wild first force, will you return
When the old madness comes to
Blacken in me and to burn
Slow in my brain like a slow fire
In a blackened brazier - dull
like a smear of blood,
Humid and hot evil, slow-sweltering
up in a flood!
Oh, will you not come back, my fierce song?
Jubilant and exultant, triumphing over
the huge wrong
of that slow fire of madness that feeds
on me - the slow mad blood
thick with its hate and evil, sweltering
up in its flood!
Oh! will you not purge it from me -
my wild lost flame?
Come and restore me, save me from the
intolerable shame
Of that huge eye that eats into my
Naked body constantly
And has no name,
Gazing upon me from the immense and
Cruel bareness of the sky
That leaves no mercy of concealment
That gives no promise of revealment
And that drives us on forever with its
lidless eye
Across a huge and houseless level of
a planetary vacancy
Oh, wild song and fury, fire and flame,
Lost magic of my youth return, defend
me from this shame!
And Oh! You golden vengeance of bright
song
Not cure but answer to earth's wrong
He is in love with questions
And the lilting world of words,
With the fabric of philosophy
And the taste of fresh ideas.

He is in love with the smell of green
And the shifting sands of dreams,
With the hunt for profound moments
And the hunger-lust for purpose.

He is in love with his books
And the zodiacs cross the planet,
With patterns of chain reactions
And the way we cog and gear.

He is in love with pools of stardust
And fanciful notions of theory,
With darkness, deep and coveted
And the fabric it is made from.

He is in love with one who left
And the poisoned past he bathes in,
With being perpetually lonesome
And floating twixt life’s sabulous banks.

He is in love with memories, and the universe,
And nobody else.

With my choking heart, I’m grasping at dust,
And I am in love with him.
11/20/12
 Apr 2013 Matthew M
Tilly
First
to pieces,
then to dust,
He captured her with words;
Of gold, freed
with silver tongue,
imbibing
every verb.
To: A dear friend, & the poet of my
(mended) heart strings <3
 Apr 2013 Matthew M
Tilly
fiery
         feathers alight  
                       on proffered palm,                            stealing   
                                                      vermillion­  coated  
                                                             cru­mbs.
Thank you, my friend--
little by little,
waves of time wash the wound:
worn driftwood,
broken shells,
a distant foghorn.  
I follow meandering footprints
disappearing in the sand--  
Suddenly, a glorious sunrise,
bright as her laughter.
i keep winter out
of my heart, remembering
your cherry bud kiss.

spring is coming soon--
manzanita buds aglow,
like little pink hearts.

climbing Mt. Fuji,
i saw only my two feet.
coming down-- the world!

the old Buddhist monk:
gentle as a flower, yet
stronger than thunder.
Copyright 2011, by Michael S. Simpson. All rights reserved by the author.
I'm trapped
inside the shrinking
balloon of a deflated
world:
yesterday's party.
Today's trash
wrapping around my face
I can't open my eyes.
Pressured into
all the smells like
discordant blarings of
fetid flowers,
aching ages.
A dream memory
waking over and over
to the phone
ringing underwater--
sonar fingers
probing
into depths
too cold.
Copyright 2010 by Michael S. Simpson
Like a ruse in a rose
And a bruise beneath clothes
                                                       (Of which I keep hidden)
You, too, are forbidden
For you perpetuate me
Towards wonder, sadly
It flees when you’re gone
Like the most glorious dawn
That can only be known
By birds who have flown
Too close to the sun
 Apr 2013 Matthew M
Lee
The smoke drifts up a pale blue
making ribbons in the lone lights spread
above our panting heads.
We built ancient temples in the forest green
and dug holes for warming hands on fire rocks.
Do you understand?
There is no time here.
Sleeping in the cold grounds embrace,
I kiss the sky goodnight through the holes in the roof.
Lost in the eternal emerald of this season, SAvaGES was our cry,
beating hearts howl out in a brooding bark.
Lick your wounds,
bleed your blistered hands chopping saplings.
This room is finally complete.
I,
I am content.
You,
You're as angel pale as the moon,
by its light I see your curves.
Touching soft till the morning birds.
No air between our lips to feel the words.
Its *** in our bellies
that sweetened southern swill.
The trees groan in the breeze
I groan rapped between your knees.
This forest is aphrodisiac enough for us.
Next page