Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Mar 2016 Simon Obirek
Tom Blake
I want to remain in today
Don't want it to ebb away
I want to stay...
Too, the way we are...

To know only Love
It's where we truly belong...
In our own
Perfect Love song.

Don't want tomorrow to come,
I want the moment to live on
Untouched by age and time...
Like a flower never withering,
Remaining always in the perfect state...

Defeating death and decay!
 Mar 2016 Simon Obirek
Dr Strange
Broken...
Broken hearts
Broken dreams
Broken fantasies that possess me
Broken manifested destinies
Broken...
Broken bones
Broken souls
Broken inner thoughts that get the best me  
Broken swords that seem to never miss me
Broken...
Broken mindsets
Broken sunsets
Broken clouds that now poor upon thee
Broken dams that wash away all life's worries
Broken...
The world we live in is just broken
But the pieces to put it back together are around us
The friends and family that surround us
So fix it and be proud you have us
We as a people aren't always as alone as we think we are.
No expectations
No hesitations
No diving in too deep,
No taking for granted
What could be passing
No build up to become incomplete

Just take your time
And you'll be fine
No regrets
No misery,
Enjoy each day but don't betray
Your feelings within each week

Enjoy the ride
Live your life
Consume the unknown and what's to be,
No second guessing
No pigeon stepping
No fighting with your own two feet

They'll take you there
Where ever they dare
Trust their judgement
Trust their needs,
Become less concerned with what's to come
When it can't be controlled by 'me'

It's out of your hands
So enjoy this land
And all it offers you,
Just be grateful
For every day full
Of pleasures which you seek

Because nothing's forever
So today we must treasure
The current ******,
Of pure emotions
Stark devotion
Whatever will be, will be
© Karen L Hamilton, March 2016
the reason those paintings sell for so much at auctions, is because, unlike poems, you've invested in oil paints, brushes, the canvas, a space to do the work... with poems you don't really need raw materials on such a scale, obviously a manuscript might sell, but never in the range of a painting; poets don't invest much in writing a poem, or if they do, it's treated like an ***** donor's bits-and-bobs - hey! turn on the conveyor belt of recycled heartbeats! we have one dying over here, and another needs a transplant! turn it on, we're not stopping for one ******* or another! but i ask you, is this really such a cold harsh reality, when compared to a graveyard? and that moss on the gravestones, and the forgotten mourning vigil of actual relation?*

i don't know why liquor is such
a sin, to so many people,
i once exclaimed: 'do you know
any other potent sedative?!
i don't, and sleeping pills don't work
without the intake of alcohol;
i know, counter-intuitive,
so where did you stash the barbituates?'
well if not a party drug to dumb-down
i drink and sedate myself,
i'm a turtle after a while,
although a turtle that still types things
down... like now...
let's write a pop poem:
got the munch, feel a hunch,
both are on my back...
poached a pear, stalked a grizzly bear...
felt it was all one, big, india's independence
day funfair. how's that? hmm... humph!
telephone Sweden for me, and tell
them i called asking for secretary Nobel
in the archives of time...
i don't like what i write, maybe that's
because i just write...
and i write... and write... and write...
elevate writing above slaving
at the plumbing or the light-bulb
and suddenly the world enlarges itself
in its commotion...
and a little fading grey dot emerges,
made exponential by your ego;
but i guess you can say o grand *******
when you write on the sly...
i can see poetry as a transcendental medium
from chop, charge, chop, charge,
chop, typo, chop, typo, chop, buzz,
chop, buzz, chop chop chop, typo... charge,
well d'uh, but how to capture a
transcendental conversation without
actually abusing the art into one's own escape
plans, like the inverse of suicide...
how to capture a convo... convalescent and
readied for more...
you're taking that poem up a mountain
to shout it out loud?
do that on the plateau of a marketplace
and ready yourself to shake hands with a straitjacket;
because that's how we now live.
 Mar 2016 Simon Obirek
Sjr1000
This world is a
walking place
surrounded by
a million faces
eyes that don't
recognize
your sighs,
hands that never
touch the shoulders
or the mind
That's the Glory of Love

Challenges everywhere
every failure and
success
spoken into darkened
hallways,
the music's playing
in another room
another house
another bed
That's the Glory of Love

When the body's in pain
the couch so hard
No position works
no encouraging words,
a purse or a nurse
they won't work
That's the Glory of Love

A tender touch
in a tender place
warmth and light
in this cold place
a moment of peace
when held so close,
a heartfelt giving
a heartfelt receiving
two hearts beating
singing
in perfect harmony
That's the Glory of Love.
"The Glory of Love " was written by Billy Hill and recorded by Benny Goodman in 1936, it has had many covers, including the Five Keys in 1951, Peggy Lee, Otis Redding, Bette Midler.  This poem uses the title, but doesn't have anything else in common.
 Mar 2016 Simon Obirek
Miss Honey
I am both cold and warm in heart
So it feels balanced and peaceful
The world sings sin and you can hear it or love it
Don't last this way, but notice when it appears for you  
Feel heavy and clean after rain but know you will feel this way again
for that to happen it must be ***** and free
We should be ***** and free
"It’s time for more scorchmarks on the page,
As the Dragon of Eire takes to the stage,
Hear the page rip,under my claws,
Bending reality,shaping the laws,

Time and space switch place at my hest,
Best come clean kid,make a clean breast of it,
Skitz-rips opponents to bits-torn asunder,
Lightning flashes from my claws-Steal thunder
Is heard as I trumpet my triumph to the skies,
Your Nemesis approaches-close your eyes,
Now a hush falls over the crowd like a shroud,
You’re crestfallen-Sandman stands proud…

Roam your dreams,as the judgment shapes,
eyes agog while your heads agape
Draped and soiled,more lambs to the slaughter,
Hear that laughter,lock up your daughters-

From the harbors of Dubh Linn I set sail,
Grim forecasts of the howling Gael,
Are passed to your shipmates word of mouth,
Eyes sealed up-tongues torn out.

Drift down to the seabed more lost souls
Mourn and wail as I lose control,
Of the beast that that prowls from stern to prow,
Some try to repel but soon stand cowed,
As the captain begs for his wretched breath,
Claws pierce his hide with the stroke of death,
10,000 lashes take a grisly toll,
As the ferryman casts his net behold!-

Grim spectres gold scepters lost chapters,
Fever dreams trapped in dreamcatchers-
All behold the lucid waves break,
as The Nemesis sails and leaves a crimson wake…"
To hear this Poem as a song with my band Eclectic Collective Eire please listen to us here
https://soundcloud.com/eclectic-collective-eire/the-nemesis
The love in poetry or poetry in love,
Which one is my forte I don't really know ...
Or both or none of the above,
Or something in between ... and there in between I go.


On certain mornings I awake being sick
With certain sweet disease that has no other cure,
Than trying to come up with words, which in my heart would stick,
Such words, which are in sync with feelings I indeed endure.


And when I find those words, my rage goes away,
Transferring into poetry so utterly contagious,
Infecting those who read - and that what makes my day,
Rewarding efforts, humble, yet enormously courageous.
Next page