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Cecil Miller May 2020
There is comedy in the tragic.
There is dignity in human shame.
There is irony in mundane normality.
We just have to find it.
That's how we'll make it through
I hope it reaches some people in  sentimental places
Cecil Miller May 2020
Of all my days and nights,
This will be my favorite.
I will carry it with me,
As long as life will let me.
When I am feeble and fading,
I will hope to hold on to it.
It is my favorite memory of you.

Of all my days and nights,
This will hurt me most.
I cannot let it slip away;
Life will not let me.
Now you are feeble and fading,
I have still my favorite
Memory to help me through.
The night I took a break from my novel is the same night I wrote most of my entres this morning. I hope some of them are good.
Cecil Miller May 2020
There are seven tenats to the overall objective.
The goal is of little consequence.
The method is in the madness.

Far beyond the daylight's green and anchored at the bay of sorrow
Is the vessel from which the captain
must be liberated from the responsibilities of his post.

It dances in the ocean of air
When it manifests to my eyes.
The humming in my ears is a pulse.
I am entertained.
It explodes like a multitude of suns.

I am no more.

I am forevermore.
I'm not quite sure what to make of this one. When I try to read it aloud, it rolls off the tongue with the ease of a well-globbed *** of phlegm.
Cecil Miller May 2020
His name escapes me.
We were getting just about
As high as we could ever be.
In my heart I had a longing,
I was missing what was my own.
I was thinking how I loved you,
So I asked to use the phone.

I said, "Hello."
You said, Good-bye."
I asked, "What's wrong?"
You told me not to cry.
You said you met him,
And you couldn't stand to wait
Til I was home again,
You'd been alone,
My phone call was too late.

You had given all yourself away,
Except the part that was for me.
There is a secret part inside
That no-one knows for us will always be.
No matter what you think or what I say,
Inside your light could be my only home.
The days and nights last endlessly,
Winding on forever since I called you on the phone.

I said, "Hello."
You said, Good-bye."
I asked, "What's wrong?"
You told me not to cry.
You said you met him,
And you couldn't stand to wait
Til I was home again,
You'd been alone,
My phone call was too late.

The years roll on, and I'm still alone
I stand alone, I have no home.
I have no love, but for the love
I save it up, I can't give it up.
I'll never know another's touch,
The cold inside, it hurts so much.
I meet you passing by in life.
I hold it in, and I tell a lie.

I said, "Hello."
You said, Good-bye."
I asked, "What's wrong?"
You told me not to cry.
You said you met him,
And you couldn't stand to wait
Til I was home again,
You'd been alone,
My phone call was too late.
I wrote this the other night.  I've been busy with other projects and don't write poetry as often as I did before. I have been working on a novel. I submit first draft in brief chapters to my facebook timeline. Pm me if you are interested in looking them over. The genres are serial melodrama(think telenovella)mystery and horror.
Cecil Miller May 2020
The blanket of night
Covers the land.
The silky smooth flesh
Covets the hand.
The sound of trumpets
Plays from afar
In the twinkling light
Of a falling star.

I hear a name.
It sounds like my own,
And my voice that beckons,
Though I am alone.
The coursing of blood
Inside my veins
Is my only companion,
My only companion.

Who moves within my mind?
Who is with me, not all of the time?
Who is sheltered inside of my thoughts?
Come speak to me, speak to me now.

I sit up in bed.
I reach for the lamp.
I've sweat so much.
The sheets are damp.
Do I hear laughter
Out in the hall?
Is something else coming
When the darkness falls?

The crackling thunder
Rips through the sky.
A roaring of wind,
Like my nerves, on high.
Nobody can hear,
But I this voice in my head.
It shakes to my core.
It's heavy like lead.

Who moves within my mind?
Who is with me, not all of the time?
Who is sheltered inside of my thoughts?
Come speak to me, speak to me now.


Who moves within my mind?
Who is with me, not all of the time?
Who is sheltered inside of my thoughts?
Come speak to me, speak to me now.
I was bored, so I regressed. The results were these lyrics.
Cecil Miller Aug 2019
I was between boy and man.
Had no direction, but I wanted to stand.
On solid ground, only had quicksand.

One night I pulled from the bone.
There was a voice like my own.
I didn't feel quite so alone.
I tried to flex, but I wasn't fully grown.

I was a member, but just an ember,
I was an elemental, I was fire.

I was a teen-age outlaw,
A living, diseased claw
Not yet in the prime of my life.
I was a savage' young,
a raving romantic
Surviving under cover of night.

They never knew what to do with me.
When I look back, it wasn't easy.
I tried to be how they said I should be.
There was no way that it ever could be.

One time I thought I might be alright.
Then I picked someone else's fight.
I gladly gave my time in the light.
And I went back under the cover of night.

I was a sinner, but I was a winner.
I was eternal, I was fire.

I was a teen-age outlaw,
A living, diseased claw
Not yet in the prime of my life.
I was a savage' young,
a raving romantic
Surviving under cover of night.

Behind the moonwalk,
Long before the swelling sea,
The riverbank was eroding,
Crumbling like the memory
Of my only dream.

I was a teen-age outlaw,
A living, diseased claw
Not yet in the prime of my life.
I was a savage' young,
a raving romantic
Surviving under cover of night.

I was a renagade, I slipped from the iron cage.
I was insane, crazed,
Steered by the moon's phase.
I had a long way to crawl.

I was a teen-age outlaw,
A living, diseased claw
Not yet in the prime of my life.
I was a savage' young,
a raving romantic
Surviving under cover of night.
I wrote this early this morning, August 22, 2019 in about 30 minutes.

It's a basic structure of a song. It's not especially innovative. It is autobiographical, somewhat. You have to know me to know my psychoanalizing phrazes. Read the poem; read the poet.
Cecil Miller Aug 2019
Ravaging cyan,
That crashing and ever changing
Wetness that is life,
Is the very monster filled vast cup Wherein is tossed about until, alas;
Your sepulcre is reposed to a gentle shore.
I just wrote this brief piece tonight. It is a companion to the painting in my profile, which I also created and was the first painting I sold.
Cecil Miller Aug 2019
Sometimes I want to hold.

Sometimes I want to be held.

I'd rather not ruminate upon her face, study it on the canvas in my mind, because I am reminded of the distance between us, separated by seas of immeasurable volume, not unlike my fidelity.

No placemarker could ever feel the same.

There has never been such serenity as the time she let my fingers play in her hair, and dance along her forhead, while she was resting beside me in a bed that was too large for the room.

Did she feel the quickening of my pulse? My recess was not timorous, but rather love, respect, and desire to be who she needed.

It was later that I learned
I waited long and lost my turn.

Energy never dies,
But it changes like the ocean tide.
Like I, evaporated to the sky.

Like she, wonderment in definition."
I wrote the poem this afternoon. The title is just because I cannot think of a decent one. I get busy so I don't write as much poetry as I used to.
Cecil Miller May 2019
It's like a round-about, around and 'round.
Everything that goes up must come crashing down.
It should be easy like a certain fate.
I've never even asked you out on a date, cause...

You won't want me when you're sober.
I don't want you when your getting high.
All in all I guess we're out of luck.
I guess the two of us will never...

Well okay,
I see you over there,
And I wonder what's that scent you wear.
I see,
There's a glimmer in your smile for me.
But our harlequin romance ain't ever gonna be,
Cause...

You won't want me when you're sober.
I don't want you when your getting high.
All in all I guess we're out of luck.
I guess the two of us will never...

Ah, ah, ah, ah,
La, la, la...
For better or worse,
We're differently cursed.

What they're saying is probably true.
I could never be what's good for you.
Of all the lives on Earth you come into mine,
And struck by something sort of love
I'm going blind, but...

You won't want me when you're sober.
I don't want you when your getting high.
All in all I guess we're out of luck.
I guess the two of us will never...

Never gonna be in touch with each other
In the way that a lover touches another,
Never gonna know it, we won't say it,
We won't show it, cause...

You won't want me when you're sober.
I don't want you when your getting high.
All in all I guess we're out of luck.
I guess the two of us will never...
I just wrote this in one sitting. I'll put it to chords later. A contemporary song in the making.
Cecil Miller Jan 2019
I followed the trades to the center of Mecca,
Maybe looking for my soul.

All I found in the people around,
Were pieces of what made the whole.

I searched in the sun for the purest light,
But my eyes could never see.

The hollowness inside my every thought
Was a hunger I couldn't feed.

There was a rubble in the sands of time,
It all turned upside down.

Suddenly I was under the water,
And hearing not a sound.

Everything was nothing then the moment came,
When everything was alight.

An opening of eyes, there was clarity,
I was passing through the light.

I can still remember serenity,
When I was safe inside the arms.

All I knew was comfort and love in the moment,
There were no alarms.

I didn't know that I was fragile,
Or an aging ghost of an old man yet to come.

I only knew in the moment that I never knew a moment,
Or where the next was from.

It would last forever, in this familiar place
Where I might have been before.

Because I recognise the light,
But not the purest light that was vacant at its core.
Written Jan 14th, 2019

Now this might offend some people, but this isn't my intention. How is it that someone could post one or two whiney lines about some break up and it winds up all over the front page, however, when effort is put into a piece of work, to create something of a poetic nature it goes by hardly noticed?
I mean, writing a one line diary entry to cry about getting dumped is not poetic. Put some effort into your art, a little structure or something. Some creative turn of phrase. Anything that is metophoric, or oximoronic might work, also. Otherwise, it might be an honest feeling that's going to get some sympathy likes, but there is nothing creative in simply declairing a broken heart. Even if it is very brief, without structure, saying something like "I'm not good enough," is not poetic or musical. Without more content, I wouldn't call it prose. At best it might be a brief, singular undetailed narative. Then hashtag some trendy words that usually have little to do with the entry. It's just doesn't make this site seem fit for decent writers.
So try this: poets, take your singular line and dual lined entries and see if you can construct an actual poem with some rhythm. An online thesaurus might help some of you when you want to rhyme, or when you don't because poetry doesn't have to rhyme.
Very, very seldom does one phrase make a poetic statement. How many times can people praise, "my boyfriend dumped me" one liners before they get eye-rolly and cynical? Let's ask Mr. Owl to lick the tootsie roll.
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