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Bardo Jun 3
Sittin' listenin' to old songs I used listen to when I was much younger
Songs I haven't heard... haven't played in such a long time
The first sounds that ever excited me, thrilled me as a boy
How they bring me back, stir up in me old feelings and memories long past
For a moment I almost feel like I'm back there again
I swear... I swear I can almost see myself
And feel myself... what I felt back then
It's like I've just gone down a chute, a Time Tunnel
And coming out the other side
I find myself back there again with you
For a moment I can feel your colours, your presence
Can remember your world, what you were going through
Can see all the figures, the scenes and the players.

Just like the rings of a tree
The Body and Mind, they too, hold memory
And Songs, their the conduit for getting you there, the conduit in-between
We link together somehow
We meet within the emotion of the song.

It's like I'm looking through some ghostly mirror
At a younger version of myself
I can only gaze at you in wonder
I was so different a person then
So young and innocent... and unprepared, foolishly brave
So small in the face of so huge and dark and threatening a world
With little chance... little hope of succeeding
I watch you, you look pained and ill at ease,  playing your songs over and over
Trying to seek some solace there
Then you rise to leave
I think I know where you'd be going to,
And I want to call out to you "No! Don't go there. You don't have to go there,
There's another way, a better way, a better place
I know! I have all the answers now...well some of them anyway
There's better choices for you to make"
And it's like you hesitate at the door and turn
And look back towards me
We look at each other... across the years
I can almost see your face
I want to reach out and embrace you
But it's too late... the song is over
You've turned and you've gone.
Was listening to some old songs from the old days and it brought up old feelings and memories. They reminded me of who I used to be (or the people I used to be LoL). Although the poem ends on a sad note, songs I think are probably one of the best ways of re-connecting with yourself, looking back toward the source which is still there within you somewhere, still to be re-discovered I believe.
When i close my eyes i think of you.
When your in my mind i cant' help but feel you.
Remembering the time we had our first kiss, knowing how warm it felt.
When i close my eyes, i think of the time your lips faded into mine, like a deep but yet subtle swarm so soft and genuine.
When your in my mind, i can't help but see you and your oceanic blue eyes and softly your kiss in my mind switches into yet another ghostly kiss i yearn to feel one more time because good bye kisses aren't enough when you're gone. All i can do is close my eyes and think of you.
Zhavaed Haemaed Jun 2020
Eerie when it's three twenty-five
In the mornings of a nevermore
Fiendish powers dwelling inside
Awakened in a feverous implore
Darkness harkens souls to stay
When in an illuminating twilight
Subconscious turns ashen gray
Plants suffering a certain blight
Sleep had long not hypnotized
Nights, they pass in dry spells
No ravens come a tip tapping
Upon my mind's sly betrothal
Yet, the witching hour beckons
My brain has a way of knowing
Night, just half of it is passed
Rest half would be my undoing
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
hymn to Apollo
by Michael R. Burch

something of sunshine attracted my i
as it lazed on the afternoon sky,
golden, splashed on the easel of god;
what, i thought,
could this elfin stuff be,
to, phantomlike, flit
through tall trees
on fall days, such as these?

and the breeze
whispered a dirge
to the vanishing light;
enchoired with the evening, it sang;
its voice enchantedly rang
chanting “Night!” . . .

till all the bright light
retired,
expired.

This poem appeared in my high school literary journal, the Lantern, so it was written by age 18, but probably around age 16 or 17. That was my "cummings" period. Keywords/Tags: sun, god, sunshine, Apollo, elfin, phantom, ghostly, magical, enchanted, bright, light, brilliant, sky, golden



Moon Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Starlit recorder of summer nights,
what magic spell bewitches you?
They say that all lovers love first in the dark...
Is it true?
Is it true?
Is it true?

Starry-eyed seer of all that appears
and all that has appeared—
What sights have you seen?
What dreams have you dreamed?
What rhetoric have you heard?

Is love an oration,
or is it a word?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?
Have you heard?

I believe I wrote this poem in my late teens, during my “Romantic Period.”



Tomb Lake
by Michael R. Burch

Go down to the valley
  where mockingbirds cry,
  alone, ever lonely . . .
  yes, go down to die.
And dream in your dying
  you never shall wake.
  Go down to the valley;
  go down to Tomb Lake.
Tomb Lake is a cauldron
  of souls such as yours —
  mad souls without meaning,
  frail souls without force.
Tomb Lake is a graveyard
  reserved for the dead.
  They lie in her shallows
  and sleep in her bed.

I believe this poem and "Moon Lake" were companion poems, written around my senior year in high school, in 1976. In addition to having similar titles, they had similar "staircase" indention styles. According to my notes, I modified "Moon Lake" two years later in 1978, at which time the poem was substantially finished. I then modified "Tomb Lake" in 1981, but must have forgotten about it, because I don't show that I ever submitted the poem for publication or did anything with it for more than 40 years. Keywords/Tags: Moon, Lake, Lakes, Water, Reflection, Reflections, Image, Imagery, Mirror, Magic, Magician, Seer, Prophet, Shaman, Spell, Spells, Enchantment, Sorcery, Bewitchment, Bewilderment, Incantation, Rhapsody, Love Talk, Love Potion
Renai Nov 2018
It was a bleak and dismal Sunday morning, as I baked for the sake of baking. My head was bowed as I sliced apples when suddenly, everything within me started aching. I decided to take a brief recess and rest in my reclining chair.

As I gazed out through my windowpane, I observed that rain was there. It dripped and dropped onto the dense grass, and such a beautiful sight it was. As I continued to gaze, I noticed a faint, human-like figure in the shadows of the trees. At that moment, reason had abruptly gone, and curiosity had jurisdiction.

I found myself leaving the comfort of my chair, walking into the grove. When the rain caressed my wrinkled skin, I then began to roam. I could hear vague, ghost-like murmurs surrounding me; the predicament that I was in then began confounding me.

As time progressed, my visual perception dimed, and as it dimmed, the murmurs became more prominent. I listened to the murmurs repeatedly asserting "your end is right in front of thee." I didn't understand nor had a clue. My fearfulness only grew.

And then out of the blue, I collided with what I assumed was a tree, until I heard a rather stout, raspy, sinister-natured "hello." And instantaneously I registered what the murmurs had revealed to me. My end was unquestionably in front of me.
Thank you for taking the time to read this!
Ghostly maiden in the lonely night
Concessions for my glancing

But I could not help but drink the light
Of one so misty fancy

May I ask your hand my whispy sight
So that we may go dancing

And laugh away all this foolish fright
This love so circumstancing
The moon and clouds looked like a ghostly dancer.
Amanda Shelton Aug 2018
My dusty mind is filled
with old memories,
lost amongst poems
I dribbled on to the window sill
one morning.

I got lost in the shuffle of time,
thoughts brought me
ink drippings from
the night before,
though I already ate
the leftovers and smeared
my poems all over the walls.

You may join me
for a Gothic meel,
just don't forget to bring
your open minds
so I don't have to knock
or ring the bell.

Welcome to my gloomy day,
where black is happy,
blue is true, and the roses
withered at your feet
though they smell lovely.

(slowly the poems crumbled
in my mouth) the ofter taste
was lovely, a bit of gloom was
left hanging from my lips.

Such taboos I display,
should I speak in ghostly whispers,
so the spirit's can hear me too?

Shshsh!
I am not finished with you yet.

Come back soon and I will write you
another Gothic poem.

For I am the weathered poet.

© 2018 By Amanda Shelton
This poem is from "Vampires Eat ****** Poetry Collection" it is a collection of Gothic poems I have written.
Stare into me.
Flare up and fly to me.
My ghostly gaze falls into your eyes,
Let these phantom fingers caress your curves,

Our ethereal tangle,
As we pass through reality
Into the hills and valleys on our bodies,

Close your eyes,
And see me with your skin.

Intoxicate me with your sinful quivers,
As I ride on the highways of your sighs.

Come closer,
And I'll show you a differently perfect side of our world.



~Robert van Lingen
Donna Jan 2018
Little lady next
door dressed in 1920
long grey skirt and blouse

goes out everyday
with her hair tied in a bun
wearing black boot shoes

she quietly walks the
pavements amoungst a lot of
other people

buildings seem so big
no horse and cart just metal
things with four wheels

no kids play outside
so smiley happy go
lucky children

instead she sees a glow
from each child's hand , there eyes
engrossed in something!!

yet the sky stays the same
just differs in colours , clouds appear happy or sad

the sun shines the moon
glows and stars continue to
twinkle starry bright

trees never change ,  she
smiles at natures will to never
change its beauty

a China man bumps
into her , they both stare for
a second or two

then off they walk on
pavements amoungst a lot
of other people
One that popped into my head this morning x
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