When time would hail the smoke
Don't you dare speak those words.
You know exactly what they will do,
and to him.
There will be no more
you and him.
Like the peach blossoms
broken from the delicate, young branches,
the verbal hail storm,
the weight of the ice,
will knock him to the frozen ground.
Unsure how much affection he can return,
of how his own whirling thoughts fit with yours.
Your tale, far from fairy, will end.
Your open heart will shrivel,
like the salty sardines you left on the wooden picnic table
in the burning sun.
You will regret your thoughts and
you will regret your feelings,
but know, sadly, there was nothing left to do,
but leave too soon.
Outside the wind is howling death
A screaming gale of endless breath
Over the hill she comes and goes
What she is, but few may know
Inside her she is not so mean
As her outside makes her seem
Her soul is quite a peaceful one
Heard by few and friends of none
Inside I sleep in gentle peace
With dreams of gold that never cease
What I am, but few may know
For I only give what I want to show
Inside I am a screaming gale
A howling death of rain and hail
My soul is wrought with pain and fear
That none will know and few will hear
It makes me wonder: who is the monstrous and who is the gentle?
I hear the screams.
Tortured screams of children.
I hear the wind blowing through.
Rattling the un-openable windows.
I stare at the wooden desk.
My torture in progress.
I get a break in fifteen minutes.
I watch the seconds tick by on the clock.
It's freezing in here.
And hailing outside.
There is no hope here.
No hope for the children in school.
My thoughts on school. Legitimately.
the voice of the dim cathedral
haunts my bones
its slim fingers wrap around my neck
and through my skull
a voice from many
releases dawn on the backs of my eyelids
and sets fire to my ribs
a boy beckons us to hail true body
freeing me from earthly restraints
ave verum corpus : william byrd, ora
Let it be known throughout the land
From highest peak to wettest sand
With sharpened tongue and steady hand
The talking frog is in command
With belly white and skin of lime
A hero for the modern time
He uppered fun and lowered crime
His skillset includes pantomime
Of all the kings he is the best
A chiseled jaw and manly chest
We even put him on our crest
(He helped to found the turnip fest)
A friendly frog we all adore
With lots of fun and games in store
He'll make us smile, he has before
We thank you, frog, for this and more!
Sorry it's been so long since I uploaded anything! I haven't been feeling much poetic inspiration lately. Rest assured that more Fun Poems for Cool People™ will be coming soon!
I am secluded
by the steps of a brutal mind
Written in black and white
numerals on ***** chalkboards
Was I sleeping past my childhood lesson?
Please, wake my tired, bloodshot eyes !!
They are weary from
and X rated dreams
The sting of the wooden rule of measure
punished my hands
The welted numbers tattooed
on my swollen palms
Ten Hail Marys are not enough to stop this atrocity
The towering stoic women,
dressed in black habits
I do not dare look away
but I did
Time was broken
when the rulers cracked the desk
Ear deafening sounds
with my frozen tears stuck in pause
I looked up to the heavens
to seek answers from my god
Not one whisper back,
I was screaming vulgarties in silence
Lowering my head to my desk,
I closed my eyes
and counted the numerals
on the ***** chalkboard
If only my words could pierce and
descend opon the lovely ones,
the humans with caramel eyes
and voices that cradle the soul.
ones who can sail through the surging
ocean that is my mind.
ones that slaughter demons,
and waltz with angels.
Frozen to the bone
A chill is running down my back
Wet and windy