With the first sign of rebirth
Came the gift of time, extended
In its renewal and revival, further
Offering the restoration of friendly relations
All done as an act of reconciliation between progress
As well as forgiveness asked of our mothers, everyday
Within such gifts intended for the common crowd
It is at the stroke of the halcyon hour
That we forget our sorrows and crumble like bricks
What is of this sad ending that we talk of, intentionally
That plagues the essence of the mind which is white as snow and trembling
Only cloudy days can show us the purity of ice
When the clouds do subside, the sweetness that preside
All talk is forced into stony silence under the dark night
Through the mad-sort of palace of time
Where there is a time to withdraw into the study of history
Ashes to ashes as well as fire to fire
Dwelling in a cold curlicle of a silent galvanized gate at a cemetery
Behind a rose garden, where the woodpeckers beak at the windowpane
Rusted beyond recognition broken into windy submission
Such things are built for no purpose and no future promise
Only to sustain posterity and labour
Not to make use of Earthly resources
An old man still waits for the rain
Saying that he is hiding behind the arras of an isolated house
Where the sepulchre is hidden under a rock tattered by zephyr
A string of creeper prostrate themselves, whimpering
That ostensibly grow, under the shadow of a thatched roof
Only to never be seen again in daylight
Of rebirth and redemption
Such is the creeper in the daylight
That lives in utter recluse and retreat
A long poem. Try taking the time to go through it.
words aren't insisting
to be enshrined in poems.
i'm forgetting you
when we aren't writing
we're still here
thinking thoughts not put down
on the page
it just keeps going
****** little thoughts
i don't want
here have some
i hate my head
i just do
i don't know
i hate being in this thing
i hate my thoughts
i have regrets
memories that make me grit my teeth
i often feel envious
i know i shouldn't
i'm sorry this sounds
i should be better than this
should have been by now
was supposed to
fictional characters exist in vacuum sealed bags
none of that dead air
that we have to suffocate through
a clouded cocktail of
and self pity
and it just goes on
like an endless staircase
of course you can end it
but that isn't the most productive solution
and what's after death anyway
more Hamlet ****
you've heard it before
blah blah blah
i won't pander
or maybe i did
by the way i say sorry
it's the only thing
i know i can do
what am i?
i just don't know
I had never written a love note.
Perhaps this note will seem clumsy to you.
I experienced an un explained.
What i want to say is
I love you
I love you along with people dear to me.
Which means i entrust my heart to you.
You can do whatever you want with it.
Even to the point of trampling and trampling it.
For some reason it seems to me that you will not humiliate my dignity.
By easing my troubles and sorrow.
Let yourself go
with all the doubts and losing battles
there is no way we can win them all
the cost of learning
we will learn to fly again
when we fall.
we also cannot lift bodies that
do not want to be rescued;
never settle for less when you can settle for more.
take it slow with process
and process will come to you,
maybe even greater
Under my fingers
Layer over layer
And drawing forth
The sighs that
Do not escape my mouth
And instead trace back
Down my tensed throat
Along my collar bones
Twisting around my wrists
And zipping at my finger tips.
My mind knows
And so my fingers follow.
And yet my mind also knows
Not for something missing
For something that could be there.
And yet it continues to progress,
In the distance
Flowing through every medium
A voice flows alongside
A voice that enriches
And pairs with the notes
To resound around me
Awake ~ KS
You came again
With his shroud
Your hunger and pain
I could see and love
In his mouth
Asking me to
Love those eyes and face
You offered a tulip, with a bow
After you lift your countenance
We walk hand in hand, ashore
Time present and time past
Are perhaps both present in time future
And time future contained in time past
i play a song
full of dissonant chords
but i won't stop
until the last note
someone needs to hear a song
i can't hang on for me anymore.
but i'll hang on for you <3
i was thinking about you the other night while
lying in the dark. the safe space of my four walls
suddenly became a prison of some sort. i couldn't
fall asleep and i wondered why
we never met again.
is there a chance that
maybe... no, forget that.
hey. i hope you are safe and well.
message never sent.
by Michael R. Burch
Eat, drink and be merry
(tomorrow, be contrary).
(***** and complain
in bad refrain,
but please—not till I'm on the plane.)
Write no poem before its time
(in your case, this means never).
Linger over every word
(by which, I mean forever).
By all means, read your verse aloud.
I'm sure you'll be a star
(and just as distant, when I'm gone);
your poems are beauteous (afar).
Keywords/Tags: editor, notes, refrain, recite, distance, distant, afar, star, poet, poems