With this pen, I paint an image of you.
Not a portrait, but a true portrayal of you.
The ink flows into words that dance across your hair.
The end of each sentence marking a cross that you bear.

A painting would be suitable for some.
With beautiful colors, cascading down on you from above.
But, those colors mearly hide the truth behind your smile.
With the right shade of light and a light smear, it becomes a cosmetic fix for a while.

My words flow through every crack and fill every shadow.
They bring all light to the surface, for the reader to see within the shallows.

The image of you that I create can be vivid and great.
But with this pen, my words can also design your fate.

You see the truth here is that my words hold all truth.
They leave no place for lies to hide, with each word holding proof.

In the readers eyes, my words are you…
With this pen, I can create you…
With this pen, I can finish you...

- Brandon K. Stephenson

Poetry is dead


We’ve had a good life together, but all things end.
I know I couldn’t be, but I tried to be your friend.
All the thoughts that I had in my mixed up head,
They are yours to keep now.  Poetry is dead.


Nothing left for you to criticize.
Watch me smile as you question my lies.
Give it time and the fire inside will die.
The light is fading, more and more, all the while.


Passion is gone, because love is a bore.
I believed more than you ever did, but no more.
The time has come, this love is done.
I can no longer run and catch the sun in my ***** hands anymore;
Because I am so bored and high flying birds do nothing but fall.


Standing before a ten foot brick wall,
With no will left to break through an imaginary door.
It does not exist, because I am not a kid;
I do not write it, so it does not exist.
I no longer open my mind to doors.
You walk through me like I used to matter, once.


Red light, stop sign, dead end view.
Words are done, give me a gun,
Are you sure this love is bullet proof?
What does a green and black cat in a dream mean?
I was at work at the electrical shop and all the while I was sleeping.
We were having a meeting and the cat sat on my lap
And while they talked and talked, the cat was suddenly gone,
And that was that…


(C)2018 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Give me a reason.


One poem a day; that is my goal.
I must write something each night or day and show you my soul.
My collection of written words will never be whole,
For it is constantly expanding, as I continue to grow old.


I hope I am worthy of doing this well,
For my poetry is my love and I have many stories to tell.
I will speak of fantasy worlds I dream up inside my mind
And speak the truth whenever necessary, to make the words rhyme.


If you like what I write, then give me some encouragement;
If you have apathy to my poetry,
Then seek another to give your mind its nourishment.
If you take offence at something I have written,
Then I apologise.  That is not what I meant,
To do; all I wanted was to show you how I feel,
About that particular subject and now my vessel is spent.


Each poem is unique and should be judged by its own content,
Not compared to another and held up in judgment.
I shall forever write poetry,
For I shall forever seek and gain enlightenment.


I am love, I am fallen,
I am many faces of many men.
I am man, I am woman,
I am myself and many others.
I am right, I am wrong,
I am the son of my mother.
I could end up becoming your lover,
But I shall never proclaim to be anything more than I am; my reader.


You are a part of my life now; you have peered into my mind
And I do hope you have had a nice time reading my lines.
I must find a way of getting my mind and body to conspire;
So I set myself goals to strive for, to keep me inspired.


I motivate myself to continue to write,
By wishing to improve all the time and searching for that next line.
It’s hidden in my mind somewhere,
I just have to find it.
My next goal is to write my thousandth poem
And I have my eye on it.


This will feed me the fuel I need to write another poem
And to each of you I shall continue showing,
How I feel at the moment the poem is created.
My thoughts shall forever evolve,
But my lust for writing shall never be sated.
Only seventy five to go now to reach my next goal.
One poem at a time, I am getting closer to satisfying my ego.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Cellar Door


The word cellar door, may paint a cold, dark image,
But the two words together, are simply magnificent.
They roll off the tongue, like a red silk carpet
And when you find something so beautiful,
You should not forget it.


For cellar door, I simply adore,
For it's a connection of words, that are simply beautiful.
Two words together, that when spelt right have a meaning,
But when they are separated and you see them differently,
You are able to see, why they contradict each other;
For cell keeps us trapped, we can't run free from this evil,
But to adore is to love, the purest of feelings;
The thing that can't be beaten, with an English Dictionary,
Or a thoughtless, harsh word, from a fool in the audience,
Who will never see or hold such beauty,
For they truly are ignorant.


These thoughts are my own;
But I was inspired to write this poem.
If you missed Donnie Darko
And don't know where I got this inspiration,
A teacher with passion, spoke the words cellar door
And explained they were her, two favorite words of all.


So remember cellar door, for it simply means love;
Don't let them lock away your feelings, behind a cell door
And keep them buried, so no one can see your love show.
Don't hide from your feelings, for it will serve you no good.
Will you choose to be trapped inside your cell?
Or applaud me, for I saw what is plain to see
And I am willing to tell.


Cellar door sounds fantastic and when it is spoken by a lover,
You shall see its true meaning, simply means I love you forever.
Together we are happily trapped, in this notion called love,
But we are free to be free,
For we have the key to this cellar door.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Insight


Some people write their poetry in the shadows.
Some people seem to like what I write;
But if everybody reads my poetry and stays hiding in the shadows,
How can I know what is right without a little insightful advice?


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.