Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
The Son of Rome, strong and clear in mind,
Once proud and mighty, a holder of power,
Has fallen to the depths of humankind,
Not asking of his downfall and best hour.
From day to day, his seed did change and grow
In others shapes, not meant for nature's rules,
Its soil has turned fruitless, it is barren now,
Turning from geniuses into fools.
Where is the crusader with waving sword,
Coming to rescue all his oppressed brothers?
The viking with its axe, without a lord,
Invoking fear within the heart of others?
    Although since birth a foe of my ideal,
    Disappointment and mourning's what I feel.
Ashley Kay Nov 2021
Tease out delight  
From the mouth of
the river, cool water
Quivers in constellations

Mud and goosebumps
under an indigo blanket,
The Milky Way drips
From the sky
Ashleykay2021
Ashley Kay Aug 2021
Mesas of sepia
Glow behind
The iris
Of a summer
Passing by
Ashleykay2021
Shofi Ahmed Jul 2021
Imagine the bird of time
the sun is on the fly
shining the quantum of time.

From the bottom
the Planck length in the east
flying round the clock to the west.

Half way through
it could be at the twilight
but it sings a swan song.
Nothing is a perfectly round stock
not even the sun’s clock.

Around the two fine points
in the circumference of a circle  
no length is a set fixed
minimal Planck length.
Always be an irrational gap
breeding anew pi decimals
never the same nor ever ends.
Always new, a little more,
an uncharted ****** mole!
nim Apr 2021
cigarette ashes
fly on the wind,
as i stare at my black coffee,
it gazes back at me.
black sobranie,
and i debate;
of all the people,
i find it hard to see
is there something
worth seeking.
just like dust,
i let them go
i never looked back
let them think i'm bore.
you may be
a world unseen,
yet i am so tired
no words flow well enough.
i'll just go lose myself
in paint and doubt
while i stare at my coffee,
and flit around.
Ashley Kay Mar 2021
Like water I flood to
Your lowest elevation
Pooling in spaces
Left wild and uninhabited,

I sink to the depths
Of your valleys
Rejuvenating
Indigo reverie,

Others denied you rain
So it was buried, offered
To grief and almost
Reclaimed by the core,

As the ghost
Of the American Buffalo
I thunder my hooves
Into your malleable soil,

Crackling light to the soul
Of the spirit, man
Believed he won
Long ago
Ashleykay2021

Two days of flash floods and the experience was powerful. And... was the west ever won?
as day came to end
last vestiges of sunlight
sank toward the west
Alex McQuate Jan 2021
Rapid striking of Copper and Nickel,
Tantalizing both the ear and the heart,
What is it that this hypnotic tune,
That has both the momentum of a freight train and a falling feather,
is trying to tell us?

Realization drops like an anvil upon the egg of a quail

This siren song is calling westward,
O' Hark!
Offering both salvation and  damnation,
The Spirit of the West Herself calls,
Rattling one's teeth with her percussive thunder,
Blinding with the flashes of her lightning,
Strobe-like in both aspects,
Prostrate thyself,
For with every booming step she draws closer,
and the music grows louder.

Is that her steps now?
Or the thundering of your heart in your chest?

She whispers upon the howling winds,
Promising nothing that is in your control to change,
Only that her domain is a hard and still wild place.

It is everything you feel the desire in this moment,
An escape from this quicksand you have found yourself in,
Toward the unknown yet the sought after.

What shall happen next,
That is the chapter that we'd have to write,
For good or ill,
A sign or an omen.

Drive Forward!
With a thundering of your own,
With the ground shaking momentum of a thousand charging horses, I say!
Drive forward with a fury of your own making,
Let your purpose be just and true!

DRIVE!!!

...

And like she was never there,
The Spirit of the West disappears,
Her spectral like visage disappearing into the wall,
The vision broken,
Leaving you once again in the quiet and dimly lit room.
Kristin Jan 2021
I did errands today
and I was confused

Something was wrong, astray
I mused

I settled into the evening quiet
And my disquieted soul shouted

"The flags were not at half staff"
As the West Wing staff and Cabinet was trimmed by half

Yesterday, Congress was sieged by riff-raff
45 egged them on

Congress counted the Electoral votes
but our troubles are not all gone

Today, I needed to see that flag half-mast
My grief begged for a symbol against the bombast

And yet the flag waved, full staff, as if nothing and no one mattered
And no one has said a word
Next page