"clowds" poems
I see a rosy sunset-view,
Turning slowly to night, so blue.
Day-sounds turn into that of Night,
Sunlight replaced by neon-light.
In the air there is a summer-breeze,
Unlocking many memories.
Everywhere I look, I see smiles,
People dressed in different styles.
Beautiful faces on bright screens,
Displaying stars, products and scenes.
I stare into the mist of love,
To the glowing faces above.
I hear the echoes of crowds,
Passing by like some languid clowds.
I walk around within these places,
And encountering many faces.
Someone is sunken in their phone,
Smiling, while standing all alone.
I see the city's blood; racing cars,
Shooting off like glittering stars.
So many people meet and greet,
On every corner of this street.
There is no time to say hello,
While everyone is quick to go.
Would one of them have time for me?
And are their hearts open to see?
I guess not; let's keep them in my dreams,
Where they're adorned with silver-gleams.
It does not really matter much;
I can see the trace of their touch.
Jun 15, 2022
Jun 15, 2022 at 8:02 AM UTC
be careful when you give in
you'll know when you've lost
your best ideas will be to blame
from what she said he said to each other
pulling in bogus clowds of affection
with notions of mixed emotions
when lust, turns mostly to love
Nov 18, 2012
Nov 18, 2012 at 12:57 PM UTC
In the midst of the pink clowds above, two cowboys appeared. One came down from his horse and cocked his gun and the other came towards me in great force. I couldn't scream, I couldn't run as the cowboy's hand reached out and grabbed me, only catching sight of his brown leather glove.
They took me to another place and dropped me in the river, leaving me wet and cold, stranded on the rocks to shiver. Alongside me a dead woman lay facedown. Her green dress torn from bottom up, black hair scattered amongst the water, her skin was blue and gray. Presumably she had drown as the waves carried her away.
Looking ahead, the Native Americans walked the trail. The tribe followed behind their cloaked chief as he sang and pounded the drum. Their voices sang with hope but their faces were so glum. I watched as they trotted and slipped on the remaining snow. They were in a rush. To where? I do not know.
To the left of me the dead woman stood. She was a corpse! Her face rotten and filled with rage, her fist clenched and ready to charge like a bull released from a cage. Her eyes were black, teeth yellow, her hair was wet and stuck to her jaw. She raised her hand and struck me, that was the last I ever saw.
Mar 20, 2020
Mar 20, 2020 at 10:34 PM UTC