"drawbridge" poems
1.
Inhaling poison like it’s a sweet spring breeze,
an antidote to the pounding heart and aching stomach empty of comfort or substance
Meeting with pavement in a tiger’s crouch
fingers float toward parted lips
awaiting the taste of relief in the form of smouldering leaves.
2.
One tentative epidermis approaches another
tendons and ligaments straining, aching for contact
attempting nonchalance in the lamplight privacy of early morning,
cocking ears to detect voyeuristic insomniacs
who would disturb the disorderly expressions of early experimentation.
3.
White lady dusting the concrete path, sterile and unconfined
laid new before careful feet making their way to shiny metal boxes
bundled in seasonal expectations they trudge through stardust
on their way to blood borne obligations,
leaving behind careless tracks in ****** flesh
4.
Blazing sun presses down on shoulders hunched behind compact table tops
peddling penny prologues to unabashed strangers
bartering unwanted pocket change for rejected trinkets
haggling over half-dried finger paints and unfinished chess sets
rescuing garish afghans from dusty closeted life.
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 7:33 PM UTC
For a moment, right now, pretend that forgiveness will never feel like taking a bet. That the phrase, "I love you," Is not just another form of turrets. Pretend that you've got a pocket heavy with change and you walk like a wishing well wind-chime. And you've got a nickel in there for every time you cried for something. And your chance to change is as easy as flicking your thumb. Launching a coin into a pool of water. Pretend that you've got a penny melted and molded from the iron in your blood. Pretend that that wish will come true. Pretend that I just put mine down on a bet on you. Double or nothing, because ********* kid, to me, you mean something. And I don't mean any big life success. This is deathbed memories type **** Who was there when it mattered type **** Pizza on the car hood when the mice are asleep in the oven and the birds have nested in the old stove burners. Finding safety in a hammock held up by the corners of a mouth. Warmth in arms when you realized how cold it was actually going to be down south. For a moment right now pretend. That you've got a friend with a body made of drawbridge and hands strong enough to close it when you need to. Eyes like a moat. A blanket quilted from your lover's muscles. For a moment right now pretend that that friend isn't me. It's you. Forget God. Forget finding forgiveness and love there. On the inside that friend is you. Making penny bets like a Philippino woman in the smoking section of a casino. Double or nothing. 50/50. Pretend now that I'll be there too. Tossing coins in a well. Wishing only the best for you.
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 9:06 PM UTC
I'm sick of sad teenage girls
crying out
"I've been used"
"I've been had"
"He lied"
"I was never loved"
Fear not sad teenage girls
it is clear what happened
the castle you keep your heart in was stormed
and
that tiny little princess that knew no evil
lowered her drawbridge
So, may I say?
Let it go
Mistakes will be made
That little princess can still grow
because she now knows
some are evil
dastardly
deceptive
all for the lowering of that drawbridge
Gard that castle well sad teenage girl
and never again will you know the selfish deeds
of some "Prince Charming" mounted on a less than noble steed
the sad will fade and trust can be fostered
just make sure he isn't an imposter
accept the past
because life is more than your love last
move onward
smile
Or, he might pass by
as if he were just another guy
So I say to you sad teenage girls
This too shall pass
in the meantime,
take your
melodramatic
self-absorbed
excuses
and toss them away
move onward to bigger and better things
because you are beautiful
strong and empowered
move on teenage girl
concern yourself with life
so later
if you choose to be a wife
she will not have to feel
like that sad teenage girl
lowering her drawbridge
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 9:23 AM UTC
It is my legs
My shopping bag
my companion
My float,
The two oars
My extended arms
Parting the water
In my little rowing boat.
We get there eventually
There are complaints on the way
But we ignore those and soldier on
Loweing the drawbridge in the moat.
Tricky I grant you, in your best frock
No man to help, just me, and my pal.
Keep calm, our motto, or we do rock.
Frothy waters jet up our way
Every now and then
It is like the rivers lets rip
Pulls out its cork to say "when"
Turbulance, oh yes, it is a scary time
The boat behaves like it's on the Irish Sea
Stiff talkings to and patience then it is fine.
We sail to the bank oh its a stone throw away
We disembark like a liner on the ocean
I tie it up to the nearest tree
Walk off through the wood in time for tea.
Piling the two carrier bags on board
It is chocs away into the moat
Back to the castle we go, my home,
To rest, me and my little rowing boat.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:06 AM UTC
I got me a Kangaroo
Lives way down in my pants
He seldom sits quiet
He'd rather get up and dance.
He goes Bo-ing! Boing! Boing!
I can't get him stopped
He's always on the go
Yea! he's always on the hop.
II
Well, he ain't no Dodo
He sure knows how to pogo
Even when I say no! no!
He keeps on on the go! go!
(Bit of a yo-yo)
And when he's full of vim
There's no catching him
I only hope my pants hold out
And he don't pop out.
III
Now how can I put forward
My Best face
When I got him down there
Bouncing all over the place.
He's up, then he's down
Then he's back up again
Up and down all day
Like a demented drawbridge.
IV
He goes Bo-ing! Boing! Boing!
And I go Down! Down! Down!
Whoa-aa Boy!
I go one way
While he goes the other
Man! he's tearing me asunder
I'm every which way.
My mind full of insecurities & fears
And my Kangaroo down there
He's looking up at me saying
What the hell are you doing up there.
V
O! what am I going to do
With my wild Kangaroo,
What am I going to do !!!
What! Get him a didgeridoo ???
(A didgeri-didgeri-doo!)
Have you got a Kangaroo
Down in your pants ?
"Ooooo! Whoo!" sang the girls
"yes! we Dooo Whooo!!!"
What! Wait a minute, you mean...
You mean girls, they got Kangaroos too !!!
Jun 9, 2019
Jun 9, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
Allow me to show myself to you
Before you paint a picture of me without a reference
Let me show you what beauty looks like
Below the surface of the skin
I’ll show you the flowers in my mind
They’re so vibrant you’ll think it’s magic
If you tried to recreate them, you’d never be able to find a shade that matches just right
Some of these flowers might be wilted, but they’re still growing
I try to be like them
I’ll walk with you
Down the spiraling staircase, from the garden of my mind
We’ll walk among bookcases filled with my thoughts
In a giant library of ideas
My mind is a castle
With thick walls
And moats deeper than your imagination
The drawbridge is almost always closed
If you see it open, you know that’s one of the good days
My castle is built of similes and metaphors so strong
They could shatter a window better than any rock ever could
I use diction as bricks
I built this castle myself out of literary devices and pure magic
My hypothetical brain castle is full of more secrets than you might think
There are trap doors down every hallway
Hidden rooms full of memories i like to keep to myself
My castle has a dungeon
I like to lock away the things I don’t want to think about
There are doors that don’t open, in my castle
Keys i lost a long time ago
When i lose another key, it’s called “forgetting”
Usually I don’t even notice
There are vines creeping up the side of my castle
Things that shouldn’t be there, but they won’t go away
Later, you’ll realize they made it more beautiful
Sometimes, I mistake the castle for a prison
I forget that these walls are meant to protect me, not keep me sealed away
My castle looks more like a cell, than a home
I feel lost among in my library of ideas
The books full of my thoughts seem to be written in a language i do not recognize
I fall down trap doors i forget are there, and i mistake the flowers as weeds
My castle looks more like a cell, than a home
And all I want is to escape my own mind
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 1:05 PM UTC
Open the magic fridge
and you'll see a magic bridge.
After you walk pass the magic bridge
You'll see a magic blue skybridge in front of you
Look at the magic blue skybridge
There's a woman making porridge in a magic ***
After, you ate the porridge
It will take you to a sweet berry tree
Say a magic word to the sweet berry tree
Berry tree, Berry tree
What a sweet berry tree you are
Please take me to a castle with a
drawbridge
You are now walking into a magically enchanted castle with drawbridge.
Feb 6, 2021
Feb 6, 2021 at 9:00 AM UTC
*He built me an empire
on a gargantuan chateau
There, you'll see me write
under the Northern lights
stars hover in sight
as the ghostly glow of
green in the east over
the peak of the mountain sky
began to dance this one winter night
The man of my history
is nowhere in sight
he could rule the earth
but I was left in a tower
of one window
with a candle lamp on my side
The blow of snow coming from
my window sends shiver
down my spine
It's cold and empty
there's no more guards
standing on the portcullis,
the drawbridge wasnt closed
for years
and the moat is starting to freeze
Everything is dead,
only my heart is alive
waiting for the king
to find his way back from
a journey that made him lost
his home, people
and once he called a queen*
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 3:38 PM UTC
the meaning of an apology:
echoes of a thousand I’m Sorry’s;
the silence of deceit, its awful slink;
the humbled hope to atone,
to pay amends where due,
to mend the maimed,
and trust renew.
forgiveness is a sad word:
it bears the scar of a wound;
to forgive is to hope with hurt.
it is to trust in tide to wash ashore;
for in lack of trust and hope,
it is noble to sink with the ship.
it is bolder yet to hop asea,
and let tide be guide.
the parable of the builders:
the wiser built his house on rock,
the rain came down,
the floods came,
the winds blew,
and beat on that house;
and it did not fall,
for it was founded on a rock
the foolish built his on sand,
the rain came down,
the floods came,
the winds blew,
and beat on that house;
and it fell — and great was its fall.
determination's downfall;
for, is a house still not a house
despite its foundation?
fortune's fortress looms;
our sandcastle holdfasts hampered in comparison,
but home is neither keep nor battlement,
neither moat nor bailey,
neither portcullis nor drawbridge;
home is where you touch the ground,
where you choose to grow...
the rain will retain its hiss;
but the rain is still the rain,
the floods remain the floods,
and the wind is just the wind.
~ Inori
Sep 6, 2021
Sep 6, 2021 at 7:14 PM UTC
how odd, to be a woman and a girl
to wear the dresses but concern about cleavage
more than meets the eye: because.
and so we waddle for the men –
twisting straps, my petticoat drawbridge
i am over-aware of myself: know the pulse and
when to tug draperies from ‘part thighs
they only see what i am okay with,
which does not include exhaling.
i am like a drum, drumbeat
i punch my body until the purple softens
and it sounds beautiful, but incomprehensible:
me, this woman-girl and child cheeks
placed upon petals that flap
with attention, not the old storm breezes –
every april shower molded me into a flower
i rise above each season, gay spectacle
the men that believe hurricanes so enigmatic
must lust me for such a reason –
i have been through many in girlhood
that i bleed one as a woman.
because of word infidelities, the muse
april said that i am only as big as my body
and i grew, grew, grew
until my stem became caught
to where it grew no longer, a woman-child
who took the wind like salad dressing.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 5:36 PM UTC
Does part of your confusion?
Arise from the contusion?
Of that kiss so lovingly wrapped inside a fist?
Why hold back?
What’s pain?
Just black
A void
In which to switch!
We both know that you can’t touch me
In the fortress of my mind
For only I control the drawbridge
Vermin’s
More than often blind
squeak
squeak
squeak
*“Please let me in.
I have some wares to sell.
I’ll cross your palm with silver.
No secrets will I tell”*
Little mouse
Go away
Go back where you belong
We all know the germs you carry
We all know that they are wrong
YOU
Tout yourself as honest
YOU
Tout yourself as pure
But just beneath the surface
In the sewers
**YOU
DO LURE**
Lure the unsuspecting
Lure the barely formed
Punting pretence of perfection
Salivating salacious scorn
*“But … please Miss.
Hear me out.
You have me oh so wrong.
I'm just like all the other Joes.
Lost and all alone.
The mistake that I made was in telling you.
Thoughts inside my head.
On reflection.
Now.
I realise.
They were better off not said”*
Little louse
It is too late
For your motives are plain to see
Time to move on
Time to move out
Time to live out your sick fantasies ...
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 5:03 AM UTC
Antihero
An old stone built tower stands above all on the skyline;
The curves of its body twisting spiral’s in the air.
The moon shines around its peak, which reaches up so very high.
It is surrounded by a castle keep,
That is an image of a burnt out nightmare.
The castle walls are in pieces, like its people,
Cannon fodder their game.
The drawbridge has fallen, but the iron gate still remains.
The shadows in the night speak of a desire to be the enemy within.
The voices of the fallen spit out their final endless scream’s.
The sound of war is upon the castle door.
No more escape for its inhabitants,
Apart from those who are fleeing through the century old tunnel.
The secret passage to a way away from all the savage.
The army continues to do battle, at the top of ladders and ramparts.
All have been affected by this battle’s damage.
The sorcerer of this cursed land,
Stands in the furthest, most high room,
Shooting lightning at the wall tops as the chaos reigns below,
Where all is doom
And in a final decisive action,
The sorcerer reads from his big black book;
The ground shakes, the fire falls and all enemy are shook
And thrown from their steeds in front of the castle gate.
In pieces they bleed and from the tops of the castle walls,
Those who are falling will never be saved.
They crash to the floor and become no more.
The sorcerer falls to his knees, exhausted of power,
But he has put an end to this midnight war.
No protection was given by the enemies armour.
Their swords and shields crashed loudly as they hit the ground.
The enemy is no longer the invading warrior;
They are all running in fear and their last sounds are all dying out.
As the sorcerer takes the final step down from his twisted tower,
He pushes open the thick oak wooden door.
As he walks out into the open air courtyard his face is a glower;
No living enemy can be seen, because the enemy are no more.
His men are all cheering and shouting his name,
But the sorcerer is not laughing with them, for he has a plan.
He tells them this morrow they will all fight again,
So they must all prepare to once more stand.
Some voices of discontent whisper within the ranks;
Some of them openly criticize his view.
As he creates a ball of flame that hovers above the palm of his hand,
They all realize he has been their antihero
And he could be their demise too…if he chooses to.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 8:51 PM UTC
Allow me to show myself to you
Before you paint a picture of me without a reference
Let me show you what beauty looks like
Below the surface of the skin
I’ll show you the flowers in my mind
They’re so vibrant you’ll think it’s magic
If you tried to recreate them, you’d never be able to find a shade that matches just right
Some of these flowers might be wilted, but they’re still growing
I try to be like them
I’ll walk with you
Down the spiraling staircase, from the garden of my mind
We’ll walk among bookcases filled with my thoughts
In a giant library of ideas
My mind is a castle
With thick walls
And moats deeper than your imagination
The drawbridge is almost always closed
If you see it open, you know that’s one of the good days
My castle is built of similes and metaphors so strong
They could shatter a window better than any rock ever could
I use diction as bricks
I built this castle myself out of literary devices and pure magic
My hypothetical brain castle is full of more secrets than you might think
There are trap doors down every hallway
Hidden rooms full of memories i like to keep to myself
My castle has a dungeon
I like to lock away the things I don’t want to think about
There are doors that don’t open, in my castle
Keys i lost a long time ago
When i lose another key, it’s called “forgetting”
Usually I don’t even notice
There are vines creeping up the side of my castle
Things that shouldn’t be there, but they won’t go away
Later, you’ll realize they made it more beautiful
Sometimes, I mistake the castle for a prison
I forget that these walls are meant to protect me, not keep me sealed away
My castle looks more like a cell, than a home
I feel lost among in my library of ideas
The books full of my thoughts seem to be written in a language i do not recognize
I fall down trap doors i forget are there, and i mistake the flowers as weeds
My castle looks more like a cell, than a home
And all I want is to escape my own mind
Feb 15, 2017
Feb 15, 2017 at 1:04 PM UTC
On the banks of the Sentinel River
A man locals knew as ‘The Boss’
Worked the controls of the drawbridge
Directing the through-trains across
The boss man was cheerful and helpful
Always whistling or singing a song
His gaze was both twinkling and piercing
His handshake both friendly and strong
His daily routine at the river
Saw the bridge back and forth from the edge
So the ships could pass freely beside it
As he watched from his post on the ledge
And then when a train neared the river
He remotely connected the link
Exact in the duties he carried
Of protecting the train from the drink
On the banks of the Sentinel River
A man locals knew as ‘The Boss’
Worked the controls of the drawbridge
Directing the through-trains across
The boss man was cheerful and helpful
Always whistling or singing a song
His gaze was both twinkling and piercing
His handshake both friendly and strong
His daily routine at the river
Saw the bridge back and forth from the edge
So the ships could pass freely beside it
As he watched from his post on the ledge
And then when a train neared the river
He remotely connected the link
Exact in the duties he carried
Of protecting the train from the drink
He held onto that train-saving lever
With a ruthless and desperate hold
‘Father?’ he heard from the drawbridge
The blood in his veins running cold
‘Junior?’ he yelled through the downpour
‘You must run son, like never before!’
But the warning he shouted to save him
Was drowned out by the oncoming roar
To go rescue his son on the drawbridge
Would never leave time to get back
To re-lock in the hand-governed lever
To save those in the train on the track
But to barter a life of perfection
In exchange for this train full of fools
Was too much to expect of a father
It was heartless and mean; it was cruel!
But a train full of people would perish
If he opted the life of his son
Two hundred and forty-nine humans
As compared to the loss of just one!
He could picture his son by the window
Looking out at the lights of the train
May I go to the bridge to meet Father?
To walk him back home, in the rain.
His firstborn was gentle and thoughtful
Compliant no matter the task
Most eager and willing to please him
Obeying whatever was asked
He took one last second to ponder
But his conscience, it already knew
He held tight to that hand-governed lever
And let the Northwestern roll through
Not a soul on the train saw his body
As it fell to its watery grave
Not a soul on the train heard his father
Mourn the son that he’d wanted to save
If you can imagine this father
Then think of our Father above
And we fools here on earth that He rescued
Done all in the name of His love!
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC
They met
When but sixteen,
She called herself
His ****** Queen,*
And he her ****** King.*
Thus they remained
Til seventeen,
When his lowered drawbridge
Breached the moat,
And for forty years
He paddled her boat.
But coldness grew,
The ice-palace too,
She was an Ice Queen,
His armor tarnished,
His sword was sheathed,
The Lady and her King
Severed bonds,
Relinquished rings
And set new realms and dreams.
He's a western-style S.O.,
He didn't know
Cowgirls rode backwards.
He's now a sexagenarian,
And the Ice-Palace,
A planetarium.
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
Hanging her head into depths of an oubliette,
the toilet bowl grieves inside muddied ruin.
An early avocado and piles of bile simmer
inside porcelain wastelands. Her face, a dark fillet,
fat like a flea questing on skin. Fingers joust
her drawbridge mouth. Cavaliers cannot rescue.
Tiny talons scratch the back of her throat,
distant organs heaving during the battle
of the bulge. Nothing tastes as good as thin feels.
She tastes it twice. Flecks of spit singe cheeks
like undersink chemicals. Her imperial
belly wails, a damsel distressed.
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
intricate patterns
modest levels
oh humble love
oh so humble
the offering is made
the small construction
of this castle
and I'm
drowning
in the mote
why must
the drawbridge
close?
always
I am better swimming
off into
cool nothingness
a little bee hermit
I am raising
my own hive
comb
by
comb
quietly away
wings flutter
unnoticed
my hope
Geino Äotsch
Jan 30, 2014
Jan 30, 2014 at 4:49 PM UTC
The gnomes sang and danced while the faeries all pranced
and the elfins got drunk by the fire
The pixies hummed tunes and got ****** on mushrooms
I can't remember what happened to the choir.
Sethark the lord of the dark was roused from his sleep by the din
the djinn in the lamp though he at first appeared camp
wished up the drawbridge and pulled in the ramp.
This gathering, like babies were safe in the glades
while Sethark from Hades was sharpening the blades.
But it all fizzled out when Sethark gave a shout
to a beautifully jewelled little lady
and they tarried away somewhere deep in the hay
and the result was a devilish imp of a baby.
The party goes on though the pixies have gone
because too many mushrooms had doomed them
and now they're doomed to the glens
banished from the fens
No longer to hum or strum on guitars
nor sing sweet melodies to the brightest of stars
sad tales are told by old faeries and gnomes
of pixies evicted from family homes
but they know in their bones that it should have been them in the glen
but say nothing of this thing
or bad luck they will bring on you.
The story that's told is quite true
Believe if you wish
and if you wish it
it's true.
May 22, 2013
May 22, 2013 at 7:21 AM UTC
i.
the sun burns the grass and the ferns,
they melt under a bright sky,
roughening, like the tongue of a cat,
the grass with its brown sandpapers.
ii.
the flowers pray for me and my
watering can, on a dirt track
the water splashes and the earth
drinks deep, the trees shiver
at the thought of water, their
branches sway, this is to dance -
leaves with patterns scattering -
leafy shade and pools of bright
sun.
iii.
drawn out of the air a drawbridge
of breeze raising its portcullis and
suddenly the heat is bearable,
shadows and sun like a patchwork
quilt.
iv.
we wait for summer, tender-eyed,
smouldering in the heat, the trees
like colossal statues of bronze
stretching branches beneath the canopy
of a green sea in a dream spun
from ebony.
v.
i kiss you, grazed by this
orient sun, my heart
seeking yours, my
legs longing for your legs,
my limbs threading
with yours
while summer
sings of her forgotten
ghosts.
Jul 8, 2018
Jul 8, 2018 at 1:35 PM UTC
.
Raising his hand
moving from the desk
as spitballs fly
and notes are passed
*Chasing his tale
in make believe endings
with a princess in pink
draped on his arm*
snickers and snorts bellow
his train of thought
traveling off track temporarily,
temporarily
*Dancing at midnight
drifting the seasons
on a feather boa mattress
pearlescent skin and fingers*
silence gathers around
heavy breaths float
eyes squint, trying to focus
not his, theirs
*Drawbridge openings explored
present tense heartbeats
sundown desires drip
saturating the scabbard*
Homework is sidelined
jealous boys, intrigued girls
as curiosity peaks and biology
is not just a subject anymore
*at the front of the classroom
writing in black chalk
so the rest of the class
cannot see*
but he can
oh he can
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 11:28 AM UTC
Mr Finn
was talking
history
Saxon stuff
battlements
and castles
listening
I recalled
the toy fort
that I got
for my 6th
birthday gift
with coloured
lead soldiers
some with swords
some with bows
and arrows
and after
the school day
on the way
home I asked
Janice if
she'd like to
see my fort
you've a fort?
a real fort?
she asked me
as we walked
together
along St
George's Road
it's a toy
fort I got
for my 6th
birthday gift
has it got
a drawbridge?
sure it has
and towers?
5 if you
count the one
over the
drawbridge I
informed her
I'd love to
see your fort
she said so
I took her
to the flat
where I lived
and showed her
the toy fort
and soldiers
and we sat
on the floor
and my mum
brought us drinks
of Tizer
and biscuits
and Janice
said to me
maybe you'd
like to see
my dollies
at my place
Gran likes you
then we can
have a tea
party with
my dollies
I liked her
but going
to a doll's
tea party
how could a
young boy live
that one down
if the boys
on the block
found that out
so I said
maybe one
day I might
when there's not
a moon out
in the night.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:28 AM UTC
Round and round we go, two and thrice in throw,
Whilst hand in hand in fairy land.
We dance and prance around the rockpool,
Until the last one cannot stand.
I lay down in that busy rockpool and finally open my heart unto the floods,
This once impregnable fortress finally lowers its rusted and seized port cullis one last time.
With the moss of ages and the barnacles uprooted and torn away it lowers its decaying drawbridge,
To let the tide wash in and carry out on its ebb, all of its ache, sadness and regrets far out into the vastness of the ocean.
The soul and spirit is empty you see,
The heart has now been opened for the waves and tides.
There is no fire nor fuel left in the furnace,
Not even a dying ember nor spark, but only a withered rose stem which finally succumbed to the dark..
All that resides left in incredible depths, Is fine *** ash,
Only good for shovelling up and scattering on the fields to maybe start again.
And those vines of that crop which fed once in abundance will grow strong, tall, fine and straight like youthful men,
Feeding off of the nourishment of past memories.
In time when these mighty vines look back to their roots,
Their hearts will ache to find their mighty benefactor.
Once again they will return to that ancestral home,
To *** some ash and plant a striking red rose in that tended bed.
Without their knowing a buried ember disturbed is glowing,
and forgotten roots, soon shoot and expand.
To once again become the source of wisdom, the all knowing,
Soon to bring life back to this long lost forgotten land.
Aug 24, 2018
Aug 24, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
Introductions are never easy.
Mousy boy.
Chains.
Ankles shackled.
Lungs rattle, relentless battle.
Loose phlegm, filling falling castles.
Under no pretense.
Moat; a barrier of defense.
Where voice is a drawbridge
Oscillating flow.
Open bandage.
Darkest window.
May 14, 2014
May 14, 2014 at 8:59 PM UTC
To watch from below,
life expanding in every direction.
I walk down a path of stone and soil,
placid in comparison to the trees around me.
I sit upon a stump, the wood colored with
darkened stains like abstract art of the gods.
I star out at the picture,
unbroken,
and at its base, so vast, many arms
a willow;
wrapped and woven around its trunk would not
touch on either side.
Beyond the old willow, far distance mountains
dressed decidedly as lingering fog, lay cluttered in powdered blue peaks along the horizon.
I stood up, and approached the old
drawbridge, the metal rusted red on blue
railings. I smiled up at this miracle, where the
hands of Man and Mother Nature clasp
in an embrace of grace and beauty,
and passed beneath it.
It was then I came upon the cliff,
which drew up in a boast and dropped in a dare.
The ferns, in their envy, stretched to reach as high
as the speckled rocks that towered against a
painted, sunset sky.
I pressed my toes to the cut and shrapnel of the
cliff, and descended, a leap if faith. For it is said, 'When a man jumps from a cliff, he could fall...or he could fly.'
Aug 31, 2013
Aug 31, 2013 at 11:13 PM UTC