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MrRain Mar 20
My giant, my giant, close your tired eyes.
Dance in your dream world, until the sunrise.
My giant, my giant, soften your breath.
Let the calm night fill your body with strength.

Even the ants, now lay in their beds.
Queen seals all gates, while slumber slowly spreads.
Watch falling leaf, dew droplet descend.
Hugging the meadow, as today comes to end.

Deep in your head, there's a lake full of tears.
From all joy, all sorrow, from all of your years.
But deep in your mind, there's a fortress of strafe.
That keeps the lake still, that keeps the lake safe.

Deep in your chest, is a prison of past.
Made out of promises, you couldn’t make last.
But deep in your heart, are gemstones and coal.
There all of your sinners, will go for parole.

My giant, my giant, the river still flows.
Bud wind that brings worries - no longer blows.
My giant, my giant, moonflowers bloom.
They'll watch over giants, here inside your room.

Birds do not bicker; the hill is at peace.
Willows are drowsy, all stars in one piece.
Fireflies flicker, like your tired eyes.
So set your stress free - just until the sunrise.
An ocean splashed the sky;
clouds little boats for angels to
reel in stars upon will; their gills
glow for human eyes to scope-out
and connect the dots, one by one.

The moon a forest for the alien
gophers; burrowing amongst its
craters, feasting on passing comets,
and yet; we fail to see.

A rainbow, for the giants after their
grievances, sprout a smile on
mile-long faces, as the days got harder
to stay sunny.

Drear for the shadows, the little
rats of the night, hissing at morn
and hurting, shrinking as
golden lasers black-
All feedback is appreciated!
English Jam May 2018
Boredom on a Sunday is inescapable
I try to hide it behind playing my musical instrument
Trumpeting with my trumpet - blowing my own horn -
I'm praying no one interprets that last sentence as an innuendo
Anyway, I'm nodding off, signing out of reality
The world goes hazy in a second
And I'm ****** into the vortex of a dream

Weird how when a dream begins, we immediately understand the situation
For this scene, I'm spewing blood from my spleen like a bottle of sauce squeezed too hard
It stains the leather of my vehicle
My foot is pressing the pedal to the floor, and the speedometer is twinged in half from all the pressure
The monolith of a highway I'm speeding on shakes as though giants stomp upon it
And the wail of a siren drives me into a frenzy as I try to escape the inevitable
Their polychromatic lights dance at the edges of my eyes, spurring rhythm into action
Even though they must be aeons behind, my heart melodramatically pumps in my chest as though the police are in the backseat
Blood bursting through my temple, thoughts wheezing by like someone's let go of hundreds of balloons  
Up ahead, the road twists itself into a knot of nothingness
My hands are wrapped around the steering wheel so tightly, I fear I might never be able to release them
It's a slight movement: right hand goes down, left goes up, but it kicks the vehicle sideways
My body slams into the car with a satisfying crunch and my mind spirals to spaghetti strands
Oddly enough, the world becomes rinsed with blue wash and I'm underwater

My train of thought becomes peaceful, melodic
I float about, running on the inverse of the waves
Here, even a scream is joyous as it sounds all bubbly and childish
Suddenly, a red streak runs across the ocean, chilling me to the bone and erasing all my bubbles
The sea becomes glittered with red and blue streaks, a warning
Bullets stab at my spleen, reminding me of the pain that was, and still is
And my body gears into a full 360, concluding my return to the real world
Or is it the dream world?
Oh well
Either way, I'm back in my car
Carelessly freefalling from nowhere
Weapons, glass, blood droplets, pocket change, pedestrians...all breeze around slowly
Pleading with me to wake up
Then

Everything crumbles, and I smack my **** head against the window, splattering my brains everywhere
My car flew from the sudden turn and I crashed, I think
Now I lay, grasping onto consciousness while pedagogues staple me to the ground
The Lawman towers over me, grinning madly at my defeat
The most barbaric insult, however, comes from the radio, still magically working
"I fought the law and the law won," The Clash idly sing
One of my favourite songs turned into dark irony
The last I remember before blacking out is the scarlet and marine lights clashing forevermore

When I wake up, I'm face-down on the stony and icy floor
The cold burns me enough to wake me from la la land
The iron grip of the handcuffs feels very real
Words are forced into my head, not by my own design, but sort of like they've been placed there
An argument as to whether existence has a meaning is taking place in my head, and I can't stop it
Sort of like how in a dream, you can't control your thoughts or actions
Wait
This is still a dream, right?
Right?
Joanna 2d
I spy with my little eyes giants in the land.

I spy with my little eyes, one who is sent to
restore the captive to his inheritance.

I spy with my little eyes to many who hold
nothing close.

I spy with my little eyes a gateway to peace
within and the power to be still.  

I spy with my little eyes the release to live
with hope renewed again.

I spy with my little eyes, one who is loved,
and therein find life's thrill.

I spy with my little eyes the giants disappear,
to reveal a hidden rose.
Things are not always what they seem. Sometimes with one step we change it all. Or not!
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!

Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up  
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!

To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!

The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,  
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!

Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.  
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!
David May 19
Her tears;
only watered
his ego.

His ego;
was maniacal
and never full.

Hence;
their saharan
relationship withered with no room to grow.

Sobbing;
once again with head is hands,
her future she is left to mull.



written by me... ..
We are all animals of a baser kind
elementary creatures, reveling in our complexity
an assembly of simple machines, each playing part
in an inseparable chorus of flesh and ego

Boastful beings, claiming we are contrived by gods
fashioned from particles, or the dust of dead giants
though truly, we are merely creations of vanity and chance
the eyes of a universe looking back upon itself in awe

How grand and vain, this cosmic mirror!
****** upon eyes that only stare in wonder
a repost. thank you
Skaidrum Mar 2016
...

"This is a big dream, it may eat you up."
I do not flinch in the face of chaos.


(Forecasters)
I counted as seven gods
ascended the iodine skyline.
We all call them "misfortune in the flesh."
They waltz in pairs but the very last is a composer;
Seven deities promised the sun would catch scarlet fever.
We danced to the music to summon fate and disorder,
building a coffin in the middle of hungry waters,
The sun is our noble sacrifice in ruby robes;
So lets just hope the sea was starving for fire.

(Brew)
Metal ghosts slip among the sky
and lock like iron gates to form an army of grey.
The weight of sober clouds are intoxicated with turmoil,
Unbalanced weight, scales faltering, "no sudden moves please"
Obsidian giants collect the welkin until it boils over
the edges, the pillars, the cage
Why does the dark taste sweeter?

(Beautiful downfall)
The raindrops are ashamed
of the bitter liars we're all becoming;
We've succumbed to narcolepsy by the hand of water;
within the jaws of hurricanes we were consumed,
teeth formed by the angry fingers of the wind
thunder rejoicing as the land buckles down,
rain feasting on the earth in ecstasy
hail and rain are merciless foes
lightning still swinging,
morbidly screeching
chaotic smile,
a sword,
a single,
a cut.

Yes,
I am the one
(☔)
who fed the sky
my name.
...

I guess my only company that night
was the black umbrella.
It's kindness was it's very own ******,
and I have always known better.

© Copywrite Skaidrum
Vicki Kralapp Aug 2018
Within a world of azure blue,
the mantas glide with angel wings,
and fly on winds of ocean waves,
inside their realm of mystery.

Like ancient beings from the deep,
they flash and shimmer in our light,
with other-worldly mammoth forms;
cephalic fins and flattened frames.

These gentle giants of the night,
draw fishes from the briny deep,
their vivid forms flash to and fro,
feed on the banquet of the sea.

They dance balletic in our lights;
exquisite, rings and summersaults,
with bubbles lit to guide their path,
they glide just past our mortal reach.

These stunning marvels of the deep,
are but a finite sampling,
of what our planet offers up,
far past our wild imaginings.
All poems are copy written and soul property of Vicki Kralapp.
ryn Sep 2014
Light train chugging, working to outrun
Over exerting, pulling along your freight
Sand is running out under the diminishing sun
Fastidiously you tug on your enormous weight

Segmented equal in seven hulking proportions
Weaving between sleeping rocky giants
Assertion in your drive gifted from the high heavens
Borne of light your cargo load of tenants

Silver blurred rays glinting back as reply
As you power your way through
Defying seconds, before the last rays should die
Against odds, delivering what is due

Questing to alleviate my inflicted darkness
Spear of brilliance slicing through my mind
Illuminating the farthest and tiniest of crevices
Nook and crannies that willed me blind

Careful manoeuvring to keep your balance
Through scenic views fraught with treachery
Furiously working to keep your cadence
Hopeful of unloading the load you carry

What lies dormant in that cargo of yours?
What sleeps easy within those boxcars?
What stokes the fire to diligently run your course?
What promises you bear, travelling near and far?

Bales of hope and crates of strength
Supplies of kindness and self-worth
Reside within your immense length
Intact and lay quiet within your formidable girth

Reliant on the light that fuels and feeds
Your axles seem tireless guiding forth those wheels
Thundering over land with the power of a thousand steeds
Armed to your teeth with alloys and steels

Expelling grit and dirt as you pummelled across
Grey-white fumes, shoot up to the sky
Flag flogged by wind, billow and toss
Blaring your whistle as you race on by

Propelling forward, horizon up ahead
There it is...in all its tenebrous glory
Darkened locomotive seething mad with dread
Brace for the clash and the loads the two carry
See "Doom Train"
See "Collision Course"
Smoke Scribe Feb 2015
can't imagine it ranks high up
on any list of any deity,
*** and God ******,
probably don't make the cut,
on a relative basis,
but ya never know...

looked around,
couldn't be found
any mention of who he roots for,
or if it's ok to ask for intervention


but
if you ******...
if you behead...
claiming with perfect
human vanity
his name as your own
for justification
in ignoring
Thou Shall Not ****,
know this

you're a commandment breaker,
having taken god's name in vain,
vain like vanity,
the sin unique to only humans

we cannot divine the divine,
sure wish it was my NY Giants
were today bowl-occupied,
why he chooses me to suffer
someday will surely be explained
or not

but you murderers,
easy rest assured,
taking his name in vain,
you won't be forgotten,
cause and effect
spelled out clearly


*“the LORD will not hold him guiltless
who takes his name in vain
Trcfour Sep 2014
A man he wrote the book
A book for all and none
About a life spent leaning
Leaning towards the sun

In search of all - a greatness 
His life a distant run
A battle for a giant
He reaches for the sun

On a field of giants
Merely flesh and blood
He disregards the mismatch
And stretches for the sun

Life the fiercest battle
A war that’s never won
Commits his life to reaching
Reaching for the sun

He asks the aged pastor    
Disillusioned as the nun
Confides in self & marches on
Onward towards the sun

Saw life and fortune a lady
Took a chance with love
Traded breast and beauty
Traded it for the sun

His only life - a sacrifice
A gamble for a goal
With faith & strength he pushes on
He strains his empty soul

Tried to be a good man
Emulates Christ the son
Grounded broken wings he *****
Tragically towards the sun

To advance the course of history
Alexander, Caesar, the ***
A martyr for the western world
He reaches for the sun

To hold the mighty leviathan
With great to catch a cod
Born with a head of a  *******
He aspires to be a god

And oh his quest does beckon
Failure certain done
What else can he do
He reaches for the sun

To god he clings his anchor
Sworn service to God and Son
Hopelessly he learns
Leaning towards the son
Drafted September 1990
Umi Apr 2018
Constallations, a septette for shining stars
Seven in number, aline like no other, a fusion sign in melting white,
Caught in stellar evolution in the arts of the nuclear, they expand,
Red giants, the final step in their life, before they either blow the layer off gently tossing it into the depth of space, or they go out with a bang
The fall of these great stars, gifting light which is likely to grow life,
A nova which drags their orbital children to the deepest abyss releasing enough energy for a heavenly meltdown breaking hell loose
Stars, standing upon the pillars of creaton planted in there like trees,
Polaris, burn bright in white till you blow up, hell fire don't go out,
In line, with the others, you form a radiant great, or rather big dipper,
Oh you blazing fixed star, northern, luminous and majestic, shine on,
Let this dream fill you up with energy, rumbling deep inside, still you are satisfied, with the reactions, with speed much greater than sound,
A force which would easily break the earths ground, shatter it within moments of a violent dance of might and power beyond any reason,
For the millions, the septentrion shall shine on in a changing dipper,
Until the moment they die.

~ Umi
Evan Stephens Dec 2017
White noise is falling
from the treetops again.
I'm looking for a new apartment,
touring the giants
up and down 16th Street,
wondering if I'll cry here too
across the ancient parquet,
& who I'll bring home
to share coffee and deep jags
of insufficiency, feelings
I should not have shared.

Everything is eventually
unspoken, everything is.
Keep the heart off the sleeve
for a change. Hideaway
in the dull bronze candle
of winter city sunset,
gently tarnished with old snow.
Pause on the high Taft bridge,
despite the height,
and drop the heart away.

It's a lie,
I couldn't do it.
The heart sticks
in the hand.
Crow Oct 2018
there are no mountains to hold up the endless, sometimes troubled sky
no ocean waves drawing our eyes and hearts away to sea
fall’s colors are muted when compared to the vibrant array of the northeast
verdant giants do not tower above forest floors deep in soft years of fallen splendor

on the American plains, natural beauty of such grand scale is reserved
for sunsets, displayed on the firmaments unframed canvas
those of greatest magnificence occur when a cloud deck is lit from below
just as the sun meets the silhouetted horizon in a clear band of sky

the bottom of the clouds becomes an inverted fiery sea
long rolling waves in scorching rows following one on another
whitecaps replaced with blazing plumes of orange, red, and yellow
leaping up from deep purple and violet troughs

I witnessed a sunset of this type tonight as I drove west
words came instantly into my mind “Clouds of Fire”
the voice I heard was not my own internal voice and the words were not mine
my brother’s voice spoke the words, echoing from a similar sunset long ago

behind our home, where I lived out my graceless teen years, was a field
my brother and I would go walking in that enormous open space
through the restless grass as long as our legs, the prairie wind tracing waves
late one fall afternoon we stopped on a hill to watch the sunset

when I was very small my brother often was a stand-in parent for me
our father worked at night and our mother was trying to keep a business going
he was 13 years older than me and he was my idol
my first step was towards him, he taught me to sing, we played with my toys

he made up stories for me which I often concluded were true
by natural talent, he was an artist and drew cartoons for me
his unrealized dream was to be an artist professionally

at one time he and I and the brother between us shared a tiny bedroom
he painted a knight on the wall above each bed, each unique just for us
the house was rented and we weren’t supposed to paint anything
but it made us happy, and it made him happy, so he did it anyway

even when I was older and knew the stories were only stories
he still made them up just to amuse me, and himself
about his dog learning to fly, strange animals in the woods
talking birds and abandoned ruins, and The Book

the story was of how he had found a huge, old book bound in red leather
it was hidden in a hollow tree watched over by an owl
there was no title, it was just The Book
in The Book were all the secrets of the world

we stood on the hill looking at the sunset, wearing heavy coats
against a winter chill which came early that year
he said “Clouds of Fire, they are real you know”
I gave him a look which must have said “sure they are”

gathering all the dignity of his 13 years of adulthood, his beard
outranking my continuing struggle through adolescence
stared at me, sagelike, and with great solemnity said “It’s in The Book”
this phrase became the inarguable way to end any issue between us

sunsets are, by their nature, as ephemeral as rainbows
or clouds, or so many of our memories
or us
my brother died 18 years ago

when someone who is loved so much dies, the grief can crush you
your heart excavated to leave room for the pain to fill in
eventually, with rare exceptions, it does get better though loss remains
we become accustomed to the new world, the one without them

this is not forgetting the ones we love, nor being selfish
it is necessary, otherwise the accumulated weight of misery
gathered in a lifetime of loss would make it impossible for us to continue
no one who loved us would want our future to be so

some memories can defy their nature and become part of us
they cling to us and live as long as we live, so it is now when I think of him
I remember the joy of reunion after being apart, laughter at a joke,
the smile that came just because I was happy to be with him and he was my brother

but sometimes


like when I see clouds of fire

               how I miss him
For my brother
The Serpent squeezes the mundane egg, for a moment in time,
…to begin the ages, turn the wheel, and so begin the rhyme,

The circus has commenced, a dancing, swirling motion,
…a pit of ghastly horrors, seen as a vast deep ocean,
…or celestial or cosmic, as some would have the notion.

Some of them were large, although some were also small,
…and grotesquely figured or disfigured, a scary monster’s ball,
…and trudging, stampeding, stomping or slithering down the hall.

There they danced, sang or prattled, where giants fought and where they battled, …thunder unto heroes rattled, with awful screams so frightening, and terrifying lightning!

Scaly, hairy or feathered, wet and fiery or weathered,
…conjoined, twisted or tethered, slithery writhing together,

Kingu and his wife, some say it was t’was his mother,
…his plan was war and strife, pitting brother against brother,

A ******* existence and so morally depraved,
…a state of sickly persistence, they found themselves enslaved.

Then abounding voice of heaven, that divided night by day,
…brought forth a princely king of Luke; the warrior Marduk.

Fourteen engaged in combat, the one against thirteen,
…and thus aligned with the ecliptic, at night they can be seen,  

Sloshing in the Apsu, beaten with the club,
…slain and torn to pieces, cutting channels of their blood,

A north wind sent them to their places, fixed on Tiamat’s wheel,
…and the starry constellations, did Marduk bring to heel.
The Sumerian story of creation is the source of St. John's Apocalypse and it is the story of the Dragon Tiamat and her unholy son, Kingu, who go to war with the earth and are defeated by the son of god, the son of the Sun itself(Marduk). "Marduk," means, "High Prince," but signifies west, shining and high as-in the heavens. West was used as a moniker or symbol for the sun since it rested each day in it's kingdom in the west.

The, "one against thirteen," means the Sun versus the twelve signs of the Zodiac and space itself or the Dragon. It is an ancient term.
Kaya Jun 17
a willow tree,
unlike i'd ever seen before.
there were fairies in the branches,
and they would rest in the
nooks and crannies
on little beds of
leaves and flower petals.
the mountains behind my house were
sleeping giants,
their forests were riddled with
elves and spirits of the wood.
there is nothing more i need
than the sunflowers fields
and a story from the sleepy willow.
Electric sun twirls its lava skirt.
Slammed woks.
Peanuts, chilli, limes and oil
Feeding him its lunch.
Shelter to chilli cheeks and peppercorn faces.
The air can't move its obese body to the rivers for a dip.

Darkness is hard with sturdy edges.
Curtains made of invisible beads and threads hang over the night in silence.
They spill against the concrete under rough hooves and feet
For the night falls like tight heavy lids.
Dusk is a bruised tunnel of vision.

Candlelit giants blinking rapidly.
You don't speak
For the night is never empty
The silence never lonely
Stampede of restlessness surrounding
Grinning from squint to squint
Raising embraces and chance encounters
They scream loudly to frighten the dawn.
© Teri Darlene Basallote Yeo
At the spot people still glance as they pass, see it empty and give a sigh
You can still hear his cheerful whistling as you go by,
Now the corner where the strange man lived is dull and clear
The spot where he lived, the man from everywhere but here.

The strange man talked of places never seen
He talked of places no one had ever been,
He talked of beautiful princesses, kings and knights
He talked of fierce battles and winning fights,

People who were from out of town thought he was just a little queer
But the local people knew he was the man from everywhere but here.

He talked of Trolls and Giants as tall as the eye could see
He talked of maidens and fair ladies as beautiful as can be,
He talked of conquering fiery dragons without a scrape
He talked of guarded dungeons where he’d always escape.

All the people from far off would say “he’s full of beer”
But all the locals knew he was the man from everywhere but here.

He talked of tall trees and mountains oh so high
He talked of big castles that would scrape the sky,
He talked of great far off enchanted lands
He talked of places where good and evil always held hands.

People ask him if he was ever afraid to die
He’d take his finger and point to the sky,
With the same old sparkle in his eye,
He’d say the day that star up there is gone
That is the day that I will move on.

The people from out of town thought the man was just a little queer
But the locals knew he was the man from everywhere but here.

His cheerful whistling would brighten anyone’s day
His enchanting whistling would make the rain go away,
He’d sit in the same spot all day and talk to the young and the old
He talks to the nicest, the meanest and even the bold.

The people from far off would say “he’s full of beer”
But the locals knew he was the man from everywhere but here.

That winter the clouds rolled in and it snowed for quite a while
But no matter how cold the strange man always wore a smile,
He became so pale he was as white as a ghost
But no matter how cold he still had time to boast.

Boast about all that he had seen and done
Boast about all the pretty ladies he had won,
He’d tell you still about all the people he’d met
He’d tell you about all the sly traps he’d set.

The people from out of town thought he was just a little queer
But all the locals knew he was the man from everywhere but here.

The winter wore on and so did the snow
But the strange man never looked low,
That night the clouds rolled away
To reveal that the stars had gone away.

The next day the man had vanished out of sight
All that was left was his blanket and pipe,
The man never came back after that day
But his cheerful whistling will never go away.

At the spot people still glance as they pass, see it empty and give a sigh
You can still hear his cheerful whistling as you go by.
Now the corner where the strange man lived is dull and clear
The spot where he lived, the man from everywhere but here.
B L Costello May 30
Please don’t wake the giant,
She really needs to sleep,
She could disturb the elephant of whom no one will speak,
I know we can get thru this,
We must not give up hope,
We cannot get our feet wet,
Please don’t rock the boat,
Because,
Giants are not real
Facts cannot be denied,
If I keep them covered,
My feet will be dry!
If I keep my mouth shut,
They can never tell,
Let’s not talk about it,
Shhhh…
What is that smell?
©B L Costello 2019
Regardless of our coping mechanisms, problems do persist!
bulletcookie Jul 2018
digging in dirt and finding stones
so round they pretend a marble
a perfect gift for one that had none

what then ten thousand years this human drama
compared to fluted knocks of Kabuki glaciers
grinding on this whetstone of earth

a millennial movement of giants
hoed out valleys, rivers and sound
long before our first step dance

these same kanji, mound their costume dress
having played an early performance
leaving a staged terrain over tectonic duress

we come barrelling into history's Geo
rat-a-tat tapping our ratamacues
after all, knee bent, as a pea seed of Clio

-cec
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