"gleeming" poems
We've mastered the art of finding sadness;
In a little house, inhabiting a tiny space
We understand its variations, its madness
We know its address, its hiding places
But happiness is more complicated
Rarely found, we're constantly searching.
Its attached to stereotypicality, abbrieviated
If not received, it causes constant hurting
It dwells over a vast continent
And thus the search is longer
We start to lose our confidence
The yearn for it grows ever stronger
The home of happiness has since grown
And iron lock placed on its door
The key seems lost, will it ever be found?
I think it lurks in disguised places
Not on sunny days, on lusious grounds
Or in gleeming eyes or smiley faces
It hides in misconception
Like a thief in the night
Drenched in deception
Ready to pounce, to fight
You off and those who stumble on
Sadness become addicted to the little house
And do not dare travel where they may get
Lost. But live in its hole, as a spinless mouse
We are terrified of the unknown
But we've never wanted something more
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 11:51 AM UTC
Is love out of focus
or just a warm fuzzy rabbit
with sharp metal teeth gleeming
Is love giving up or giving in
sloppy smiles or showing skin
Can you hear the static beige
of my radar gun
or ride my camel through the trees
Is it water in my bed
Wake you up keep you cold
make you shiver in my soul
Love is all these things and more
and less
vaporize to nothingness
Was it ever there
Oh, cruel trick
Will it ever be?
I ask a thousand starry eyes
while they blink at me
while they blink
Are they winking or blinking
What is this mess inside my chest
Who tied me all in knots
Help me unravel all these ropes
Just set me free
Free to find something more
something more than me
Help me find you.
Feb 15, 2010
Feb 15, 2010 at 3:47 PM UTC
Maybe it’s at 3am with the lights on
or 1pm in the orange gleeming sun.
When I think about dying,
it’s not after my brothers punch.
It’s the moment between feeling everything
and absolutely nothing at all.
I am eating clean, working every muscle,
and still this part of me is oozing black.
On Sunday my smile fades
like the orange sun in November’s 6pms.
Meeting my friends disappointment in me,
and for dinner my godmothers dismay.
How many girls does it take to die to make you believe their emotions are valid?
How many men does it take to fix
a lightbulb without a fuse?
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 2:42 AM UTC
In early morning,
Mist revolving joys,
Everything so glorious,
The grey fox on the shores,
The great blue herons,
Light houses of dawn,
Arching into heavens,
Overlooking all souls,
Such colours by the sounds,
Lilting in the scores of clover,
Of bees notating and staffs,
Sway of staved dragonflies,
Dropped dew belled in petals
And whole world lathed
With harmonious light.
Across the silvered pond
Were deep woods without name,
For journeys into wrested sleep
And light poured, raining
Through the spring leaves,
Staining the glass of the sky,
Ordaining the stationed hearts,
Held by the still deer, who walked
On waters, wading into sun,
Each night destroyed
By freshness and rays,
The mottled waking meadows,
Green as ever growing,
More alive then old legend,
O to be a pilgrim with eyes,
Opening!
To be shy lord in the fortresses
Of fallen trees and savour such
Piney sense as rooted sassafras,
The smells of mosses and leaf,
On the shores of the painted
Turtles, shaded by lurching trees
Mushroomed over shallows, sunning
And hear the foghorned frogs
Alerting the dark gleeming, red-
Winged blackbirds to their reeds
Among the rocks a child
Skips, hums upon.
So breaking was the boy
In the hood of the pond,
More alive, golden, than a star,
Round that very crested shire,
In the berry vines of ripeness,
Winding marshes at play,
Where blush of wild ducks
Endlessly saunter and rooks
Dot the airs circling eternal.
Now in ages past,
After, pond enameled
So far away still sings
Of childhood to come,
For any lost soul who waits,
Beyond cries, a warbles lulling,
What songbirds might ring,
For newborns who break,
Into some future paradise,
Births of new days dawning,
Dominions of the sun.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 3:44 AM UTC
.
In early morning,
Mist revolving joys,
Everything so glorious,
The grey fox on the shores,
The great blue herons,
Light houses of dawn,
Arching into heavens,
Overlooking all souls,
Such colours by the sounds,
Lilting in the scores of clover,
Of bees notating and staffs,
Sway of staved dragonflies,
Dropped dew belled in petals
And whole world lathed
With harmonious light.
Across the silvered pond
Were deep woods without name,
For journeys into wrested sleep
And light poured, raining
Through the spring leaves,
Staining the glass of the sky,
Ordaining the stationed hearts,
Held by the still deer, who walked
On waters, wading into sun,
Each night destroyed
By freshness and rays,
The mottled waking meadows,
Green as ever growing,
More alive then old legend,
O to be a pilgrim with eyes,
Opening!
To be shy lord in the fortresses
Of fallen trees and savour such
Piney sense as rooted sassafras,
The smells of mosses and leaf,
On the shores of the painted
Turtles, shaded by lurching trees
Mushroomed over shallows, sunning
And hear the foghorned frogs
Alerting the dark gleeming, red-
Winged blackbirds to their reeds
Among the rocks a child
Skips, hums upon.
So breaking was the boy
In the hood of the pond,
More alive, golden, than a star,
Round that very crested shire,
In the berry vines of ripeness,
Winding marshes at play,
Where blush of wild ducks
Endlessly saunter and rooks
Dot the airs circling eternal.
Now in ages past,
After, pond enameled
So far away still sings
Of childhood to come,
For any lost soul who waits,
Beyond cries, a warbles lulling,
What songbirds might ring,
For newborns who break,
Ashed in sands of the quick,
Into some future paradise,
Births of new days dawning,
Rung through, dominions of the sun.
Sep 26, 2017
Sep 26, 2017 at 4:32 AM UTC
Title: ???
No girl looks twice at boy that leads a simplistic healthy life
One full of care and safety, while still following a passion
No boy looks twice at a girl that leads a simplistic healthy life
One full of care and safety, while still following a passion
How do we end this cycle while still ******* existing?
You're an ignorant idiot and you need to find what's in store
Find your calling, catch up with your passion
Not just stalking behind it eating their dust
You give up? I give up
I give up? You give up
Lets just fight each other and throw away the gun
Never live to wake up and see the gleeming sun
We don't know what to do, so lets go insane
bat-shit crazy, high at a rave party
dying our hair crazy colors and shutting everyone out
this is a song about a young man without a close friend
one that was rejected by all of the rejects still wondering in agony
May 7, 2016
May 7, 2016 at 3:00 AM UTC
I am the forest,
I know this to be true.
Cicadas singing, an orchestra for two.
Feel the music inside of you.
Dance with me tonight,
let your body free.
I will take you in,
out of your misery.
Sing your heart, sing your soul,
we all want to feel your whole.
Spirits dancing, playing about.
Shh, be careful not to shout.
The moonlight shining its warm, honest beems,
to let you swim in our beautiful streams.
Love us, as we love you,
The circle of life, giving unto you.
Dance with me tonight,
and let your body free.
Take in me, the almighty.
Feel my dirt under your toes,
smell the freedom in your nose.
Dance and let your wings come free,
feel me in my entirety.
Breathe me in, hear my sounds,
know nothing is out of bounds.
I am the forest,
almighty and strong.
Hear my music all night long.
Feel the wind flow through your hair,
run real fast with out a care.
Look at me, with all of my beauty,
animals, my habitants, with no fury.
Loving one another, playing about.
Hey look, the sun's come out!
Leaves and flowers, soaking it in,
beeming and gleeming seeing their new friends.
Caterpillars munching a leafy snack, squirrels hopping over the cracks.
Some are falling asleep, while others are fighting to make their keep.
Exploring and investigating every sound,
joyful with every bound.
Cicadas still singing, an orchestra for two.
Mating and creating, something new.
I am the forest,
I know this to be true.
So when am I going to meet you?
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:36 PM UTC