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ryn May 2015
Let me be captured by the night.
Engrossed in the conversation
between the stars.
Syncopated twinkling like...
thousands of fireflies
trapped within sealed jars.

Let me be enslaved by the moon.
As I drink her glow in
greedy insatiable gulps.
Crestfallen...
Her beam with an agenda...
As the landscape she sculpts.

Let me be ensnared by my solitude.
But I hear crickets...
Chirping and chipping away at my
bastion of dreamstate.
Persistent calls
I try to shun
that never abates.

Let me be trapped in my thoughts.
So I could harness...
And immortalise them in
indelible careless scribbles.
Erecting and...
Rebuilding them from the
rubble of conflicting squabbles.

Let me be overwhelmed
by the mess of my being...**
Let me wallow
Then emerge strong from this
decrepit state of mind.
Let me breathe heavy from my
punctured lungs.
So I could heal in time before
true solace
in this dark,
I would find.
ryn Sep 2014
Sun to set, to herald the arrival of my moon
Prepare my vessel for an odyssey, golden mast and all
Best be on my way, best be soon...
Done this a hundred times come every nightfall

This night, I wish it different, wish it otherwise
My head isn't where it's supposed to be
Swimming in the clouds, in the star spangled sky
Speaking of plans to which the heart would agree

Time is now, it's time to finally drift away
Let go of all worldly trepidations
Hold all unfounded apprehensions at bay
Be brave to pursue fantastical notions

This journey ahead, I want to immortalise
Don't think I'd want to turn back
Leave behind the pillow stifled cries
With the moon as my guide across an ocean of black

"Close your eyes and just feel the drift
Know that the stars are protectively watching
Picture your moon; her hands bearing a gift
A gift you'd soon receive, after much longing"

"Feel the water, like a thousand hands propping you afloat
Passing you over to more hands that lay ahead
Lurching forward gently, this ethereal boat
Rest now upon your giant floating bed"


I took that leap of faith... I'm sailing
Cresting and bobbing towards my moon
I hear the stars for they are singing
Lulling me by with a celestial tune

On my way, now on this nighttime adventure
Don't think I'll ever look back
Together this night would span forever
Floating endlessly in a sea of black
raw with love Apr 2014
don’t call me pretty
don’t call me sweet
i won’t be flattered –
it’s not what i need;
don’t call me beautiful
don’t call me hot
i won’t be flattered –
i know i’m not;
but then so what
it isn’t like I give a
****.
beautiful won’t draw the stars
upon the night sky,
pretty won’t write you a poem
twenty lines long,
slam and bitter-sweet,
beautiful won’t inspire
another soul to love me,
pretty won’t immortalise
my swift and shining mind,
beautiful won’t taste like
coffee and cigarettes
when i kiss you on the
mouth,
pretty won’t make you
laugh with a coarse voice
at 3 a.m.
under the stars,
beautiful won’t make you
stay awake till dawn
reciting frost, then plath
and then bukowski,
pretty won’t make you
crave for my
mysteriously gentle touch,
beautiful won’t make
my absence sting and
leave a burning scar,
pretty won’t feed you
with homemade crusty
cake glazed with chocolate
and raspberries,
beautiful won’t make your
body ache when you
wake up and don’t find me
in bed,
pretty won’t make your
head hurt with all the
existential questions
i ask before i’ve even started
to drink,
beautiful won’t cuddle you
under the sound of
heavy metal screams,
pretty won’t soothe you
when you need to cry,
beautiful won’t dance with you
with no music,
pretty won’t hold your hand
like i will though it’s
december and i have no
mittens,
beautiful won’t win
wars for you,
pretty won’t stay up all
night long to marathon
lord of the rings with you
and then maybe star wars
and then read some marvel,
and then make up
asoiaf theories,
beautiful will steal a glance,
but I will steal your mind.
hot might earn you a body,
with other words
you will enter my heart.
pretty might be enough
for a one-night stand,
but i can make you
be hopelessly,
tiredly,
desperately
in love.
dedicated to Lauren Wycoff for inspiring me.  go and read her stuff now, she's fantastic
TheMystiqueTrail Sep 2018
On this frosty morning
the dew-jewelled shimmering grass
calls me to immortalise my naked footprints
on its sparkling green carpet.

The mural needs to be perfect,  
    it says!
Ella Gwen Apr 2018
I kneel
kneecaps cracking, head bowed
under the heavy breath of your adoration
eyes ground into the dust each footstep rises

I am dirt-blind
but the crows can see, my ears bleed
how they cry and scream, weep and admire -
they enshrine him; I, unwilling, immortalise.

I keep
my eyesight clouded, looking down
the soil is my church, inadequacy
a mired crown.
Luce Apr 2014
these are the moments I will immortalise

I will stuff them and give them glass eyes
I will pickle them in jars
I will frame and polish them frequently
and I will make them into a gold chain to be passed down through the generations.

I will share, imprint and bore these memories into my children

they will be both humoured and obsessed with the descriptions
of when their mother embarked on many adventures

when they are young, they will imagine me as a fearless pirate.
as they grow, they will idolise the carefree teenager I am, no - I was.

they will know the times I ventured with friends,
who will hopefully be familiar to my children.
the friends who many years from now will be referred to as 'uncle' and 'aunty'.

they will know about all the road trips
and my habitual late night naps in the back seat
they will know the beat of the drums to the songs we listened to and sung at the top of our lungs
and I will play them to live those moments again -
who says time travel doesn't exist

I hope they will be able to smell the memory, mix of excitement and sweat hanging in the air of the car,
the breath of our youth steamed on the window

my children will know that I fell in love far too young
and, as their mother, these are the world's cruelties I will attempt to educate and shield them from.

because one day, my freckled princess will grow into the queen of her own castle
she'll lift the chin of her own baby and say,

'my mumma said to me, you've got to kiss a few frogs before finding your prince. Don't ever give up hope, because magic exists but it isn't always pretty and he's looking for you like you're looking for him.'

Keep you head down, baby. Keep running, 'cause I promise you're almost there.

but I will not undermine my children
and tell them they are too young to love,
for if they were too young to fall in love, how could they fall unconditionally in love with me?

(as I already am with them, aged eighteen)

I will tell them the stories of how I met their father,
I am unsure as to whether or not I know these stories yet.

We will tell them about the first time our hands interlinked and we instantly felt at home with each-other.
  
           when you know, you know.

We will tell them about the sweetness and innocence that hung on our lips for that very first kiss,
and we will continue to kiss
as if it's that same first kiss
every time
every day

they can not deny true love if they witness it every day of their lives

it will be a living reminder
of the love our children were made from and bought into
and a living reminder
that I loved you,
that I love you
before I knew you...
because you're mine

kisses will be our family heirloom
memories are the best thing I can pass down to you

so my story is still being written
but it is not a forced template for my children's lives

I will hand them pencils, if they wish to draw over their pages
I will hand them fountain pens, if they wish to eloquently craft their words
I will hand them every colour crayon ever made, and let their creativity run  over the pages
as free as their young, bare knees will be on the playground

I wish one day, they will read these words,
and know the memories of my teenage years that have been
and memories of my twenties, thirties, forties and fifties that have yet to be made

I wish they will read these words and they will know that I loved them before they even existed

I will have immortalised these feelings through my words.

So immortalise me, my loves, through your memories.
"The day will come
When my body no longer exists
But in the lines of this poem
I will never let you be alone"
Priyanka Dey May 2015
Oh! I have so much to write!
A million miles to travel in little time.
And with imaginations,
These tornado-like thoughts.
Moonlit snow,
Blinding stars,
Storms that rise above all wars!
Tear-y rain,
Pearl-like dew,
A sinking universe,
This disappearing view...
Through oceans that sing,
And birds melting into the skies,
Fountains that fly by,
And magic that never dies...
I have another hour to live--
Million more moments to breathe.
Old memories to weave,
Another beyond to believe.
Death you cannot steal--
This fire in me to still exist!
For I have more to behold,
Another lip to kiss,
Roses to fall for,
I have this life to live...
Steve D'Beard Nov 2012
Prophetic words
prioritise &
immortalise
that which
we embrace
then slowly paralyse

Realisation supersedes
idealisation:
Prepare
for impact

Taste
the bitter sweet
fruits
you have carefully
nurtured
Tamara Fraser Aug 2016
Newspapers are only covered in ***** print;

of despair and distress and danger playing master of our moves.

So I can’t talk to you through that.


Paintings are for love songs left unsung;

they are the inner kept journals of unrequited dreams,

scrawls of abuse or lumps of hurt, growing like tumours.

You wouldn’t understand.

So I can’t talk to you through that.


Music is only for the sunlit realm of lovers found;

of certainty and confidence and devotion above the sordid,

tangled affairs of wayward souls.

Living in a fantasy to escape the loneliness aching in soft spots inside.

So I can’t talk to you through that.


Letters are lost in nostalgia;

a celebration to be had, words unspoken for decades,

births and deaths, reserved for life events detailed in the past.

So I can’t talk to you through that.


Movies are just reenactments of dreams;

stunning heroes, masters of skill, justice seekers,

adventures of awe, loves broken but patched together with stronger yarn.

A world of little lies to helps better cope with heartache and grief.

We can’t immortalise ourselves in something

when it runs the risk of breaking.

So I can’t talk to you through that.


But I can do something much harder

then writing or filming or singing or painting…

I can give it all up, over to you.

I can trace patterns across your shoulders as you wake,

our special language which tells you I love you, I’m trying to trust you.

I can write you little notes, decadent words and sultry ideas,

and make a trail for you to follow to me.


I can be vulnerable in your arms, more than skin and internals

and a framework of bones.

I can be more real with you than I have never known to be possible.

It’s not just me showing how much I need you by the length I hold your kiss,

or how long it takes for us to disentangle ourselves from sleep, how often

we see each other naked.


It’s more the heart I dare draw on your skin with my lips.
UV Dec 2020
I always put away the pen
Instead of painting you in
How can I win describing?
My love ever overflowing.
If I had my way, I’d immortalise
Your tasteful idiosyncrasies.
Wish my parchment would
Read like my heart, pity
My words fail me unlike your love.
Don’t get me wrong you’re no prince, fable or legend
You’re far rarer,
You’re real enough to contradict even yourself
In loving you I’m made kinder
To the world, myself and the rest.
Cause I see you in your infinite facets
Surreal, imperfect yet
So intoxicating it feels pagan.
To steal a quote from those who came before me
‘Beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror’
And baby I’ve been scared since the day we kissed.

-UV
Quote mentioned is by Rainer Maria Rilke.
Paul Butters Jun 2016
Feel free to mourn me when I’m gone,
When I will not be back again.
It’s natural to grieve at death
For those who miss you so, I know.

But don’t forget to celebrate my life
And all I’ve done on this fair earth.
Be full of joy about these things:
Immortalise me for my deeds.

I hope to live for many a long year:
If possible cheat Death immortally,
Perhaps by going somewhere safe
From the Grim Reaper’s deadly scythe.

I hope for many table tennis wins
And trending poems, before I leave this mortal coil.
Iambic rhythms throughout cyber space,
Free verse expressing a greater vision.

I’ve planned ahead by writing this,
And might have jumped the gun maybe.
But when you read this out perhaps,
I might by now be Free.

Paul Butters

© PB 19\6\2016.
My eulogy in advance!
Steph Wams Feb 2022
We read our books and pretend to
not make glances at each other.
We smile as if the pages in the book had tickled at our sides.
We write love stories in our heads and forget about the ones on the page.
An uncomfortable warmth surrounds us as we pretend not to pose ourselves in our chairs.
As if we are offering ourselves to the sun to immortalise this youthful love.
Our hands quiver as we turn each page.
Like these stories will ours come to a brief
end?
And though you and I are nothing,
destined for
deletion,
taunted by
extinction.
We pray that these feelings are more than that.
But when I see the stars in your eyes my worries float away,
for I know this love is cosmic.
I to wish for a love so sweet
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
sure, the romance, they are the new gods,
     Paris, Rome, Barcelona (don't ask me about Madrid,
                                                       too royal),
a Venetian mask i would don, and become the quixote fighting treadmills rather than windmills -
although to Rome i have not walked
                for my footsteps to encounter the pave,
but in the Venetian pirate lair, plunderers of Byzantium
i have set foot on, at the same time to have learned
of the number 613 near a synagogue and heard the shofar.
Paris (not the Trojan) is the cliche synonym of Eros -
elsewhere Gemini: St. Petersburg as the Amsterdam
   of the north, and Edinburgh as the Athens of the north.

well, such a verse does indeed desire
                                                 more translation of Horace,
as in nimis ex vos, sed non satis ex "ego",
  yes, "ego" the abstract component of you that's
free from the three tier psychoanalytical *******,
what superego, what id? forget it! there's only you
and only "you" - work with me:
               too much out of you, but not enough
               from your alter (synonym of "ego" -
               Jungian shadow porridge);
but as promised, yet more Horace

               deus inmortalis haberi dum cupit Empedocles
               ardentem frigidus Aetnam insiluit.
               sit ius liceatque perire poetis:
               invitum qui servat, idem facit occidenti.
               nec semel hoc fecit nec, si retractus erit,
               iam fiet **** et ponet famosae mortis
               amorem. nec satis adparet, cur versus factitet,
               utrum minxerit in patrios cineres an triste
               bidental moverit incestus: certe furit ac velut
               ursus, obiectos caveae valuit si frangere clatros,
               indoctum doctumque fugat recitator
               acerbus; quem vero arripuit, tenet occiditque
               legendo, non misura cutem nisi plena
               cruoris hirudo.


but of course i'll translate, but prior in dogmatic proposals...
keep the book of revelation of the Ιωαννης,
discard the rest... the four primers are a parody of
the tetragrammaton - so gentle in his own land
yet such a vicious serpent in Egypt? which one's the fraud?
messiah of just hanging, standing still,
40 years in the desert or 40 hours on the cross?
and all that iconoclasm and modern too via narcissism?
"bring out the selfie shtick! oh wait... my hands are
nailed to a ******* crux!" and this persistent 2000 year old
negation - and being spared, the Romans, or
rather the alphabetum, Roma est mort but you
can still ask the italians of a cappuccino - Chino and
Khaki elsewhere with the Lombardy League ponce
rubbing shoulders with Saxons... Chino Versace
whistle at a Bella... you can still see c b g long after
and the coliseum in ruins... it wasn't swallowed up!
i too though the second H in the tetragrammaton was
intended as a déjà vu - it would sit perfectly with
anti-, the concept, but not the man as such,
and indeed the Y would make a perfect tree of Golgotha
in that tweaked geometric, then W and seas
and continuance - Roma alphabetum, sole constructor
of computer robot? maybe... but you see, the H
is a slippery *****, it's silent, like in Khaki... or
as is the usual case in Hindu - Dhal... it's not so much
déjà vu but silence - a necessary surd to make spelling
pretty... dyslexics think spelling is a bit like arithmetic...
it's actually an aesthetic, but they do find it as hard as
arithmetic, and that's why they're genius at numbers...
but the aesthetics is missing, so they cling to numbers
and the aesthetic is missing, and everything associated
with money... well, it's a bit ugly, isn't it?

... (postponed translation)... yes, London is Hades...
    doom and gloom.

but indeed the Gemini in the tetragrammaton,
but first the principle of three-dimensional space (Y) -
just look into one of the corners of a cube (yes
the room you're sitting in),
and lastly the principle of waves, whichever,
sine or cosine as you will, looks better that way
than mediating the ad infinitum of 1, 2, 3 etc.,
sea and constant fluxes (fluctuations),
pin-point the opposite, the principle of one-dimensional
space (a definite coordinate, rather than three-dimensional
space and that ****** indefinite coordinate) and
subsequent ripples, which aren't necessarily waves:
my tools? a-       and -the            and every other ism
that might act as an auxiliary attaché - time (W).
but indeed the anti- implementation that serves as
direct Gemini chiral-ism: the latter serves no close
resemblance to be guided to Golgotha,
hence guided toward Megiddo, and a crucifix also there?

**** such religiosity twice over with its vortex,
as promised the Horace translation

       Empedocles, desirous of godliness in being so,
       having icily strutted toward old age and by
       old age near frozen, was prophesied to jump
       into flaming Etna. as they want, let the poets
       have a right to a death (of their choosing).
       who whomever against his will saves,
       twice-over rattles the suicide's intentions.
       it hasn't been the first time, it's not that easy
       to say it: i am human. he wants to immortalise
       himself, fame posthumously. he writes poems.
       why? maybe he urinated on his father's grave,
       maybe in a place basked by throngs he took
       from it the vices and in solitude became
       desolate with inherited uncleanliness of urbanity?
       like a bear with scars, prison bars he breaks open,
       scares off the wise and the foolish, such
       the adamant nature of compulsive poetic labour,
       whoever he grasps with recitations he
       finishes off, the leech attached to his skin will
       not fall off, until satiated with enough blood.


**dicam Siculique poetae narrabo interitum.
Marshal Gebbie Jun 2012
Piece together portions of an ever shrinking memory

Sift the extraneous, consolidate the sound,

Rid thyself of factions preposterous and fractious

Crystalise the essence of essential and profound.



Immortalise sensations of sweet rapture incarnate

Clutch to your breast all good warmth from the past,

Know what’s retained is the BEST of your being

Treasure each recall and pray that it last.



Love each moment with ardour of passion

Value the brilliance of colour and sound,

Savour the sweetness in apricot nectar

Indulge like tomorrow will NOT be around.





© 2012 Marshal Gebbie
Fi Aug 2015
date a poet
she’ll immortalise you with her words
and she’ll see you at 3am in the last embers of a fire
she’ll hear your name in a breeze
she’ll feel you when the sun kisses her skin
date a poet
and feel yourself weakening upon the hand-scribbled notes
carefully concealed between the pages of her favourite, dog-eared      book
and inimitable mix CDs
oh, you’d never guess how long she spent composing them
date a poet
for no moment will be dull
whether it’s crocheting or flower-arranging
or archery, wind-surfing or belly-dancing
there will always be a new skill for her to learn
more cultures to unearth and be utterly captivated by
and you will soon find yourself just as enraptured by her
as she is by the world
date a poet
you won’t truly understand love until you’ve heard it personified as   a wildfire, a loaded magnum and a silk noose
date a poet
because who doesn’t want to be a poem?
The Noose Aug 2016
Grief blooms to break
Like wildflowers
Corroding spine, brittle
Wrapped in debris
The visceral need to immortalise
This parenthesis in eternity
Clouds dissipating between fervent hands
Precious transiency
Colliding with undying longing
Soil in my fingers, still
This unforgiving tide
Drowning me at sea.
deliciae Jun 2013
we walked into deep into the woods
and came upon a circle of tall birches
the smooth silver trunks marked with
initials of lovers long forgotten
who once swore their love would last
and thought to immortalise it
in the silver wood of the birch trees
where the white bark had peeled away
he ran he fingers carefully
up and down their slender trunks
feeling each little slash and ridge
though barely visible on their thin bark
then i flicked open my pocket knife
to carve our own initials into the wood
like the many young lovers before us
but as the blade touched the wood
he whispered to me quietly
"these trees are marked
by pale faded scars
like on smooth slender arms
their long delicate branches
are like slim white fingers
desperately reaching up to heaven
begging for another chance
and with help from the angels
their scars are slowly healing"
and again he ran his fingers over
their trunks to feel the white bark
then ran his fingers gently over the
pale skin of my scarred arms
and then my love, my angel
pressed his lips to each slash and scar
as if trying to heal what had been done
so I put away my blade
deciding that my love for him
would last forever
longer than the bark of the birch trees
and longer than an old scars

-*sg
Mystifying Chaos May 2017
I'll be an unstoppable force when I'll immortalise your name on a piece of paper that nobody can destroy. The entire world will know about you. Even when you'll no longer be mine. They will know just how radiant your smile is, how beautiful and full of depth your eyes are, how heart wrenching it was for me to see you cry and how much we loved each other as we planned to pen down the saga of our times.
Just remember, no matter what, no matter where, you'll always and forever hold the pen through which I'll bleed, till the ink runs dry.
aL Mar 2019
would just these lips,
out of the blue,
recite some cheap quotes
about my undying love for you?
but darling I know you prefer affection out of actions,
words might immortalise my attraction but she knows;

a caressed soul is a well-lived life.
duang fu May 2019
that was almost -

there is nothing that lasts forever
for as long as i can remember;
i never fail to immortalise you
like a Greek myth in a statue -

and you don't deserve it.
a ball of outer space gases and petals
are not dance partners,
but if poppies grew on Jupiter
perhaps i'd bide better.

or for as long as i know it
i'd be an aimless planet
waiting to be more than monochrome
and there's no one else there
other than the ball of fire i circle in trepidation,

there is no jubilation in conjunction
waiting for your flowers.
written 29 may 2019; 11.54pm
billie eilish - goodbye
Picture this Jul 2015
The jingle of my chimes brings comfort in the wind
caressing my mortal face and soothing everything
a tranquility in the noise of rusting bells of metal
a tingling sense of solace allowing stress to settle

A ray of summer sunshine bounces off one bell
sparkles in my eye and time begins to gel
the pace of life slowly soldiering on
my feet as light as air elevated to the sun

Cascading melodic tinkling continues to play
my mind is now drifting to all our yesterdays
no time then to indulge the sounds of tinkling bells
or lie and contemplate a rhyme from the well

In my twilight years I listen to every sound
nature's every word is suddenly very loud
appreciating land, sea, sun and moon lit skies
memories and experiences indelibly immortalise
The Dedpoet May 2016
Today I sit with my coffee
And I like life right now,
      I can feel it.
I almost touched my own soul
When the brew came out to perfection,
      And my tongue did not burn.

Today I sit at my table in deep contemplation
  And in these momentary boxers
I sit as I gulp down life's immensity,
So much and so little!
I buried myself in this moment,
And in this moment I have become
Everything and a sip.

     I write the infinity of a cup,
After all it is great coffee,
With my beloved own pen
And paper stating that a poem is born,
And repeating this gesture,
I take another sip,
The poem writes itself,
Always and never!

I'd like to immortalise this cup,
And the millennium will march,
This organism's had enough,
     Anxiety kicks in,
So much life in a cup!
Cíara McNamara Dec 2015
Pen to paper,
words on a page -
ink smudges
with wisdom I wish I could say.

Life is short
when days are numbered
but my thoughts
when scripted to paper
can immortalise my thoughts -
immortalising my soul

An immortal soul,
means immortal life!
Is it only my body then
that is faced with ending this form of life* -
Picture this Jul 2015
The jingle of my chimes brings comfort in the wind
caressing cheeks upon my face and soothing everything
a tranquility in the noise of rustling bells of metal
like a tuneful triangle allowing stress to settle

A ray of summer sunshine twinkles off one bell
the sparkle squints my eye and time begins to gel
slowing pace of life simmering where upon
my feet lift off the floor, elevated in the sun

Sweet strings swishing uniquely as they play
my mind is now drifting back to yesterday  
youthful dashing with no time for rhyme to tell
or contemplate the sounds of a stupid bell

Twilight years absurdly slow down every sound
nature's profound words are suddenly very loud
appreciating land, sea, sun and moon lit skies
memories and experiences indelibly immortalise
Oh! esteemed Adonis,
Who can engrave you upon the sands of time,
And can steal for a life time,
A space from your priceless heart?

Is it a mere night-bar peppered fish,
That is eaten and passed into the loo?
Or cups of wine gulped through the throat
That shys the brain from senses aright?

Or the rich living lines of a poor country boy,
Carved from his mind with his sleepless night,
To immortalise you for generations to see
And behold your beauty when the dust calls your name?

POET:
OLUWATIMILEHIN A. ALABI
BABY LAWYER
Josh Jul 2017
Human existence is a detritus of emotion and we seek to immortalise that. I see the beauty in scratching your name into a ruined castle. So something of you remains. Scars remain but kisses don't. I would write my name on big bens face to be the man who did.

Live each day knowing you may die. Drink, eat, spend. Enjoy life with the sole goal of pleasure. Go out like a firework. Whether you illuminate the world for others or catch them in the blaze it doesn't matter.
victoria Jun 2018
Sometimes if your dreams come true
You should make sure they always remain true....
Happy ever after doesn’t exist
Find your dream
Immortalise it
In that space in time
Then get rid of anything
That can feed it progression
Conserve it as newly born
Development will **** it
find it
Remember it
**** it
Merry Feb 2018
I had my fortune told
By a drunk girl
At a masquerade ball
She stank of sweet liquors
And spoke even sweeter
Dulcet divinity
In her blood red lips

Dreams which leave me breathless
And ******
But give me ideas
To push myself beyond
The world of the living
And immortalise my written words
Etch them on side walks
With pink and gold stars

Bored with a Ouija board
Tarot card symbolism drawn
On the back of a pizza box
Spirits and stars
Illuminate secret desires
In the constellations of my mind
And it comes with such strange musings
Penned in a book of shadows

Café crème cigars
Capnomancy on a lazy lakeside
Notebooks and noteworthy slothfulness
Swirls and curls in an azure sky
Modern mythology was thick in the air
I could feel the smile
Of the sun

Little lover on a hallowed eve
No miraculous kiss
Just words that meant something
But mean nothing now
Outside of a delayed fantasy
To tell wistful stories of

Fragile city streets
Cluttered with contemporary art
And gorgeous people
From all walks of life
Walking through mine
They seem to transient
For my liking
Compared to the dusty highways
That I’m used to worshipping the world at

Rock and roll radio
Two-dollar earrings
And fourteen-dollar sunglasses
Denim jacket bought expensive
With patches bought cheap
Licence plates dated from the eighties
And stated from the States of America
Stud the walls of a small-time pub
Graffiti on the bricks
Poetry and lyrics is how I get my kicks

I can feel it in the hot air
In the summer sun
Where I bask in imagined limelight
Just like I felt glory in her lips
And glory in his music
And glory in those cards
I can feel it within myself
My glory
My story
And it is a claim I shall take
It is my destiny
I'll give this a proper name one day....
Beth Garrett May 2019
I don’t always like to write my words,
But I know I want to immortalise them,
I know I hope in 200 years young romantics search out old books still,
I hope one finds my words written,
Scrawled in my messy cursive and curled
up in leather-bound book,
With ink smudges from my eager hands,
And they read,
So they know in their future lives,
You are the one I loved,
Whoever you and I are,
And smile,
And we live on.
I want to be remembered with you

— The End —