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"lakes" poems
Mark A. Williams                             SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018 ___________________________________________________________ Wow Mark, Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later! Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker. All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota. (RIP Jimi Carlsen) Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons! Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories. I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend. I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together. Jeff Gaines July 28, 2018
0
Aug 2, 2018
Aug 2, 2018 at 7:00 AM UTC
Jeff-Gaines
Message to a Friend
Mark A. Williams                             SEPTEMBER 14, 1962 – JULY 23, 2018 ___________________________________________________________ Wow Mark, Was so, so saddened to hear this news. I haven't seen you in over ten years, but as kids, we had some amazing adventures, didn't we? Partying, camping and swimming at the Hudson lime pits. Mowing down on Pizza and pitchers of Pepsi (and as we grew up, BEER!) at Pizza Hut. (We knew the numbers to ALL the songs on that jukebox by heart!) Hanging out and looking at the stars through Budvido's telescope, listening to Doctor Demento. Laughing hysterically as we ran through Monty Python skits as everyone looked on in total puzzlement because THEY wouldn't discover them until YEARS later! Building underground forts in the North Woods. You, Budvido, Zeke and I playing pinball at 7-11 for hours and hours. Watching Bands, chasing girls and playing Foosball or Pool at the Touch of Class Teen Club. You gave me my first Imported beer . . . a Lowenbrau. I will always owe my passion for those German beers to you and it was fitting that Budvido bestowed you with that moniker. All through Jr. High, sharing a seat on the school bus. You, Matt, Tom, Buddy and I cruising around late night on our bikes for hours. Hanging around in the Jasmine Lakes sign with hijacked beer or getting free bags of Burgers from Burger Queen when they closed at night! Jousting with shopping carts on our bikes in the Winn-Dixie parking lot. Sitting up all night in Jimi's room after climbing in through the window or going on endless space cruises with him and Raymond in the Toyota. (RIP Jimi Carlsen) Sneaking into the nudest Colony and skinny dipping! Always cracking up at the school lunch table. Swimming in my pool and terrorizing my sister and her friends. (Allegedly) Trashing that crook Fast Eddie's produce stand after he refused to pay us for a full day of picking watermelons! Good times, indeed . . . Some of my most precious memories. I can only pray that you know that I wouldn't trade my youth or you in it for anything in the world and you will be sadly missed, Lowenbrau, my old friend. I hope that where you are, your beers are ice cold and that you and Jimi aren't having to glue the Hookah back together. Jeff Gaines July 28, 2018
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14
I once thought there wasn't any life outside of this town, but I was okay with that because it had everything I needed. But what do I know? We are all so young, running through parks, climbing up mountaintops. Strolling past all the shops and driving around this town going nowhere in particular, I thought that it simply could not get better than this. We loved each other like the stars I thought that nothing could separate us. We were sure to last, but little did we know that all these days will belong to the past, and everything that we always did now live on pages on thousands of papers and in pictures tucked away in a box of old things. Happiness was in the air that day when we all were together once again. The moon shined bright that night, lighting the path that we once drove down every day. This city just seems so small now that I have broken all its walls. I drive past all the places we left marks on in this city. The now vacant houses that once held so many memories, the lunch table where our love blossomed, the midnight drives to the movies, getting excited over slushies, and the lakes we learned to float. I look back on all these places and think about all the things we ever did, I simply thought that it could not get any better than this. Setting the new year on fire. Dancing to the sounds of Grease. Picking peaches in celebration of spring. Watching all the bands we ever loved. I would forget all my stress and worries thinking about it all. Can it get any better than this? I want to thank this town for all the stories I wrote. All the times we felt like children. All the times we rose with the sun. All the times I felt loved by all the people that were my stars. As I'm driving through this town and watch it grow smaller in my eyes, I imagine a time when I was not alone. I know getting older can seem quite strange at times, but what do I know? All I know is that there is just so much to see, and sometimes the grass isn't always green as it used to be. But as long as I have these memories, it couldn't get any better than this.
0
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 10:42 PM UTC
morganmercury
Hometown Forever
I once thought there wasn't any life outside of this town, but I was okay with that because it had everything I needed. But what do I know? We are all so young, running through parks, climbing up mountaintops. Strolling past all the shops and driving around this town going nowhere in particular, I thought that it simply could not get better than this. We loved each other like the stars I thought that nothing could separate us. We were sure to last, but little did we know that all these days will belong to the past, and everything that we always did now live on pages on thousands of papers and in pictures tucked away in a box of old things. Happiness was in the air that day when we all were together once again. The moon shined bright that night, lighting the path that we once drove down every day. This city just seems so small now that I have broken all its walls. I drive past all the places we left marks on in this city. The now vacant houses that once held so many memories, the lunch table where our love blossomed, the midnight drives to the movies, getting excited over slushies, and the lakes we learned to float. I look back on all these places and think about all the things we ever did, I simply thought that it could not get any better than this. Setting the new year on fire. Dancing to the sounds of Grease. Picking peaches in celebration of spring. Watching all the bands we ever loved. I would forget all my stress and worries thinking about it all. Can it get any better than this? I want to thank this town for all the stories I wrote. All the times we felt like children. All the times we rose with the sun. All the times I felt loved by all the people that were my stars. As I'm driving through this town and watch it grow smaller in my eyes, I imagine a time when I was not alone. I know getting older can seem quite strange at times, but what do I know? All I know is that there is just so much to see, and sometimes the grass isn't always green as it used to be. But as long as I have these memories, it couldn't get any better than this.
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50
Published in The Quill on November 19, 2014: http://www.amazon.com/Quill-Fall-2014-ebook/dp/B00PNVT6PG ... On being overweight (whatever that means) Even if you were the moon, they would complain about how much space you took up in the sky, how you were too bright, wanted too much from the stars, demanded more light than the others. And when you shifted, from waning to full to waxing to waning, they would remind you of how instable you were, how much of a hassle it was to keep track of your instability, your need for attention. Have you tried to be a vegan yet? All the stars are doing it. You have tried. In fact, last week was your third try – an attempt, they call it – not enough, they emphasize, try again, they say this as if it is encouragement. That’s when you found them - the celestial crescent, the earthshine, the perilune, how the lacus are lakes without lakes, why the Gibbous is brighter either way, especially during conjunction – all strung together in pearls. You are a full the night you return. As you reflect off the lake, you see Selene, Hecate, Mani, Tsukuyomi, Iah, and Thoth. You tell the stars to look, to breathe your reflection, to succumb to the glow and the beauty of it all, that you are not alone— They laugh. Say how historical that is, how out-of-touch you are, how myths aren’t mirrors, how you - you are not a mystery at all. But when you died – if you died – (we still do not know) - they do not wonder where you went. They spin, spin, spin the entire night home, only once confessing to how empty the sky is without your shine. But every night they burn.
0
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
shannon-a-thompson
On being overweight (whatever that means)
Published in The Quill on November 19, 2014: http://www.amazon.com/Quill-Fall-2014-ebook/dp/B00PNVT6PG ... On being overweight (whatever that means) Even if you were the moon, they would complain about how much space you took up in the sky, how you were too bright, wanted too much from the stars, demanded more light than the others. And when you shifted, from waning to full to waxing to waning, they would remind you of how instable you were, how much of a hassle it was to keep track of your instability, your need for attention. Have you tried to be a vegan yet? All the stars are doing it. You have tried. In fact, last week was your third try – an attempt, they call it – not enough, they emphasize, try again, they say this as if it is encouragement. That’s when you found them - the celestial crescent, the earthshine, the perilune, how the lacus are lakes without lakes, why the Gibbous is brighter either way, especially during conjunction – all strung together in pearls. You are a full the night you return. As you reflect off the lake, you see Selene, Hecate, Mani, Tsukuyomi, Iah, and Thoth. You tell the stars to look, to breathe your reflection, to succumb to the glow and the beauty of it all, that you are not alone— They laugh. Say how historical that is, how out-of-touch you are, how myths aren’t mirrors, how you - you are not a mystery at all. But when you died – if you died – (we still do not know) - they do not wonder where you went. They spin, spin, spin the entire night home, only once confessing to how empty the sky is without your shine. But every night they burn.
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14
There are some who may prefer a cloudless sky and the touch of a warm sun. These hearts are similar climates, and you may find them at no great distance from the equator. Not mine. My love is for the sedge and moss covered upland of frozen lakes, where the cold white blanket covers the steppes. Peace is found here, among the ice and whispered within the biting gale as it travels over her skin. Her chill breath touches me, and I am not driven away. For within my chest beats a fire as black as space between the stars. And I go unclothed, as the caribou carry me across the frozen land. I am the horned god.
0
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 2:01 AM UTC
ADreamerDarkly
Winter Heart
There are some who may prefer a cloudless sky and the touch of a warm sun. These hearts are similar climates, and you may find them at no great distance from the equator. Not mine. My love is for the sedge and moss covered upland of frozen lakes, where the cold white blanket covers the steppes. Peace is found here, among the ice and whispered within the biting gale as it travels over her skin. Her chill breath touches me, and I am not driven away. For within my chest beats a fire as black as space between the stars. And I go unclothed, as the caribou carry me across the frozen land. I am the horned god.
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7
* * Your soul is the moon after dawn A vapour who sings of love as well as pain A delicate blossom that twirls with zephyrs Fragrant and enriched by the snow's kiss The geese have fled from iced lakes long preserved with whispers of old In the shade of bamboo, my flute is heard, carried to you by the frost-kissed air Your soul, a vapour, the moon after dawn Hear my hymn of peace, till winters turn to fawn * *
0
Aug 31, 2018
Aug 31, 2018 at 12:21 PM UTC
Lyn-Purcell
Fawn
* * Your soul is the moon after dawn A vapour who sings of love as well as pain A delicate blossom that twirls with zephyrs Fragrant and enriched by the snow's kiss The geese have fled from iced lakes long preserved with whispers of old In the shade of bamboo, my flute is heard, carried to you by the frost-kissed air Your soul, a vapour, the moon after dawn Hear my hymn of peace, till winters turn to fawn * *
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15
The Eid is bustling with joy come let’s give it a try f     l     y      away! To the deathless groovy paradise floating high on the elixir flow: The triumphant joyous wave streamed up from the secret bottom line!   Up above the lapis lazuli sky. A pair of butterfly basks in the sunlight quietly indulges in style. It goes on in slow motion illuminating the night a firefly perches on a slice of the Moon flanked by the moonlight. But you and me we will rhyme and chant in our lovely mother tongue. In the same original lingua like ‘Adam speaks up and all angels listen in paradise’. Come let’s give it a try f   l     y      away! On the wings of the moonlight we will s   a     i       l        away! Ambling by the Moon we'll **** through the starry nooks. Eyes open and gently perched atop a star for a moment or two. We will see miles of galaxies over the moonlit lakes of the blue playing cool ravishing lutes! The spring night is in bloom and the cute sleeping beauty wakes up playing the flute! Musical half lights filling the sky. Come let’s give it a try f   l     y      away! We’ll drink sharaban tahura the holy wine of paradise and once for all we will k i   s     s the death goodbye! Our story will fill the divine soil the heaven's flora and fauna each and everyone will shine on our page no houri will ever say finito singing our tale! As Adam did it first stunned the angels telling the nature of all things in paradise. We will do that once more without a smirk this time we will see the loving Creator!
0
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 1:04 PM UTC
shofi-ahmed
Eid Mubarak - Lets Fly Paradise
The Eid is bustling with joy come let’s give it a try f     l     y      away! To the deathless groovy paradise floating high on the elixir flow: The triumphant joyous wave streamed up from the secret bottom line!   Up above the lapis lazuli sky. A pair of butterfly basks in the sunlight quietly indulges in style. It goes on in slow motion illuminating the night a firefly perches on a slice of the Moon flanked by the moonlight. But you and me we will rhyme and chant in our lovely mother tongue. In the same original lingua like ‘Adam speaks up and all angels listen in paradise’. Come let’s give it a try f   l     y      away! On the wings of the moonlight we will s   a     i       l        away! Ambling by the Moon we'll **** through the starry nooks. Eyes open and gently perched atop a star for a moment or two. We will see miles of galaxies over the moonlit lakes of the blue playing cool ravishing lutes! The spring night is in bloom and the cute sleeping beauty wakes up playing the flute! Musical half lights filling the sky. Come let’s give it a try f   l     y      away! We’ll drink sharaban tahura the holy wine of paradise and once for all we will k i   s     s the death goodbye! Our story will fill the divine soil the heaven's flora and fauna each and everyone will shine on our page no houri will ever say finito singing our tale! As Adam did it first stunned the angels telling the nature of all things in paradise. We will do that once more without a smirk this time we will see the loving Creator!
Continue reading...
67
There's an apocalypse coming And we get to choose which kind Just listen to the meanings and open your mind One means revealing One means demise Are we gonna keep stealing Or are we going to open our eyes We're killing the earth inside and out Instead of trusting our hearts, we are living in doubt We can love each other and change the path of the planet We need to grow our own food, raw and organic We can't just manufacture everything, process, and can it Stop the GMOs, pesticides, and factory farming What it's doing to the planet is absolutely alarming They create lakes of blood and an earth of toxins If you read the clock then You'll see that it's time to change, this isn't how it's supposed to be We should be living together in a sustainable community One that helps, nurtures, and loves One that plants trees and gardens and shrubs It's time to bring about our utopia of the future We need to get rid of the lies, the hate, and the torture Wars, jealousy, and competition have to end It's time for us to forgive, it's time to transcend To our new world, our kingdom of heaven Just read your clock its 11:11
0
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
thisplacecallednowhere
11:11
There's an apocalypse coming And we get to choose which kind Just listen to the meanings and open your mind One means revealing One means demise Are we gonna keep stealing Or are we going to open our eyes We're killing the earth inside and out Instead of trusting our hearts, we are living in doubt We can love each other and change the path of the planet We need to grow our own food, raw and organic We can't just manufacture everything, process, and can it Stop the GMOs, pesticides, and factory farming What it's doing to the planet is absolutely alarming They create lakes of blood and an earth of toxins If you read the clock then You'll see that it's time to change, this isn't how it's supposed to be We should be living together in a sustainable community One that helps, nurtures, and loves One that plants trees and gardens and shrubs It's time to bring about our utopia of the future We need to get rid of the lies, the hate, and the torture Wars, jealousy, and competition have to end It's time for us to forgive, it's time to transcend To our new world, our kingdom of heaven Just read your clock its 11:11
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26
the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that.   but to get to the Northwest, Interstate 84 ain’t le route plus directe nope curve north to Ontario, wave to Bex as I cross over London and Toronto, also can’t recall which poet from Rochester hails, or did they shuffle off to Buffalo? Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all, brings to mind my mother’s birthplace, Last of the Mohicans, and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary, where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play of cowboys and Indians but by god, it made me the penitent fella I am today Look skyward to Montreal, yes, there he is, the Leo Priest, the baffled king, blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip with a smiling unsurprising hallelujah Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada, even if one forgot their passports, and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT) over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane, a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen, surely they still speak poetic English there in a twangy metering methodology  - well, message me asap wow there really is a Saskatoon! the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats to help turn the plane so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver... me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High, considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial, as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a huuuuuge grin see the distant Cascades through a crack in the shuttered windows, must be close to “the coast” (as if, harrumph, there were but one) ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking must be getting close to Oregon, where poets grow on trees, woody words like **** and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea gonna drink me some poets under the table cause this trip I ain’t no driving and I am already “flying” ‘n scribing and arriving on a high tide and a good wind
0
Jun 7, 2018
Jun 7, 2018 at 5:47 AM UTC
nat-lipstadt
Songs of Going to Oregon: No. 2 But Who Knew?
the earth is curved - sure y’all knew that.   but to get to the Northwest, Interstate 84 ain’t le route plus directe nope curve north to Ontario, wave to Bex as I cross over London and Toronto, also can’t recall which poet from Rochester hails, or did they shuffle off to Buffalo? Crossing Erie, Huron, and Michigan Great Lakes all, brings to mind my mother’s birthplace, Last of the Mohicans, and the three years I did in the Cleveland Penitentiary, where sun was illegal and baseball was a pretend play of cowboys and Indians but by god, it made me the penitent fella I am today Look skyward to Montreal, yes, there he is, the Leo Priest, the baffled king, blessing this poetic meet ‘n greet trip with a smiling unsurprising hallelujah Apparently some US citizens still can traverse O Canada, even if one forgot their passports, and are not PNG’s (Persons Not so GREAT) over Minneapolis shed a tear for Diane, a poet- gone-missing, and wonder if you reader come from St. Cloud, Fargo or Duluth, Bismarck or Aberdeen, surely they still speak poetic English there in a twangy metering methodology  - well, message me asap wow there really is a Saskatoon! the pilot asks us to lean left in our seats to help turn the plane so we go to Portland and not to Vancouver... me thinks he might be a touch Rockie Mountain High, considering we are at 30 thousand something Imperial, as he walks the main cabin with an oxygen mask and a huuuuuge grin see the distant Cascades through a crack in the shuttered windows, must be close to “the coast” (as if, harrumph, there were but one) ah, words in the clouds, ripe for the plucking must be getting close to Oregon, where poets grow on trees, woody words like **** and log-float poems down the Columbia to the sea gonna drink me some poets under the table cause this trip I ain’t no driving and I am already “flying” ‘n scribing and arriving on a high tide and a good wind
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53
I am a mother, a wife A friend, a teacher I seek happiness I love deep Only souls not faces Always loyal I don't judge   I love to help I see good in everyone Which makes me naive at times I am open to all Hoping for a world Where everyone fits Labels don't exist I latch to rules Anxiety demands I suffer from OCD Always chasing order Shackled by disinfection   I am comfortable in control Leading the way I seek to inspire I believe in others I am honest with my feelings I value experience And learn from them I reflect on my day Always trying to improve I search for meaning in conversations Enjoy learning new things daily I play sports Love music   Enjoy Art Express myself in writes Fascinated by abstracts Reading words to gain insight The grace in movement   The beauty in visual artistry I love to re-discover nature The acoustics of birds Waterfalls and rain Kissing falling snow Connecting with our majestic sky I love the stillness Each morning brings The dew sleeping in the emerald The lacquered canvas Of quiet lakes Motionless   In something so vast Yoga is my philosophy A healthy Body Mind And spirit My destination is The pursuit of enlightenment   In my life's pain I am coming out of the spiral Enjoying my journey Seeing straight Swimming the unalome I feed my soul Hoping IT can lead me Leaving my ego in my wake I remain unfinished I continue to wear masks Sometimes to hide As I fear rejection Still.. As happy as I seem As lovely as I am My soul has a shadow Hidden inside My essence traced By shaded light I am a survivor Broken in places Finally accepting my true self Jl 2016
0
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 6:16 PM UTC
JessieLang
This Is Me
I am a mother, a wife A friend, a teacher I seek happiness I love deep Only souls not faces Always loyal I don't judge   I love to help I see good in everyone Which makes me naive at times I am open to all Hoping for a world Where everyone fits Labels don't exist I latch to rules Anxiety demands I suffer from OCD Always chasing order Shackled by disinfection   I am comfortable in control Leading the way I seek to inspire I believe in others I am honest with my feelings I value experience And learn from them I reflect on my day Always trying to improve I search for meaning in conversations Enjoy learning new things daily I play sports Love music   Enjoy Art Express myself in writes Fascinated by abstracts Reading words to gain insight The grace in movement   The beauty in visual artistry I love to re-discover nature The acoustics of birds Waterfalls and rain Kissing falling snow Connecting with our majestic sky I love the stillness Each morning brings The dew sleeping in the emerald The lacquered canvas Of quiet lakes Motionless   In something so vast Yoga is my philosophy A healthy Body Mind And spirit My destination is The pursuit of enlightenment   In my life's pain I am coming out of the spiral Enjoying my journey Seeing straight Swimming the unalome I feed my soul Hoping IT can lead me Leaving my ego in my wake I remain unfinished I continue to wear masks Sometimes to hide As I fear rejection Still.. As happy as I seem As lovely as I am My soul has a shadow Hidden inside My essence traced By shaded light I am a survivor Broken in places Finally accepting my true self Jl 2016
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80
His blue eyes are like glacial-lakes, wrapping around his heart till he's chilled to the bone from the cold. A deadly place where treading is no longer permitted. His eyes are transparent and distant as the impersonal clouds passing overhead. Even as I stands before him, reflecting off him. I am still merely a reflection. He knows my face, I reason silently. From the hills of my cheeks, down towards the valley separating my lips. He should recognize it all. Instead a blank expression greets me.     A look of cold, solid insouciance. I'm immediately angry with myself for wanting to justify his indifference's. A reflex I've never been able to expel. The vestigial limb on a skeleton. A party favor from another time forgotten for the newly discovered toy. I twist in the fridged winds wrapping around him. My force giving under the great pressure magnified by his powers. I never wanted to dance upon his breeze. This realization makes me burn hotter. My anger brighter than the northern star. I welcome it, my amounting rage. I embraces it with a raging smile. His glaciers may be cold, immovable at times. A pretentious notion I might freeze. For I am the sun swirling in nova's ring and cannot be affected by his black iced personality.
0
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 11:38 AM UTC
Nickel
Black Iced Personality.
His blue eyes are like glacial-lakes, wrapping around his heart till he's chilled to the bone from the cold. A deadly place where treading is no longer permitted. His eyes are transparent and distant as the impersonal clouds passing overhead. Even as I stands before him, reflecting off him. I am still merely a reflection. He knows my face, I reason silently. From the hills of my cheeks, down towards the valley separating my lips. He should recognize it all. Instead a blank expression greets me.     A look of cold, solid insouciance. I'm immediately angry with myself for wanting to justify his indifference's. A reflex I've never been able to expel. The vestigial limb on a skeleton. A party favor from another time forgotten for the newly discovered toy. I twist in the fridged winds wrapping around him. My force giving under the great pressure magnified by his powers. I never wanted to dance upon his breeze. This realization makes me burn hotter. My anger brighter than the northern star. I welcome it, my amounting rage. I embraces it with a raging smile. His glaciers may be cold, immovable at times. A pretentious notion I might freeze. For I am the sun swirling in nova's ring and cannot be affected by his black iced personality.
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24
-Hello Love- Perhaps it’s been a thousand years, the rivers have shifted so, the lakes I swam in, have gone dry the waterfalls though, overflow. And so it is, that I have wandered back tugged furiously throughout days by this rugged tinkling thread back to this ancient maze. Most surely it’s been several weeks the leaves are rough to touch, the grass withers where I step but trees don’t ask for much. And so it is, that I have rambled on pulled strangely through the haze, at last I fall under the rays of morn, My love, I’m home again.
0
Sep 19, 2018
Sep 19, 2018 at 8:47 AM UTC
pufflespower
17
-Hello Love- Perhaps it’s been a thousand years, the rivers have shifted so, the lakes I swam in, have gone dry the waterfalls though, overflow. And so it is, that I have wandered back tugged furiously throughout days by this rugged tinkling thread back to this ancient maze. Most surely it’s been several weeks the leaves are rough to touch, the grass withers where I step but trees don’t ask for much. And so it is, that I have rambled on pulled strangely through the haze, at last I fall under the rays of morn, My love, I’m home again.
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17
*There is a place that I go that exists within my mind. And when I'm feeling troubled, I can leave this world behind. On wings of gossamer I'll sail in airships made of mist to sparkling shores of diamond dust the golden sun has kissed. There are unicorns with silver horns and friendly dragons too. There's griffins, fauns and centaurs why, it's heaven's petting zoo. The rain falls gently on my face from tears the angels shed. And blessings from The Father fall like leaves on every head. I'll swim in lakes of lavender and also float upon my back. to see a glittering rainbow there with no colors does it lack. There is no evil in this place no envy, pride or hate. For if I wish admission there, I check them at the gate. I'm kin to every heartbeat and a soul mate to each star. And I'm never lost or scared for He's never very far. And everyone is family there the humans and the beasts. There is no ********** There's no "greatest" and no "least". Someday, I'll find thy solitude and there I shall abide. And I'll join the souls that I have missed upon thy mystic tide.*
0
Aug 2, 2017
Aug 2, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC
Cne
Heaven
*There is a place that I go that exists within my mind. And when I'm feeling troubled, I can leave this world behind. On wings of gossamer I'll sail in airships made of mist to sparkling shores of diamond dust the golden sun has kissed. There are unicorns with silver horns and friendly dragons too. There's griffins, fauns and centaurs why, it's heaven's petting zoo. The rain falls gently on my face from tears the angels shed. And blessings from The Father fall like leaves on every head. I'll swim in lakes of lavender and also float upon my back. to see a glittering rainbow there with no colors does it lack. There is no evil in this place no envy, pride or hate. For if I wish admission there, I check them at the gate. I'm kin to every heartbeat and a soul mate to each star. And I'm never lost or scared for He's never very far. And everyone is family there the humans and the beasts. There is no ********** There's no "greatest" and no "least". Someday, I'll find thy solitude and there I shall abide. And I'll join the souls that I have missed upon thy mystic tide.*
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37
The next to empty train Roars through the mist of dawn As it passes the lakes and elves The dark and mystic pines -forests that once told of horrors To keep the ones like me From crossing the line- This box, this crate A testament of the modern man To whom which it serves It is somewhat of a time traveller When it breezes the land That years have made its own And yet there are scenes from my window That I know are proofs Of exceptions to the rule that reads, “time will take its toll” All the brooks and oaks And even more so Every bolder and stone Convinces my heart and soul That I need not be marred and scorned Broken and torn By the thistles and thorns And all the bourdons that the lions Of this glass world Convict me to ***** Since there is a side To the manic and indecisive puzzle that is I A side of realism and cynicism Thus I am well aware of my mortality And the scarcity of the time that is mine My existence is an indirect unwritten vow To never bend my back and bow To never fall in line And receive my share of coals To fuel this machine down the rusty tracks In a race against nature or God A race to prove one or the other Or even both wrong A race we’ve already lost
0
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 11:43 AM UTC
tobias-engkvist
On A Train
The next to empty train Roars through the mist of dawn As it passes the lakes and elves The dark and mystic pines -forests that once told of horrors To keep the ones like me From crossing the line- This box, this crate A testament of the modern man To whom which it serves It is somewhat of a time traveller When it breezes the land That years have made its own And yet there are scenes from my window That I know are proofs Of exceptions to the rule that reads, “time will take its toll” All the brooks and oaks And even more so Every bolder and stone Convinces my heart and soul That I need not be marred and scorned Broken and torn By the thistles and thorns And all the bourdons that the lions Of this glass world Convict me to ***** Since there is a side To the manic and indecisive puzzle that is I A side of realism and cynicism Thus I am well aware of my mortality And the scarcity of the time that is mine My existence is an indirect unwritten vow To never bend my back and bow To never fall in line And receive my share of coals To fuel this machine down the rusty tracks In a race against nature or God A race to prove one or the other Or even both wrong A race we’ve already lost
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41
My dreams don't have to occur in a frigid state, where the wind blows across the Great Lakes and straight through me. I would rather be warm and happy than cold and admired and miserable.
0
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 1:11 PM UTC
amanda-jerry
Reconciliation
My dreams don't have to occur in a frigid state, where the wind blows across the Great Lakes and straight through me. I would rather be warm and happy than cold and admired and miserable.
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9
We will sail away on the wings of the moonlight over the lakes of the blue we'll cross the starry nooks. We will go, we’ll go far beyond where the flow is musical every air beat plays the lute. You and me we’re only one who says we’re two?
0
Sep 18, 2017
Sep 18, 2017 at 4:43 PM UTC
shofi-ahmed
Wings of the Moonlight
We will sail away on the wings of the moonlight over the lakes of the blue we'll cross the starry nooks. We will go, we’ll go far beyond where the flow is musical every air beat plays the lute. You and me we’re only one who says we’re two?
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9
Out the window the trees go by fast. Never having the chance to know one even by the looks of it. The houses pass by quick and the people in them never move. There is no time to see what's on their televisions. Drive by the Dennisville Lake and my eyes are fixed on the egrets drying in the branches of the trees at least half a mile out. There's a beach in the distance where the sun sets and it's more than picturesque. Years ago, this is where I first learned to ice skate, *but now the lakes blocked off with guardrails, I'm on a busy road, and there's no turning back.* -s.r.pikulinski
0
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
samantha-pikulinski
Dennisville Lake
Out the window the trees go by fast. Never having the chance to know one even by the looks of it. The houses pass by quick and the people in them never move. There is no time to see what's on their televisions. Drive by the Dennisville Lake and my eyes are fixed on the egrets drying in the branches of the trees at least half a mile out. There's a beach in the distance where the sun sets and it's more than picturesque. Years ago, this is where I first learned to ice skate, *but now the lakes blocked off with guardrails, I'm on a busy road, and there's no turning back.* -s.r.pikulinski
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15
Out across the open lakes I stare, Transfixed by the colour, Grace and dignity; relaxed with no cares, Pink plumes could get no fuller. A swan sparkling with more class, The brightness against the barren African plain, The power of the landscape is hard to pass, But the ocean of pink alights the darkest of grain.
0
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 5:59 AM UTC
simon-clark
The Flamingo
Out across the open lakes I stare, Transfixed by the colour, Grace and dignity; relaxed with no cares, Pink plumes could get no fuller. A swan sparkling with more class, The brightness against the barren African plain, The power of the landscape is hard to pass, But the ocean of pink alights the darkest of grain.
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8
;heart made of metal, you're too hard to soothe as an iron ***** you coldly shine smooth. n head full of ember, your trickily burnt  fire- With its heat licks my lips, scolding hot with desire. And then Voice made of water, may you speak of unknown rivers lakes- oceans blue Typhoon and cyclone. And soul made of moonstone- may outwardly you shine, Dance, scintillating- a pure serpentine.
0
Jul 7, 2018
Jul 7, 2018 at 6:32 AM UTC
Hardwire
Moonstone: opal-pearl-quartz; sapphire-appatite-anglite-focalite
;heart made of metal, you're too hard to soothe as an iron ***** you coldly shine smooth. n head full of ember, your trickily burnt  fire- With its heat licks my lips, scolding hot with desire. And then Voice made of water, may you speak of unknown rivers lakes- oceans blue Typhoon and cyclone. And soul made of moonstone- may outwardly you shine, Dance, scintillating- a pure serpentine.
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13
The first in over sixty years The whooping cranes are living wild Now one young pair has laid an egg And, too, with luck, will raise their child They near Kissimmee were released Beating the odds, survived to breed A ray of hope they might increase And ***** the armor of human greed But cranes need water as do we As still we pump the wetlands dry Our chains of lakes sprout fat resorts The river of grass condemned to die Yet dare we dream we might reverse This harsh inflicted damage done Still apathy is our nation's curse Which battles none has ever won Today I cheer the whooping cranes Who still have hope that they might see Upon some far and distant day Their offspring's offspring flying free
0
Oct 23, 2015
Oct 23, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC
cori-macnaughton
The Whooping Cranes
The first in over sixty years The whooping cranes are living wild Now one young pair has laid an egg And, too, with luck, will raise their child They near Kissimmee were released Beating the odds, survived to breed A ray of hope they might increase And ***** the armor of human greed But cranes need water as do we As still we pump the wetlands dry Our chains of lakes sprout fat resorts The river of grass condemned to die Yet dare we dream we might reverse This harsh inflicted damage done Still apathy is our nation's curse Which battles none has ever won Today I cheer the whooping cranes Who still have hope that they might see Upon some far and distant day Their offspring's offspring flying free
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20
Hello Chicago Flat carpet-town of corn meal steel spears at the northern junction of Cahokia and some unknown dream No lillies grow here sir, no tulip fields though there are many Dutch a little up north Wisconsin, dontcha' know? Family blood rains through the Chicago river named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder wanders with the roaming buffalo I sat at the top of Sears (Willis) Tower and peered into the foggy distance and made out the shores of Michigan through Indiana the leftover rains of a continental freeze churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries and bowels of today's earthly body And when we drove in from O'Hare in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways counting down the streets thinking maybe they'll go all the way to Mississippi just a long row of Concrete I saw the brick tower of a decrepit Frito-lay plant where they cooked their corn and potato into succulent can't eat just one little snacks for the whole of america to enjoy in backyard barbecues and convenience stores and grocery outlets All across the planet Now with the trucks they come and go up to and whizzing past Chicago on to greener states with greater relief with hills and lakes and winding streams Different sections of the sculpture Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts quaking and breaking into tiny stones a monumental David cracked in the gallery bird **** corroding the silicates unpolished and immortal words Chicago! oh you mighty city you built from sod and sweat and dew of new morning I see your towers you dreamer, you But your towers are in Dubai, and Shanghai now The world moved on and forgot everything about that magnificent mile burned to make you earn new toys and fancy things from far beyond your winding river streams But you didn't die amazing, how much they tried to rust you out to bleed you dry no, Chicago, you keep your ***** rivers flowing all the way to the Mississippi flanked by modern Roman concrete all the way to the great green sea out into the puddle that surronds the Amerigo Chicago don't you give up that river dream
0
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 3:26 PM UTC
TimelessWave
O'Chicago
Hello Chicago Flat carpet-town of corn meal steel spears at the northern junction of Cahokia and some unknown dream No lillies grow here sir, no tulip fields though there are many Dutch a little up north Wisconsin, dontcha' know? Family blood rains through the Chicago river named of the blood of a slain tribal wonder wanders with the roaming buffalo I sat at the top of Sears (Willis) Tower and peered into the foggy distance and made out the shores of Michigan through Indiana the leftover rains of a continental freeze churned the earth to butter and carved the arteries and bowels of today's earthly body And when we drove in from O'Hare in the late hours on incessant stoplight highways counting down the streets thinking maybe they'll go all the way to Mississippi just a long row of Concrete I saw the brick tower of a decrepit Frito-lay plant where they cooked their corn and potato into succulent can't eat just one little snacks for the whole of america to enjoy in backyard barbecues and convenience stores and grocery outlets All across the planet Now with the trucks they come and go up to and whizzing past Chicago on to greener states with greater relief with hills and lakes and winding streams Different sections of the sculpture Cities eroding into the pleasant coasts quaking and breaking into tiny stones a monumental David cracked in the gallery bird **** corroding the silicates unpolished and immortal words Chicago! oh you mighty city you built from sod and sweat and dew of new morning I see your towers you dreamer, you But your towers are in Dubai, and Shanghai now The world moved on and forgot everything about that magnificent mile burned to make you earn new toys and fancy things from far beyond your winding river streams But you didn't die amazing, how much they tried to rust you out to bleed you dry no, Chicago, you keep your ***** rivers flowing all the way to the Mississippi flanked by modern Roman concrete all the way to the great green sea out into the puddle that surronds the Amerigo Chicago don't you give up that river dream
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81
Trampling through their city paths, Hunting ground, mean street. They perch aloft towers of oak; Dripping with prestige vine, wrapped With silk leaves, soft to touch And hard to climb. The Sun sets over the seven lakes Of spring kissed, freshly mown Fields of scorn blessed by Solitudal and beady eyes. Gates keeping out the world that Wishes them harm. They sit so high peering down, At our destitution, our self-prohetised Might! And think: “Pfft you all wish you could fly
0
Aug 20, 2018
Aug 20, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
RJP
Streets of Gold
Trampling through their city paths, Hunting ground, mean street. They perch aloft towers of oak; Dripping with prestige vine, wrapped With silk leaves, soft to touch And hard to climb. The Sun sets over the seven lakes Of spring kissed, freshly mown Fields of scorn blessed by Solitudal and beady eyes. Gates keeping out the world that Wishes them harm. They sit so high peering down, At our destitution, our self-prohetised Might! And think: “Pfft you all wish you could fly
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16
Crying is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength. It’s a sign of letting yourself go and not holding yourself back. It’s a form of expression a silent expression an emotional expression a vulnerable expression a brave and strong expression letting everyone know that you can’t take it anymore. Small drops of water coming from your visual peripherals come tumbling down the sides of your face like an overflowing waterfall From eye to chin each watery teardrop represents and symbolizes you breaking free from the pain you experienced in the past. No matter what pain you’ve gone through, every time you cry you let your past stay in the past. You don’t let it go to the present nor to the future. You let it stay in the past. What I’m trying to say that it’s OK to let it go. It’s OK to break free and be free. It’s OK to come alive. It’s OK to create your own personal overflowing waterfall all over your beautiful face. It’s OK to cry. Don’t listen to other people that tell you that you’re weak, a baby, or a crybaby for that matter. Don’t listen to other people that tell you that you’re hopeless, worthless, or that you are not good enough for them. Don’t listen to other people that tell you that you’re never going to make it through life no matter how hard or how many times you try. Instead, show them. Show them that you’re just a regular human being and prove to them that regular human beings have real emotional feelings. Show them that you’re never afraid to show off and let go of your vulnerable feelings that you’re hiding inside. Show them that they too can let go of their own emotional and vulnerable feelings that they’re hiding inside. If they can’t let go of their powerful and moving feelings, they will have cold, frozen hearts. Bottom line, we all need to shed some beautiful and powerful tears every so often in our lifetime. We all need to create our own rivers, lakes, streams, creeks, ponds, seas, and oceans full of one of the most moving and powerful human senses that we shed throughout our lifetime. And it all starts with a overflowing waterfall coming from the most important visionary living organs. Our eyes are the window to our emotional and vulnerable soul. That soul is willing to come out from the visual window and it will do whatever it takes to do just that. But it needs your permission. It’s time to let it go. It’s OK to cry.
0
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
lynette-chiamaka-okoroike
It's OK To Cry
Crying is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength. It’s a sign of letting yourself go and not holding yourself back. It’s a form of expression a silent expression an emotional expression a vulnerable expression a brave and strong expression letting everyone know that you can’t take it anymore. Small drops of water coming from your visual peripherals come tumbling down the sides of your face like an overflowing waterfall From eye to chin each watery teardrop represents and symbolizes you breaking free from the pain you experienced in the past. No matter what pain you’ve gone through, every time you cry you let your past stay in the past. You don’t let it go to the present nor to the future. You let it stay in the past. What I’m trying to say that it’s OK to let it go. It’s OK to break free and be free. It’s OK to come alive. It’s OK to create your own personal overflowing waterfall all over your beautiful face. It’s OK to cry. Don’t listen to other people that tell you that you’re weak, a baby, or a crybaby for that matter. Don’t listen to other people that tell you that you’re hopeless, worthless, or that you are not good enough for them. Don’t listen to other people that tell you that you’re never going to make it through life no matter how hard or how many times you try. Instead, show them. Show them that you’re just a regular human being and prove to them that regular human beings have real emotional feelings. Show them that you’re never afraid to show off and let go of your vulnerable feelings that you’re hiding inside. Show them that they too can let go of their own emotional and vulnerable feelings that they’re hiding inside. If they can’t let go of their powerful and moving feelings, they will have cold, frozen hearts. Bottom line, we all need to shed some beautiful and powerful tears every so often in our lifetime. We all need to create our own rivers, lakes, streams, creeks, ponds, seas, and oceans full of one of the most moving and powerful human senses that we shed throughout our lifetime. And it all starts with a overflowing waterfall coming from the most important visionary living organs. Our eyes are the window to our emotional and vulnerable soul. That soul is willing to come out from the visual window and it will do whatever it takes to do just that. But it needs your permission. It’s time to let it go. It’s OK to cry.
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133
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes, I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes! Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming, I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming! For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost, Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host! Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity, A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity! Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance, Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity, Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity! Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively; I finagle in my filigree!
0
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
david-john-mowers
Wauhermes in Toto
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes, I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes! Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming, I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming! For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost, Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host! Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity, A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity! Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance, Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity, Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity! Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively; I finagle in my filigree!
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13
A Breath of wind is wind itself, should true and steady braided shelfs, foraged fords from handsome lords, prayed hopes & proper ropes, could life and science meet the world beyond Biology? "A home," it cried, "a home for me with trees and lakes and reverie." I tried and cried for something else, elsewhere I found a leaning shelf. Should what was true and even hold nothing told or helpless here, I cannot hide a place inside, though I cannot say I really tried.
0
May 18, 2017
May 18, 2017 at 2:15 PM UTC
joshua-brown1q
Wind Itself
A Breath of wind is wind itself, should true and steady braided shelfs, foraged fords from handsome lords, prayed hopes & proper ropes, could life and science meet the world beyond Biology? "A home," it cried, "a home for me with trees and lakes and reverie." I tried and cried for something else, elsewhere I found a leaning shelf. Should what was true and even hold nothing told or helpless here, I cannot hide a place inside, though I cannot say I really tried.
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11
RIVERS MAKES ME QUIVER Youthful mind left wandering just feeling the wetness from yards into the curbs Ripples running curbside over toes, forming those first streams for a meandering mind Clouds collecting power,mists collecting,forming Drop by drop rains flowing into their reserves   High mountain lakes reflecting their passion, partitioned by beavers to make their own pond   Broken into brooks flowing faster downward into streams,cool and clear their taste like sweet liqueurs Beauty not confined to a torrent but gifted with greenery and wildlife ,flowers that make the forests more confident Trickles forming into cascades downward making outpourings & overflows waterfalls forced through the fissures Gravity needs spaces we watch as it heightens then widens,making it's way through the continent quickly becoming most prominent Admire her beauty but reap her rewards,wet bounty to feed the fields, food for fishes ,generations receive her treasures Canoeists,kayakers or legendary steamboat captains are fond of their flowing, boys wondering where she will go ,knowing our tears of joy will flow to the sea should be our greatest compliment. R.C.
0
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
wichitarick
RIVERS MAKES ME QUIVER
RIVERS MAKES ME QUIVER Youthful mind left wandering just feeling the wetness from yards into the curbs Ripples running curbside over toes, forming those first streams for a meandering mind Clouds collecting power,mists collecting,forming Drop by drop rains flowing into their reserves   High mountain lakes reflecting their passion, partitioned by beavers to make their own pond   Broken into brooks flowing faster downward into streams,cool and clear their taste like sweet liqueurs Beauty not confined to a torrent but gifted with greenery and wildlife ,flowers that make the forests more confident Trickles forming into cascades downward making outpourings & overflows waterfalls forced through the fissures Gravity needs spaces we watch as it heightens then widens,making it's way through the continent quickly becoming most prominent Admire her beauty but reap her rewards,wet bounty to feed the fields, food for fishes ,generations receive her treasures Canoeists,kayakers or legendary steamboat captains are fond of their flowing, boys wondering where she will go ,knowing our tears of joy will flow to the sea should be our greatest compliment. R.C.
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11