"listing" poems
The elegance of sitting in a coffee shop alone,
With a coffee to your right,
And a biscuit to your left,
Listing to the slow songs on your playlists,
No one to talk to,
Not the lonely kind of no one,
The comforting kind,
Everyone minding their own conversations,
Meanwhile you're all alone,
In the coffee shop,
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 10:08 AM UTC
I was going to write you something
that embodied our love, some
infinitesimal prose about
your name click-clacking off of
my tongue or your eyes
when you're smiling.
I was going to answer all of
the questions that are silently ticking
inside your mind and scrawl
perfect prepositions across the page
so that your hands might
falter as they traced the corners.
I wanted to tell you about
the tug of your presence or
the way that your fingerprints
feel against mine,
but I'm writing this instead,
listing off the beauty that I feel
seeping into my skin and
it doesn't really make sense
but that's just the way it falls
onto the paper, bit by bit.
sad things, serenade me.
I'm only romanticizing
the madness of it all.
I never asked to be
a ******* poet.
Oct 28, 2012
Oct 28, 2012 at 10:10 PM UTC
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled
get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling, breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?
skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the
absent women
no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms, non-differentiating
just humanism-isms
and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
As I sit here, at the dining room table and stare over decaf coffee at the screen on my Mac
my eyes are drawn, once and awhile, to the picture sitting on the buffet in the butler's pantry.
Before we continue you should know that "butler's pantry" in this case
means the "third bedroom" that we saw in the listing on Realtor dot com before we bought the house and that,
in the usual real estate-ese, is an optimistic label at best.
But I was talking about the picture.
The picture sits, slightly askew, in a carved wooden bowl given to us by my wife's boss
as a housewarming present.
It, the bowl I mean, came with salad tongs or forks,
depending on what it is that you call them,
made of water buffalo horn.
They sit in the bowl too and,
although she'd never admit it,
I know that the thought of serving salad with water buffalo horn salad forks...
lets just say.....
doesn't appeal to my wife.
Right, the picture....
It sits in on the buffet,
in the carved wooden bowl,
next to another wood bowl.
This one full of carved wood fruits and vegetables,
which evidently, includes sugar cane.
When my wife's dad moved from his house to an assisted living facility
the kids, my wife, her brother and sister, took turns going down to help him move.
My wife was the last and dad insisted that
someone
"had" to take the fruit.
But, the picture....
It, and the wooden bowls full of fruit and unused salad forks,
are surrounded by both faux and real glassware
and placemats
which all sit perched
on the top of the buffet as precariously as refugees
and all of their belongings
on the deck and roof of an overloaded fishing boat
chugging from their homeland
to some place that is hopefully better.
The picture...
It was painted by my father-in-law and,
of all the others we have in the house,
is one of my favorites.
It sits on the buffet, askew in the carved wooden bowl with the horn salad forks,
amid polycarbonate and glass drink ware,
and placemats,
unframed for some reason.
All of his other works came framed
but this is one he did not...
and did I mention that it is one of my favorites?
I like his choices of frames on all of the other pictures we have,
but this is just canvas, stretched over a frame,
sitting in that carved African wooden bowl
with those salad forks made from water buffalo horn
on the buffet next to the other wood bowl full of wooden fruits and vegetables,
and wooden sugar cane,
in the butler's pantry.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 9:51 AM UTC
Hi, below I copy a humorous hiabun, which I shared as an exercise to mentor enquiring and inspired poets to learn, so they might adopt and try different techniques and then give critique together with awesome comments... Yes, I used the words *** ****** and **** for context the rest was left to an individual imagination as in good poetry!
It included reflective commentary encompasses innocent classification terminology used in the critique, reading, examining, appreciating, understanding and writing of poetry for example: POETIC DEVICES (enjambement, duality, keriji, images, collocation, semantic, oxymoron, repetition, listing etc.), STORY (personification, characterisation, subject, context, voice etc.), IMAGERY (synaesthesia), STRUCTURE ( lineation, breaks, syntactic etc.), SOUNDS (syllables, rhyme, alliteration, pace, musicality, phrasing, beat, assonance, onomatopoeia, mouthed rhythms, patterned) and WORDS (preposition, determiner, verbs, adverbs, lexical, nouns, adjectives) used by poets, critics and academics...
And here it is :
**** tongue-in-cheek haibun - a reflective commentary on writing a popular tanka
Eye lashes flicker
a shared urgent interest
parting - dancing smile
My first inspiration was *** passionate life squeezing screaming *** the thumping wall musicality of *** exhaustingly inventive sweaty and wet.
I wanted to make it a senryu but for duality the female characterisation demanded two more lines each extending to seven syllables.
Arousing images captured her moaning splashing loneliness in unusual collocation.
I was first excited by the placement of a hovering extended enjambement to give life to my final line, whilst also considering the satisfaction in using noisy mouthed rhythms.
I believe I easily hid the wet aroused context with a watery semantic field, that suggested she would choke and drown.
So in my last line I had ‘pleasures’ as a cutting keriji to make clear the dominating ****** context, having previously used a preposition and determiner to maintain duality!
Exhausted shivers
in windowed naked currents
unfolding sinking
then surfing vital wavelets
drowning screams - pleasures wet bite
**
May 2, 2010
May 2, 2010 at 7:10 PM UTC
Walk onto a stage called life
and take a look around.
There's much to be found in such a small space,
more to give and much to take
as the curtains called and you're pulled into this performance.
Stare into the audience and pray for applause
but what if you're met with silence?
Spotlight on you as your hopes are ejected
and you my friend have just been rejected
and that is a hard thing to take.
So take a seat, a rejection seat.
Front row to your failures as they come In-ter-view.
Call it the Dragons Den the Lions Pit
and yet they ask me what kind of animal i'll be
as i sit and daydream about Spiderman in a suit
listing qualities of make believe
as he's forced to fill in a CV just like me;
not that i'm a superhero,
i'm just saving face you see,
it's just an amusing thought to ease the anxiety.
And the voluntears they come in turn.
Call em that cause they come momentarily
to remind me involuntarily
that sometimes i do need help and not all things are easy,
not all things are meant to be.
So i take a seat, will you take one with me?
As you watch that relationship sail
and wonder how did it fail?
Bon voyAge is irrelevant.
Whether it be school crush folly to divorcee
it's a learning curve right?
Hard when it seems the only thing you taught me
is what it means to feel lonely.
It's cold in that place called the one way street,
so take a seat. Pull up a chair to something that's no longer there
and share in despair as you stare at your feet.
But you will raise your head eventually.
Adopt the thinkers pose, indulge in some feelosophy.
Cause a friend once said to me that rejection is a time for reflection
and i tend to agree.
So tell me, as i stare into the face of rejection
why is it that i see my own reflection?
Am i cursed to take this personally?
It's always the shoulda, woulda, couldas that get to me.
Do they get to you?
If so take a seat.
And are you sitting uncomfortably?
Cause you shouldn't be.
Take comfort as you stare along row upon row of chairs
that stretch along beyond you and me.
Side to side, across from and diagonally.
Filling the Feartre.
There's many to be found in such a small space,
more that give and much that take
and though this may be the closing scene
there's another show tomorrow
and you and I will receive our standing ovation,
just take my hand and stand with me.
Cause this seat was only ever meant to be temporary.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 1:57 PM UTC
He is rougher then being dumped
from the saddle of a bay mare,
but perhaps she shouldn’t be riding
******** past vineyards of red rusted vines.
And if she is on fire then she should probably roll
or climb into a hot tub on ***** Thursday
and put out the flame ignited by the thought
of hoping to God his parents can’t hear her.
She had always wanted to know what it felt like
to slaughter someone. So when he placed his palms
on the arch of her back and massacred her lips,
I imagined her smashing his skull against a brick wall.
And when she is in the bathroom washing him off
her hands, with a published poet in the next stall
she shouldn’t yell **** you, I’m not a flower
and start listing off the ten rules to **** ***
Because no matter how many times she uses him
as her own personal merry go round or slams
back beer after beer, he will never die in a coffin
so that she can say he is already dead and
buried.
Aug 11, 2011
Aug 11, 2011 at 8:12 PM UTC
We were west of the Azores,
Five days out of New York,
when we spotted the Mary Celeste.
She was listing to Leeward
But still under sail
with no obvious sign of distress.
Briggs, Her captain, I knew
as a man good and true
And his shipmates
were capable men.
We hailed, but no answer,
So I send men aboard
To find out what had become of them.
Her cargo intact, just one lifeboat gone
And a rope that trailed aft in the sea.
Something had caused them
To abandon their ship
but why was a mystery to me.
There are storms on the Ocean
As winter draws near;
A sea grave was his crew's likely fate
Or else they were drifting
Ever farther from shore
with nothing to eat on their plates.
I gave thanks to God’s grace
that cold, indifferent Fate’s
bony fingers had not touched on me
and I wept for my friends
of the Mary Celeste
who would never
come home from the sea.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 11:49 AM UTC
Poems come from our inner pain,
Bleeding out and down the drain,
Pulling readers into our woe,
Chilling hearts like falling snow.
I will rebel against this trend
And bring my whining to an end
By listing blessings yet untold
While I am well and growing old.
First, let me thank the Lord above
For giving wife and children that I love,
And then for parents, growing old
Who gave me principles to hold.
And then for friends for staying true
Across the years and distance, too.
For work I've always found rewarding
And health to work from early morning.
For homes I've run to, needing rest,
And roads to travel in the West,
And opportunities to fly the distant breeze:
Canada and China, West Coast and Belize.
For clothing and for food in easy reach,
For education and for students to teach,
For restful nights and active days,
For knowing where to send my praise....
Forgive me, Lord, ungrateful as I often am,
And thank you, Father, once again,
For grace and mercy, joy and peace
And time to thank you for life's lease.
Impossible for me to e'er repay,
My thankfulness goes up today.
Feb 6, 2015
Feb 6, 2015 at 11:07 AM UTC
I'm lying here awake
Just thinking about you
Where we started
And who we've become.
I'm lying here awake
And now I'm wondering
Are you lying there awake
Thinking about me too?
I'm lying here awake
Listing all of your perfections
If I try to list them all
I'll be up until the dawn.
I'm lying here awake
As the minutes tick by
I'm going to get little sleep
But it's worth it because
I love to think about you.
I'm lying here awake
Drifting off into sleep
I'll see you in my dreams
And I'll carry you off to live happily ever after
Because you're a princess
And you deserve a prince
I'll rescue you from any trouble, any distress
And I'll never leave you as long as you're alive.
I'm lying here awake
Just thinking about my princess
And how my life would be different
If I had never met you.
I'm lying here awake
And now I am thankful
That I met you
In our own little fairytale.
Dec 9, 2015
Dec 9, 2015 at 12:21 AM UTC
Walking on the
Beach watching
The peaceful ocean
Beautiful sunset
Beautiful sunset
I sit down and just take
In the beautiful view I
Just listing to waves
Hitting the shores and
Take in the beautiful
Beautiful sunset
It is blue and purple
You can see the sun
Going behind the
Ocean and the birds
Flying in the sunset
And the beautiful palm
Trees oh how relaxing
Is it to look at the
Beautiful sunset
© Amanda Kay Hill
2/22/17
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 4:18 PM UTC
ask me who my favorite artists are
ask me what my favorite season is
as me were my favorite memories lie
ask me where i’d love to go,
what i’d love to see,
why i cut my hair the way i do,
who i desire to be
i want you
to ask me these things
because perhaps
my answers will make you
fall in love with me
i surely fell in love with you
whilst you were listing off
your favorites
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 6:31 PM UTC
Welcome to the new age .
Where your new god is your T.V.
Like mindless blobs
You sit
Transformed
Mezmerize
Hypnotized
Fixed on the Misery of others
As its
Teaching our young to hate.
Kneel down
Give praise to your new god
The TV.
as the news spreads hate and fear.
It's all washed in lies.
Come people stand in line .
It's black Friday
As you punch and trample over
Your mother
For the low price
On your god the TV
Your kids are brain washed
Taught to hate
Hypnotized
And taught to live in fear.
Your God in an instant spreads lies to the masses.
As you sit Hypnotize
mesmerize
Listing to lies.
People turn off your god
get up off your sofa and go out side
There's a beautiful world out there
Full of amazement and wonder
Listin to the river flowing
The birds singing
Smell the roses
In the soft wind blowing
Listing to the Laughter of the kids playing.
Remember when this was you.
Laughing.
Turn off your TV
Go out side
Be amazed
It's a
Beautiful world just
Open your eyes
Love cost nothing
And hurts no one.
Turn off your
Tv.
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 6:00 PM UTC
I did a little research work
And you know I'm glad to say
I found out about my history
On ancestry.ca
I typed my name and there it was
A family tree of sorts
With leaves appearing eveywhere
My family and their warts
There were places on the listing
That I had never been
And the names of the all the people
Well, most....I'd never seen
My grandad married seven times
My nanny married four
My mum was not my mother
And my dad...was out the door
The leaves kept showing up there
Beside each and every name
I sat there for eight hours
I was really glad I came
England, Scotland, Middle East
Nevada and Wales Too!
It seemed that all my family
Moved when the rent was due
I had cousins in Zimbabwe
I had cousins in Peru
They were scattered all through Italy
There were some in China too.
I learned things that I never knew
Tales of family and their kids
I learned of all their countries
And of all the things they did
Four hundred names in all I saw
And each name had a leaf
I didn't know we were that big
It was truly beyond belief
The pictures too were something else
People, places now long gone
There were photos too of Mexico
And my dear old Uncle Juan
Tomorrow, though I will sit down
And I'll do this all again
But this time I will make **** sure
That I don't forget the "n".
Apr 28, 2012
Apr 28, 2012 at 2:21 PM UTC
*Its starts with such a beautiful note
That enchants you in, listing to more
The chords flow with such passion
Such hope for the future
Till you reach the diminished
That throws the whole song down to hell
From light and hope
To dark and sin
This song of life has changed in ways
I never saw coming
The tune grows darker
The volume become louder
The chords harsher
But then it stops
And one single note changes it back to the light
The hardness of the chords soften
The volume begins to calm
And the tune once more flows through my soul
This is the song of life
And then it finishes
Leaving you with the experience of music...
The experience of life...*
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 2:01 AM UTC
Plot a course through downtown doors
then drift along the concrete shores
of asphalt oceans navigated
under stars
imitating
broken curbside glass--
over crunching gravel miles
measured in half-hours
and meted out in heavy, fogging breaths
and squinting, midnight eyes...
Counted out the blocks, counted steps
and concrete squares by metered
three-four thoughts dancing across
reflected skylines, just behind the eyes.
Each step's a held breath,
each footfall a prayer on crumpled paper,
each set of shoulders, a hanger for...
coats are homes
for hands
rolling up in pockets
fishing for some solid anchor,
sinking into years of walks and silent words like these.
*** * ***
Listing hard, adrift for years
water-logged and pocked--
no anchor--
shredded sails and leaning masts
tell stories
of deck fires:
leaping rats,
and charred strakes
Clear deck,
empty hold,
abandoned helm.
this coat's Atlantic fog.
Frayed rigging like cobwebs stretch
down and across
like lines on faces aged by the frost
on midnight walks.
Strike the colors, mate...
Admit you're lost.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 12:41 PM UTC
Still today
Danang. Saigon.Tet.
Mi Lai. ** Chi min trail.
All and more on reverb
The unwinable in black body bags.
Dam.
Just like Cronkite's musdtache goimg on and on
Drafted into the wood chipper
The buzz saw. for what.
Then the embassy buggie.
Choppers listing into the sea.
Half baked. Blood on ground.
For what.
Visit Vietnam. A travelers paradise. Half price
now with great accomodations.
Cambodia too.for the price of one.
Kamir Red.
How many dead?
For what.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 6:14 PM UTC
I fell in love with a boy at a coffee shop
who always ordered vanilla chai.
I knew it was love because I could
never get up the courage to speak to him.
I fell in love with a bony fingered,
anorexic boy in my math class.
I think it was the way he did the problems in his head,
so he could use the paper for listing
everything he wanted to eat that day, but wouldn’t.
I fell in love with a girl who had dreadlocks
and burn marks on her neck.
I always fantasized about touching them,
asking if they still warmed up her skin.
I fell in love with the older man at the tutoring center.
I failed Spanish so that I could spend the next semester
eye ******* him from across the study table.
I've always had a thing for married men.
I fell in love with girl who pushed up her
***** and pouted for football players.
It may have been unrequited,
but at least I didn’t catch anything.
I fell in love with the person
who left death threats in my locker.
I’d never known someone who felt
the same way about me as I did.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
He that had come that morning,
One after the other,
Over seven hills,
Each of a new color,
Came now by the last tree,
By the red-colored valley,
To a gray river
Wide as the sea.
There at the shingle
A listing wherry
Awash with dark water;
What should it carry?
There on the shelving,
Three dark gentlemen.
Might they direct him?
Three gentlemen.
"Cable, friend John, John Cable,"
When they saw him they said,
"Come and be company
As far as the far side."
"Come follow the feet," they said,
"Of your family,
Of your old father
That came already this way."
But Cable said, "First I must go
Once to my sister again;
What will she do come spring
And no man on her garden?
She will say 'Weeds are alive
From here to the Stream of Friday;
I grieve for my brother's plowing,'
Then break and cry."
"Lose no sleep," they said, "for that fallow:
She will say before summer,
'I can get me a daylong man,
Do better than a brother.' "
Cable said, "I think of my wife:
Dearly she needs consoling;
I must go back for a little
For fear she die of grieving."
Ask no such wild favor;
Still, if you fear she die soon,
The boat might wait for her."
But Cable said, "I remember:
Out of charity let me
Go shore up my poorly mother,
Cries all afternoon."
They said, "She is old and far,
Far and rheumy with years,
And, if you like, we shall take
No note of her tears."
But Cable said, "I am neither
Your hired man nor maid,
Nor your ape to be led."
He said, "I must go back:
Once I heard someone say
That the hollow Stream of Friday
Is a rank place to lie;
And this word, now I remember,
Makes me sorry: have you
Thought of my own body
I was always good to?
The frame that was my devotion
And my blessing was,
The straight bole whose limbs
Were long as stories-
Now, poor thing, left in the dirt
By the Stream of Friday
Might not remember me
Half tenderly."
They let him nurse no worry;
They said, "We give you our word:
Poor thing is made of patience;
Will not say a word."
"Cable, friend John, John Cable,"
After this they said,
"Come with no company
To the far side.
To a populous place,
A dense city
That shall not be changed
Before much sorrow dry."
Over shaking water
Toward the feet of his father,
Leaving the hills' color
And his poorly mother
And his wife at grieving
And his sister's fallow
And his body lying
In the rank hollow,
Now Cable is carried
On the dark river;
Nor even a shadow
Followed him over.
On the wide river
Gray as the sea
Flags of white water
Are his company.
2.5k
resolve to say much with little
to speak more with less
listing for silence
bend your words to air
and see them flow
bleeding forth
amid absent effort
the genuine stuff
Nov 22, 2020
Nov 22, 2020 at 12:02 AM UTC
In the end,
It was a brief
Affair.
In the end
It was a ship
That fared....
Too full,
A draft too
Unsteady
To stay it's course
My perfect friend
And listing
O're the force
Of winds
That ripped
Her jib sails
To shreds
And small pins;
I full of pain
You, unable
To hold on....
Against the
Winds -
"A shame"
They'll say
Or maybe
Not
I know
I know
I know.......
In the fullness
Of time's course
We'll see
Our time
Entwined
Was far, far
too brief
To be......
You so full
Of fear
I so full of grief
But we loved free
That is true
And love, in itself
Can beat the tide
But only if
The mainsails' true
I know
I know
I know.........
Your tears were
No secret
To me,
Your wetted eyes
Let me know
You'd -
Had your fill
Of heart pain
And sorrow
And sometimes
We need to go
Aside ourselves
To heal the wounds
I know
I know
I know......
In the playing
Out of time
I'm sure
We'll appreciate
That we
Struck before,
Before the sea
Was ready
To endure us
And so the
The long rock
was struck
And strewn;
We loved
Too early
Or perhaps
Too soon
I know
I know
I know......
The hurt will
Come later
The movement
Changing slow,
My countenance
Will remain
The same
But my heart
Will lose it's glow,
To think
We may not sail again
It is the
End of the affair
I know
I know
I know........
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 3:23 AM UTC
I've a sinking friendship,
Torpedoed by the ********
And listing.
The first mate mutinied.
Once a blood brother,
Like no other;
An intimate
At an imminent end,
An alter-ego
More than a friend.
I've been too patient,
Veered off course
With understanding.
I'm quite sure
This Pythias
Would run and leave me
Hanging.
I'm on a cliff
And won't hang on
To a blade of trust,
A fawning pawn.
He had my back,
I turn,
He's gone.
This partisan
Must part
A homeless homeboy,
A dissembling fraud.
No longer a mainstay,
He's insecure,
His equivocations
Make lines blur,
I don't believe
Him anymore.
He really needs a soul-mate,
Classmate, playmate,
But he's become a reprobate,
Lying prostrate,
Lying up straight.
I'll drown my Boswell
In my inkwell;
No longer
An advocate.
The laughs have left,
Yes,
I'm bereft,
But I'll catch the wind.
My course is true.
This friendship
Can't be salvaged.
It's scuttled,
And I won't
Sink with you.
Sep 2, 2014
Sep 2, 2014 at 11:42 AM UTC
The walls stare at me
They will never set me free
I'll always be stuck here
Do you not see?
They're as white as snow
And this is why I know
That my smile will never glow
Even if they go
Really, I'm in an asylum
it's because I was crazy
I'm sitting in an asylum
I know I really am crazy
But do you know the reason why?
It's because he killed me
He shattered my life
And now I can't see
A crazy broken smirk
In the darkness I lurk
I will search for you
and probably **** you too
It's like a trail of dominos
I'll push you down
No sadness too low
Aww, come on, don't frown
Now the walls aren't white, they're stained with red
Yes it is blood, because I cut off his head
It's funny how they never saw me escape
Creeping, slipping out of the locked gates
The room was completely locked
Did you know how I got out?
I was never really stocked
They never knew what is was about
A mystery they'll never find out
How his head got cut off
Now the both of us shout
And then they turned soft
Really, I'm a ghost
And I'll feed on a host
To be able to ****
on my own free will
Maybe it's you next
I'll quietly strangle your neck
They thought I was missing
They haven't checked my room
They started on the names they're listing
To catch who began this gloom
Really, I'm in an asylum
No actually, I'm in my room
It's just that I am dead
but they haven't buried me yet
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 12:30 AM UTC
Titanic
****** berth, she stands,
Maiden stream deflowering the
sunlight.
Immense furore along the dock.
Streamers, banners, brass bands.
Herald the beginning of
the end.
Magnificent and stately,
There she stands, a glory to behold.
Pomp and splendour,
Wealth with greed,
All set to sail the seven seas.
A dream of life,
A life of dreams
Splendour of their own,
Scrambling ice mountains, glisten
Shining a fateful allure to a frozen death
A stern captain,
Calm, dignified,
Guides the ship of dreams unto her nightmare,
“Astern”, he cries, unheard through
muffled joy….
Crunching, crashing, listing,
A myriad of smashing crystal,
Destined for the deep,
Air thick with screams of terror,
Young, old, rich, poor,
All scared.
Mortified corpses float,
Water littered with deceased,
While the living dead look on.
Hope’s dashed,
Time dies silently.
Carpathian angel,
Saviour of souls,
God spoke,
Their souls were saved!
Livvi Kent 2012
[email protected]
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 12:18 PM UTC