Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
CA Guilfoyle Apr 2018
In the sweet of early morning
and only for a few precious moments
I thought of nothing at all
I stared blank at the dim lit walls
in a state between awake and dreaming
only until the startle of the first bird singing.

I saw the sun clinging to roofs and trees
light traipsing through the garden lilies
I heard the chirp and groan of frogs
newly green, all the unfurling fronds
and from the broad leaves
the dew fell sparkling in rivulets
and drank the carpet moss
softly green and splendorous.
#morning #spring #garden #moss
patty m May 2014
I remembered it well

the rich mix of smoke, perfume, and garlic

one could almost taste the absinthe in the air.

Toulouse-Lautrec, was deemed acceptable

as we embraced his artistic vision

singing our Chason Realiste songs;

we are the people, the poor gaudy freaks
traipsing about with drink in hand
sliding stockings down
from thighs, spreading
our provocative
dreams while delving headlong into
decadence and garish night life,
trying to escape banality .

Ah Henri, the prostitutes, and there
were many, Marie Charlet
your first. Even with your genetics
and anguished tirades burgeoning,
she loved you well.

Tremblement de terre, your creation

we too contrive when mocked

to become carefree and

obsessively delusional.


Thin brushstrokes
touched dispassionately
and yet there is sympathy suffused,
a continuum of unarticulated
and variegated respite;
the allure of mouth watering treats
and trollops that take the woe-begotten
to stellar heights.

While we the hangers-on
raise glasses in salute
tonguing the inner sanctum of the Moulin Rouge
our astute imaginings savored while
craving even more of those
***** nights with ******* and bodies
exposed, ******* whetted blown upon.

Then too, our burrowed deep sensations might grind
out torch songs, even as the flames leap higher
to singe us all, we laugh and cry.

Curled flame we toast the unexplainable
creating an **** of molten light,
bodiesof heat brighter than stars.  

Thus we become the false dawn,

stripping darkness from the midnight sky,

an explosion of all we are and have to give

in our life long pursuit of Celebration.
ryn Sep 2014
Sitting here alone with people around
But I only see one person in mind
She is the person so fortunate I've found
She is the person who loves me in kind.

My head is spinning as I sit here thinking
My heart is aching for the girl I'm missing
My lips they mutter, words of love they're saying
My hope is wishful that these words you're hearing.

I feel this love in my heart, it's growing
To proportions of unfathomable enormity
Sometimes it feels like my boat is sinking
When I think of the undeniable reality.

This reality that I wake up to everyday
Keeps hurling obstacles that I must face
I need the strength so my hopes don't fray
Wishing for more so I can finish this race.

I love her dearly; without her a life I can't imagine
I love her deeply; I never thought I was capable of such
I love her strong; with hopes so high, I would pin
I love her furiously; never thought I could love this much.

She is the sun that around, my world does spin
She is my star that I always look up to see
She is my moon that so clearly I have seen
She is my universe that I'm traipsing through helplessly.

I've never stopped wishing for a life beside her
I've never stopped wanting for her to be with me
I've never stopped hoping for the a life we'd make together
I will never stop trying for I believe it's meant to be.

I have pined for her so, many a sleepless night
I have yearned for her through the hours of the day
I have craved for her; craved with all of my might
I have longed to utter the words I've wanted to say.

Countless of times, these words I've spouted
In my heart I've said them oh so many more
These words are strong like a volcano just erupted
These words are true for they come from my core.

So I sit here still with these people around
They don't know why my heart aches so
It matters not if my feet don't touch the ground
I'd still dare to dream and to her they will go.

Dreams of you I'll never stop conjuring
Thoughts of you I'll never stop thinking
With words so sweet I'll never stop praising
For the woman in my dreams, my heart is loving.

So let me be, you people; you never will know
You'll never know who it is who excites my heart
You'll never understand what makes my love grow
She's the one who had ensnared me from the start.
Weaving itself—the dream-spider:
I see an aged man
Wearing his evening time-machined body,
Walking,
Traipsing upon the jogging track
At a pace which nature observes.

His frame battered,
Pummeled by age's indignation—
Of youth's battle lost.
His mowed grass-like hair showcasing
a white hue patented by age's theme of perseverance.

Beholden to years which he beheld.

His suspenders holding matter elegantly
Despite the invisible mass adhered to his layers excreted by years—matured;
Increasing his gravity
Making him denser, heavier;
Decreeing excess energy.

Yet he obliges with his compromised gait
in the reiterating verbs of motion.
Taking twice as much time to complete a revolution,
Taking twice as much
As his yesteryears.

In a witness' capacity, I relay:
Everything is a disciple of change,
But your energy...
Your energy remains as the constant
to the proportionality of age and will.
Michael John Aug 2018
i

there does seem to be a lot of nosey parkers
things can rapidly become darker
a momentum of their own
soon,again,be traipsing across broad

fields of fresh bone..intellectuals are
usually the first to go the written word
suspect decadent art the smooth hand
and on till we are all looking over our

collective shoulder..work worshipped
lord what we believe in the name of
collective security and a bigger better
future..!?

ii

the goldfish in our park pond however
seem very happy together
they patiently wait their turn
and take a small bite as required..

they know they are many small smaller
all the various colours and the big ones
but there is the sun and there is suffice
they will circle love and say ola..

*
inspired by executing society
Dawnstar Feb 2018
Let my past be published now,
I care for it no longer;
Look between my righteous things
To see I was the wronger.
Gather all the worries
I'd fret about in winter;
Shove them off the highest cliff,
Make them crack and splinter.

Traipsing in the gardenside,
Dancing in the hollow;
Feeling for a mason's nook,
Sweet Amontillado.
Down within the castle walls,
Down among the relics;
Bearded faces line the halls,
Lilting in Goidelic.

Slowing pace to stop and smell
Of a strange antiquity;
Thinking on a silver day
That happened once in Brittany.
Countrymen with muskets bared,
Bent on fiery shot,
Pounced upon the zealous rogues
Of Napoleonic lot.

Wand'ring mind, drop your guard,
Stop your nagging ways;
Hark! the drap'ry's bold aura
Welcomes warmer days.
Happiness is fleeting,
Sadness is extinct,
So let my every passing thought
Be mindful and succinct.
Updated Jul. 15, 2019.
Nigel Finn Nov 2018
Perhaps I am an evil man,
Perhaps I am; I cannot tell;
I try to do the best I can,
But know I do not do it well.

Perhaps there is a space for me
In some unknown corner of hell,
Where hope reigns for eternity,
And nothing ever breaks its spell.

For hope is, when all's said and done,
The worst of things a man can suffer;
It keeps us traipsing, one by one,
From one disaster to another.

Perhaps it's best to just give up;
Immerse myself in a life of sin,
Drink good wine, and raise a cup
To my worst enemy- Nigel Finn.
"Hope, in reality, is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torment of man"- Nietzsche
Matt Shaw Nov 2018
Well you have wild eyes
But they're stuck in your skull
Touched by a world
They're forced to call home
Imprisoned in this aquarium
Where the fish all ****
Then I swear to God
I'm over it

When a part of me breaks loose
Traipsing through the woods
Or in my room,
And I'm reminded I'm an animal
And I stare down my
Umbilical cord, musing

That's when I feel the most alive.

But the jungle's grown
Computed edges
The people make
Nocturnal pledges
To the moon
Under the starry night
What fight is won
By its hairy law?

It gives me wild eyes,
Wild eyes that blink the time away
Because they don't want to believe!
They don't want to believe that this is my life.

— The End —