The stream (all workshops)
I show her the poem
with the noisy words
building to a crescendo.
My scribbled paean, foolishly trying
to say these things to her
better than they’ve been said
by others, in ink on paper.
“Maybe I should tone all of this down some?”, I propose.
She smiles and says, “I like the clamor just the way it is.”
Taking station on a crystal dais
of many levels, see them.
These men these over lords
as they stand in judgement,
knowing their every word an uncut gem.
Meting out retribution
for each crime of passion,
to wear a heart on their sleeve
as if it were a statement of fashion.
Case not yet heard for trial,
Specifics have been leaking...
Lawyers calling for mistrial
running from door to door sneaking.
Scottish dream
Hey now ho! my giant ginger!
ruddy hair, with eyes of blue
you have grown, so quick to manhood
and endured a trial or two
To walk in life, as none before.
Let the wind now carry you.
You will search the whole world over
for that heart inside of you?
In time of need let your good deeds
bless and strengthen you
and you’ll always feel a hand lad
there upon your shoulder too
If this moment were a movie
I'd be out in the pouring rain
On my knees, looking up
Tears mixing with the grain
Someone would tell me that
I can never, ever stop trying
I'd nod and dry my tears,
Say my dreams aren't dying
If this moment were a movie
It would be the desperate act
It would be the moment I learn
A rather life-changing fact
But it's not a cinematic universe
I'm not projected on a screen
I'm not the character there
Every second of every scene
I have a little book, it's blue,
In fairly good condition.
Published 1863,
The 34th Edition.
This pocket book of which I speak
Cost one and ninepence new.
A goodly sum in days of old
Could buy much bread and brew.
I try to learn much as I can
With exercises plenty,
Till page 73 my brain implodes
With recapitulatories many.
Etymology and Syntax
Plus six kinds of moods,
Indicative, Subjunctive,
Potential is there too.
I locked onto your eyes of wood-smoke
saw my face mirrored back at me,
full of desirous laughter.
Saw a world of love
as it is there...
Your offered hand
taking mine in yours.
Floating away on your warmth
sensing the stability of your thoughts
as they were there...
Watching words form on your supple lips
is a land of paradise of its own.
There is a rhythm to your words, exhilarating.
A lilt which lifts me up ever higher,
when it is there!
Concealed in the darkness of time,
Gone are the wondrous years of my prime,
My thread never sliced by the fates,
Untouched by death’s unforgiving gates,
I do not live nor am I dead,
To Cronos I forever pled,
Becoming free from residing in between,
Let me roam to where I am once again seen,
Fearsome I am certainly not,
A vow of obedience I have brought,
Not agreeing to free my deserving self,
You will soon feel the wrath of my full health,
I will enjoy returning to where I was once loved,
A crescent moon rose discretely
and passed gently into the evening sky.
A little boy, tucked in tight,
with great crocodile tears,
rolling silently down sleepy eyes.
Waiting for his mom to come
and sing soft lullabies.
visions of an enchanted tommorow
dreams that would calm his innocent mind.
A tired heart would soon prevail.
It was time to turn out the light.
When mommy returned, just in time,
To give a kiss and send him off
on a sweet nocturnal flight!
How freeing it is to be alone,
to have no one to call if i get home late.
How alive I feel to have the wind tangle my hair,
with no wandering fingers to gently untangle it.
It’s just my hairbrush and I in the mirror,
carefully tugging away at knots.
My favorite song is playing and as I sing along,
my voice carries and fills the room
until it is no longer empty (if it ever was).
Asia generic guy gastronomy (and how gourmet foods eat destructively clearly beyond any) excess enthusiasm, the necessity to feed and clothe this corporeal essence christened Matthew Scott Harris revels more so within the medium of writing.
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