The stream (all workshops)
Beautiful butterflies,
Then denial was birthed.
Reminiscing occurrences,
Anticipating the next encounter.
Texting rapidly,
Smiling like silly.
A spark ignites,
A determination to make you mine,
Not forgetting the door of disappointment slightly opened.
With a stitch of consolation and a bucket of ice-cream for later.
A phase I hope to escape.
Sweeping, weeping
Clouds of dust
Remnants in the air
Scattering across the floor; everywhere
Cinders burning in her grasp
Dreams that turned to sodden ash
Long since gone that midnight hour
When her youthful dream did sour
Sparrows singing of sunshine
While a funeral of Ravens threaten the light
Colorless blood dripping from exhausted wounds
Heart spilling from her chest; losing the fight
I could have left before,
But entangled hearts are messy.
Instead I put my dreams on hold
And they became my nightmares.
I would have told you,
But you wouldn't have understood.
Instead I tried to save your pain
And caused my own.
I should have moved away,
But it seemed stepping into the abyss.
Instead I stayed,
Hardened; a heavy impenetrable stone.
I could have.
I would have.
I should have.
But I didn't.
The dead moan to us from the earth
In the ocean, their voices
Rumble and tumble water
We’re blind and deaf to their calls
And walk with the dead
In the ocean,
On the dry land
We never find them;
The dead know our paths
The depth is shadow
And our lives lie therein.
Creative people
seldom
lately
rise
to
challenge greatness,
but pursue.
"Some" (like you), find attention
in lowering
the bar.
>Thomas<
You say you’re poor,
and you are forced to fill your days
with mindless, monotonous tasks.
A slave to work!
No secret savings stowed away,
but you can write!
You can compose!
Your Muse can make sweet music in your mind,
string wonder words together so divine,
and you’re a special poet friend of mine!
An elderly woman I know
has read a number of my poems.
She tells me I'm fortunate
to be able find the words
and use them as needed,
putting them down
in a connected way.
She says, “I’ve been around for eighty years, or so.”,
her modesty still obscuring the specifics.
"I've never been able to find these kinds of words.
I don't know where they would be.
You'd think I'd know where to look for them by now."
Rain brings about frowns
But should be viewed with delight
Watching how life sounds
Gently wafting up
thru the crisp blue morning air
somewhere over Albuquerque
a child offers up a grateful prayer
happy just to be alive
staring down without a care
hoping for tomorrow’s flight
dreaming dreams which no one dares!
Car doors shutting
mind spinning to the doorway
I squint, unable to make out anything around me
only the blinding lights glowing off of the tile
dizziness overcoming me
blood sticks to my sleeve
Engulfed in pleather cushions
cold metal bars push into my cheek
I lay down my head
hearing the lights
smelling the sick
and feeling whispers hit my ears
everything around me is worse
because I have nothing else to notice
other than my fogged over brain
and stinging pain from my wrists
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.