The stream (all workshops)
Though its Christmas, He won't come again,
As BIG G. Himself tried to explain
To His heavenly Host
Even told Holy Ghost
"There's no virgins, nor any wise men."
There's really nothing better
than a fresh pie
cooling on the counter
just sitting there - almost ready to eat
And after you get done
whipping the cream
with a little sugar
not too much - just enough
it's perfect to top it all off
A perfectly browned homemade crust
flour,butter and a pinch of salt
rolled out and crimped around the rim
It's just a major accomplishment
that makes the day a lot better
Here I live
In this cell
Made of flesh and skin
Yet, once I did fly
To the heavens so high
Singing songs of love
That rang out
Clear as church bells.
Fate or karma
Came stepping in
Arresting me in flight
Only watching me
As I fell
When I crashed
No one came to help
Broken winged
I laid dead
In this lonely hell
Is dead, dead
When you can still hear a hum
Even in the silence
Of my restraints
Chains made of veins
Tightly woven
Lady Pain
by: eddy styx and Dan Watts
wild horses
couldn’t stop her
from ruining her life.
She was hell bent
on destruction
and all her
shuddering denial
denied her intentions
of exposing her
tender pink
silk and satin
underbelly
and all her
feminine frills
like tea and crumpets
she needs her fix
of love and pain
laced with daily
humiliation.
`
Forget
the balm of barometric exuberance.
This night
no longer young, dissipates.
Recall
the dewy welcome of sun-quaffed green.
Yesterdays
revive severed umbilical dreams.
Peruse
the present with fleeting acumen.
Today
ceases yet emerges again tomorrow.
Ignite
the kindling of autumnal reticence.
Perhaps
genial kindnesses shall spring.
`
Glimpsing the suns face
The half cut moon drains pallid
Its dark side, hidden
solitude
solitude is quiet
in a
cacophonous sort
of way.
solitude is a print
with no
press.
solitude requires
endurance.
solitude is a memory
retold.
solitude is its own
price
paid.
When you're at school the buggers hold you down,
So many rules to control you
and make a child conform.
The teenage years are when most rebel,
Spirits are crushed under the heel
of expectations.
When you leave education behind,
Relief isn't found.
Eight hours a day under the boss man's cosh.
Pressure to conform and marry,
2.4 children and a terraced house.
Or at least be part of a couple.
I know this is two poems in one day but I'll be gone tomorrow and unable to submit. Hope ya'll don't think I'm stretching guidelines too much........scribbler
Well, there sits another bum
he's probably lazy, even dumb
I bet he pisses on the walk
and mumbles when he tries to talk
I wish they all would leave this town
seeing them just brings me down
pushing 'round their grocery cart
filled with crap they think is art
Don't expect a clever rhyme
or any big adjectives
or an attempt
at perfect structure
That comes in a song
or someone else's
poem
I simply type a line
and then another
they don't mesh
together all that well
the subject matter
isn't overly deep
or profound
And I don't worry
about proper punctuation
or make a conscious effort
regarding rhythm
or pacing
or alliteration
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