The stream (all workshops)
The barren waste land
Of a planet which has moved into its lunar calendar
Exposing the nakedness of its surface.
The land covered in the dry death of the season
Every contour is read
Like the lines on a palm by a fortune teller
The long trial of growth craving tales
That stretch beyond the imagination
Can anyone speak its truth
Or are they the opinions of babbling brooks
That sound like scholarly old ladies and gentlemen
Sitting in the twilight of their years making sense of it.
Stilling!
You are still
As wonderful
As you ever were
I assure you
I will read you still
Today’s unintended theme
Is
Still
Hence all comments
May not be considered
As still
You are still
Too good
So be still
That we all know still
Twill
Be the best one still
All these comments are
For you still
Why do you ask still?
It does me still
A veil of sadness
conceals her eyes
she averts his gaze,
integrity doesn't lie.
Retreating into silence
she hopes to hide.
He exaggerates his charms -
attempts to restore lost pride.
Ended engagements
are harder for one
someone stays behind
the other, chooses to run.
Someday they return
perchance to see,
if the grieving partner -
awaits a new entreaty.
Most grevious of all
is their intentional forray
to seduce the lover yet again,
only to stage another get-way.
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.
Pages
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.