Tag: poetry
group name: deadpoetssociety
|
January 22, 2008 08:07 PM EST --
Forever
On certain nights, if you listen closely
As the wind gently blows through your window
You can hear the moon making love to the night
Such a sweet song they sing to each other
And tonight . . .
more
|
|
December 14, 2009 07:53 PM EST --
siren
The siren comes out clear. It has passed
through being nonexistent, muffled
and distinct like blood stains. The siren,
a voice of caution, the clear siren,
comes . . .
more
|
|
August 05, 2008 01:08 PM EDT --
The rush of so many things, sublime,
fill the heart with, I see, the divine.
Sharpest sword . . .
more
|
|
December 12, 2009 07:57 PM EST --
Edge slips away
Madly, sun grabs the edge of the roof.
The edge slips away. Roofs after roofs
doused in red, witness a death. Comes the dusk;
the dusk comes . . .
more
|
|
December 13, 2009 07:59 PM EST --
Reality of a vacation
It falls, dignifiedly sloth, deliberate;
it falls while we listen to the stream, the tune.
The harmony embraces us; the rich hues
of the . . .
more
|
|
October 07, 2008 01:49 PM EDT --
Am I a fire waiting just to burn?
To warm a heart, or take some turn
in this glorious Universe, drifting
alone while I grow listless. . . .
more
|
|
December 11, 2009 07:46 PM EST --
A death in our family
The wounds received, the wounds inflicted
hardly matter. Ash is in the air.
Rust of the season drops out, a leaf.
River in the . . .
more
|
|
December 07, 2009 07:59 PM EST --
Abused
The tiny feet of a squirrel on a tin roof;
nothingness is a corrugated top.
You look up from there, a frightened life;
a squirrel, not playful; in search . . .
more
|
|
March 26, 2008 10:46 AM EDT --
To the psychiatrist
---------------------------------------------------
Tell her who is resting on your couch,
A cliché we live
Spread amid the movements of planets, . . .
more
|
|
December 01, 2009 08:44 PM EST --
Surreal corridor
“However”, says the naysayer;
‘however’ has always been his
way to end a sentence which will
fly like a mesmerized . . .
more
|
|
December 06, 2009 08:37 PM EST --
Counter development
Talks with an older relative pass
through a still water. Time descends; soft,
white, flakish. Soon the water will freeze.
Something small . . .
more
|
|
December 17, 2007 12:24 PM EST --
I want to fly into the sun,
I want to be free,
Let me go,
So I can be me.
Through the eyes of an eagle,
I want to soar,
Then live as a tree,
With root . . .
more
|
|
January 25, 2008 09:01 AM EST --
Where is the power?
Words fall short before a rising sun.
They are nothing to the gust of rays,
Giddy they lower their heads
On the green grass.
That squanders the gathers of . . .
more
|
|
January 28, 2008 09:31 AM EST --
A mother's prescription
{ To Renee (Pres of Baby James Foundation), my friend, dearest.}
Sewn lips.
She cannot tell.
Failed words storm the window of heart.
Eyes have . . .
more
|
|
February 03, 2008 01:07 AM EST --
Floor full of shattered mind
In an afternoon of untimely shower
Mind falls out of the benumbed fingers.
A winter of crazy white on the screen.
underneath is an open road . . .
more
|
|
March 18, 2008 01:55 PM EDT --
Throbbing twilight
---------------------------------------
A throb is coming alive,
It faces the cracked mirror,
And dares the reflection.
Jaded image speaks the tongue
Of an alien . . .
more
|
|
March 22, 2008 12:08 AM EDT --
The closed doors.
The closed doors look at his back.
You know they are insignificant!
He will not look back to see nameplates.
The sky welcomes a new wonderer,
A fellow of its eternity! . . .
more
|
|
February 29, 2008 09:49 AM EST --
Tears of an angel
------..--------
Winding up his wings
He sits on the steep end of the temple
The angel.
Down there people,
People touching
The marvels of ancient . . .
more
|
|
March 02, 2008 04:01 AM EST --
A kitty named "Zelda"
Her paws, soft, are upon fallen gold
Of rustling foliage. Cold sundown
Turns around to a shadowy cottage.
A cottage with a coach and love-strokes
On . . .
more
|
|
March 08, 2008 01:02 AM EST --
They arrested pa!
The storm on the northern sky
He eyes the yellow painted door,
Fingers quivered on touch of
The ancient woods and red bricks.
The crisscross of the net . . .
more
|
|
|
|
