The leaves flicker
As the air of life
Is filled with the morning mist
The haze settles across the ground
Bringing peace to the light
Visions flash
Through the trees
Lights and Colours
Horror and Joy
The fog appears
Severing the hope
Dissolving the light
A Wing of Silver
Shatters the darkness
Resettling the dew
It glistens
Glimmering in the light
Of Love
Powerful, eternal Love
The reverie returns
Emotions reign
The black of Hate
The depth of Sorrow
The warmth of Bliss
Of Joy and Caring
All broken
By the dazzling mane
Of the waking world
[It was published in her funeral folder but she was not credited for it; hope this’ll make up for that]
The Windmill
It stood a gallant sentry against
the vagaries of the weather.
An oasis in the prairie,
our nourisher–our Nile.
In the magic of the windmill’s bounty,
one could dream the world away–
the sere brown grass,
the faltereing crops.
Hope could be sustained,
that rains would return
and the world would again grow green.
[She grew up in rural Nebraska during the Depression.]
The following was inspired one day when I went to pick up my then 3-year-old son from his pre-pre-school…
It’s playtime at preschool and we go outside.
My favorite thing on the playground’s the slide.
I climb up the ladder and sit at the top.
I push myself forward and feel myself drop.
But you know what makes sliding so neat?
I finally learned how to land on my feet!
[currently untitled]
young finely sculpted femmes fatales wander
into smoke-filled indifferent hypodermic incinerators
with their lush, jewel adorned legs
to drink gourmet arsenic with old men in pinstripe suits
the promising lustful fevers betray their sly smiles
they clutch to the arm of the nearest sugar daddy
and follow him as he struts along the avenue
back to his secretive cavern to earn
the reason why she sifts through
all these ancient men in their starch-stiff suits
she ahs to find a way to live the life somehow
doesn’t she?
[Eh, I seem to be going through this odd topic phase.]
(Dogsbody, where did you get your name? It was the title of my favourite book as a kid)
Mine doesn’t rhyme, but here goes…
The winds shaped your spirit.
No doubt you will vanish too, fading
just like all the other subtle,
coaxing creatures. But right now you
are here, and
as real as breathlessness and
intoxication.
Has sunshine ever been the fix for your addiction?
Do colours move you?
Is your being ever swamped
by the rain?
Your weaknesses are even your strengths. You know this, and
are conciously proud. Yet
you know this, and don’t understand the fear that creeps furtively circling your lungs.
It is a wolf, just outside the embered fire.
It lurks, and only its eyes are visible.
You are aware of this, and that is why you never sleep.
The fire won’t go out if you shut
your eyes.
Let someone keep watch for you.
Let me be your home.
falling into darkness
i feel it consume me
it’s clutches grasping ever stronger
holding me so tightly
slowly blocking the air from my lungs
my breath begins to fade into the darkness
as i continue to fall into the abyss
with each passing measure
the darkness closes in on me
cutting me and tearing me apart more and more
as the tightness cocoons my spirit
my bruised flesh transforming into my soul
turning attacking striking
all those memories in my liking
memories fade
for better for worse
this cursed cure of vanity’s fears
breaking more with each falling tear
what is this place i have been sentenced to?
what distructive domain of twisted ideals and shattered minds
that preys on the weak and strong the same?
If you want poetry than I would recommend you to another site I have visited many many times. This is just one of the poems I wrote with many many other people. http://www.csd.net/~cantelow/poem_welcome.html
When first I spoke poetic verse
Things quickly went from bad to worse
Rhyming’s like the mummy’s curse
Once it’s started, can’t reverse.
Oh yes you can you litte terds
And in the blink of an eye
Just twist and wrangle words
And watch the verses fly!
However friends, let’s keep in mind
That meter makes it worth its salt
If it’s not followed as designed
The poet prime is not at fault.
I beg to differ, it’s not meter,
but rhyme which makes the poem completer.
It just makes it harder to stay in parameter,
If you worry about the iambic pentameter.
How can we bring this epic circumlocution
To a shocking premature conclusion?
On my veracity you sure can gamble,
As I proclaim that on and on we’ll ramble!
That being said (forgive me for digressing),
The MEANING is the meat; the rest is dressing.
Tis much more fun to end the rhyme
It shant not ramble past its prime
And through voices contradictory
Comes the cry to end this story
I’ll leave it on a note a tad grotesque.
There seems no MEANING in the middle
It reminds me of a funny riddle,
“Why is a raven like a writing-desk?”
Charlie was a stoop-sitter,
And a friend of the bottle.
Always had a last cigarette
And a dollar for the lotto.
All he had were his clothes,
And his Wild Irish Rose,
Lost lottos and last cigarettes.
One day he busted lucky,
Bought a few feet of ground
In a graveyard Uptown
Where they laid his bones
And it was all he ever owned,
And it’s all he’ll ever need.
i promised you that i’d write you a love song
something sweet enough to make an angel cry
and i thought i meant it when i said it
but now i’m thinking about this crazy love of mine
and it occurs to me that you’re a good for nothing
i overlooked it when you slept with my best friend
i chalked it up to just a drunken mishap
but lisa told me that one time wasn’t the end
and for some reason i just ignored your drinking
and the way your pants hung down around your ass
and i never cared about your stupid haircut
or all the times you left me to fish bass
hell i even bailed you out when you were arrested
and i made up your freakin’ alibi
and i lent you my car to drive to work in
but goddammit this is the last time
so here you go, i wrote you your damn love song
and i hope you’re happy with it now
cuz it’s the last thing you’ll be reading from me –
or ever, if i can get that shotgun down…
[the above was written as a joke for my ex-boyfriend when we were still going out, we used to fool around about how i write songs and they’re almost always sad, and i said fine i’ll write you a love song, and this was the result.
among other topics i’ve covered: several that were actually about death but written so that they could be about break-ups, too; a girl who goes on a date with her ex-boyfriend only to discover that he’s now a transsexual; a girl who gets revenge on her cheating lover by hiring a cross-dressing friend to pose as a woman, get the cheater tied to the bedposts, reveal himself as a man, then leave the cheater there on the bed… yeah, i guess i write pretty damn weird stuff, don’t i?]
