Lots of fantastic stuff posted here in the Hall of Gifts . . . it got me remembering my past . . . you know there was a time when I used to write poetry - it got me through some dark years of my life.
But that was 13 years ago when I was lost and overwhelmed - wandering through America and life . . . and very confused.
Now?
Now I'm married with two children, 4 cats, decent job, two cars and one house . . . and , overall, I've never been happier!!! Of course, I couldn't write a poem now to save my life so I decided to bring out some things past.
How strange . . . not one soul but me has ever read my poetry . . . ah well, here are a few samples. I don't know what odd impulse is causing me to do this out of nowhere - I guess having read so many willing to share there works is quite inspirational.
Anway . . .
One Without a Title
And when all is said and done
I guess -
I guess I'd rather
sit and stare at walls
devoid of life
and bare
of passions or experience.
So easy, thus, to decorate
no clutter there to comtemplate -
Solitary.
In walls man-made,
to pen a person - to keep it safe.
Could a mind devise a more devious way
of warding any life away?
Within I wait - and wait . . . and wait
till emotions find retreat in hate;
and hate is good; for hate sees all
in shades not far from the shades of these walls.
I can grapple forever so engaged
till hate berates me to the grave;
but joy and love and pride
can never - never - be,
for they require effort
and I can easily watch TV.
Poems from my Past
Moderators: deer of the dawn, Furls Fire
-
Beyondthebreach
- Stonedownor
- Posts: 48
- Joined: Tue Feb 05, 2008 6:20 am
-
Beyondthebreach
- Stonedownor
- Posts: 48
- Joined: Tue Feb 05, 2008 6:20 am
MY ANSWER
It doesn't matter when
I
don't matter.
The forever searching child
reaches - once again - the forbidden self.
With vague deceptions answer eternity;
let lies weave -
obscuring.
Another dimension awaits
the eager mind - so often asleep.
Nothing less than noble in seduction -
every fleeting passion
eases the moments
till coldness and
death.
SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
I set out to write something beautiful;
classic and romantic,
or an ode to some sublime beauty.
Words that would linger throughout the ages,
living on in greeting cards and love letters
and the beginnings of books.
Yet nothing memorable or moving
comes from my pen.
Those words are strangers -
forever as distant from this page
as I have made myself to them.
It doesn't matter when
I
don't matter.
The forever searching child
reaches - once again - the forbidden self.
With vague deceptions answer eternity;
let lies weave -
obscuring.
Another dimension awaits
the eager mind - so often asleep.
Nothing less than noble in seduction -
every fleeting passion
eases the moments
till coldness and
death.
SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
I set out to write something beautiful;
classic and romantic,
or an ode to some sublime beauty.
Words that would linger throughout the ages,
living on in greeting cards and love letters
and the beginnings of books.
Yet nothing memorable or moving
comes from my pen.
Those words are strangers -
forever as distant from this page
as I have made myself to them.
-
Beyondthebreach
- Stonedownor
- Posts: 48
- Joined: Tue Feb 05, 2008 6:20 am
Here's another one . . . just keep in mind that this is an attempted insight into the thoughts of a seriously deranged person and does not necessarily reflect those of the author.
In my own mind, I can hear the narrator's voice talking in an increasingly fervent and rapid cadence until the final moments of calm at the end . . .
"WHAT THOUGHTS (Lurk and Seethe Behind the Eyes of Calm)"
Boundless curiosity,
is bounded by my sanity -
set loose to stalk the breathing air;
soft claws that reach to only touch,
but in touching touch degrees too much -
gently on my fingertips;
such sweet caress, so wet a kiss.
Beauty is far deeper than skin,
your greater beauty is alive within - sweet; incensed -
my ambrosia: It flows!
What beauty! With each touch it grows.
Do my eyes betray how much I care?
How much I want; how very near -
Why persist with such insistence?
for I can not resist my own persistence.
Close your eyes - it's better, far better, I'd bet;
than imploring what is within my depths.
Can you see the maker within me?
Making the world as it ought to be;
the endless questions are my religion -
dispel illusion, expose reality!
All you are - will it be dead
if I drill cold steel into your head?
Existence as I exist -
swift; so fleeting and radiant,
succumbs with such enduring groans. . . .
Beauty - in unequaled art;
Yes, I'll contemplate your resilient heart
and decipher the knowledge in your bones
In my own mind, I can hear the narrator's voice talking in an increasingly fervent and rapid cadence until the final moments of calm at the end . . .
"WHAT THOUGHTS (Lurk and Seethe Behind the Eyes of Calm)"
Boundless curiosity,
is bounded by my sanity -
set loose to stalk the breathing air;
soft claws that reach to only touch,
but in touching touch degrees too much -
gently on my fingertips;
such sweet caress, so wet a kiss.
Beauty is far deeper than skin,
your greater beauty is alive within - sweet; incensed -
my ambrosia: It flows!
What beauty! With each touch it grows.
Do my eyes betray how much I care?
How much I want; how very near -
Why persist with such insistence?
for I can not resist my own persistence.
Close your eyes - it's better, far better, I'd bet;
than imploring what is within my depths.
Can you see the maker within me?
Making the world as it ought to be;
the endless questions are my religion -
dispel illusion, expose reality!
All you are - will it be dead
if I drill cold steel into your head?
Existence as I exist -
swift; so fleeting and radiant,
succumbs with such enduring groans. . . .
Beauty - in unequaled art;
Yes, I'll contemplate your resilient heart
and decipher the knowledge in your bones