The distance does not change the feelings.
the reeling,
wheeling,
squealing of my soul,
no longer whole.
The space between us stretches
and in the distance you grow small
and old,
But time has folds
in dreams I hold
you close
My soul finds healing.
Though space and time change feelings,
you haven’t changed at all.
on Twitter
Your rose velvet tongue
washes with water, cool and clear
You stretch and strain as if to gather
rain drops-
but stop!
Listen!
as you lick those glistening lips,
Your kisses become unwelcome, quick!
We stand disgusted and agog:
Don’t drink
from the toilet,
dog!
I have to show this to my English classes on Poetry Friday next year. lol
The Sons of Poetry aren’t quite as efficient as Rhymezone.com, but they’re much more entertaining!
.
Here is your memory
a box
a cube
a dream
a fantasy.
Here is your future
exploding
imploding
eroding
Here is
a box
a cube
a dream
a fantasy
exploding
imploding
eroding.
Here:
a box
exploding
a cube
imploding
a dream
eroding
a fantasy
here
future
memory.
That indelicate,
audacious hat
is either affectation
or jaunty celebration.
No one wears hats
as giddy as that
without expection
of societal reprobation.
Folks bristle at
such frivolous hats,
set in bold flirtation
against societal fixation.
It’s true. But THAT
astonishing, stupedous hat,
deserves an ovation,
from the entire nation.
The glistening of sunlight upon the pate,
is not so much a follicular challenge
as it serves to demonstrate
a follicular abdication
as the hormones re-arrange
to prove the superior state
of follicular proration,
that razors duplicate.
.
.
I casually mentioned a ‘follicular challenge’ to a man who responded that it wasn’t so much a challenge as an abdication, and thus, a poem was born… 😉 For what it’s worth, I highly endorse the natural state over wigs and surgeries. Shine that pate with confidence, and damn the ads that prey on insecurities!
Someday I want to go to Greenland
That fabled Viking Fantasyland
Eric assured all it’d be a nice land
though, it’s much icier than Iceland.
Someday I want to go to Greenland,
That rarely ever seen land.
.
In the WordPress map of blog viewers, I have visitors from all over the world, but I have never had a visitor from Greenland, so I thought I’d write a little ditty about it. Have you been to Greenland? What is it like?
I needed a poem for the English 9 final exam. It needed to fit the theme, and have some poetic devices. After scanning assorted books, I gave up and wrote my own. The title comes from a literal transliteration of eulogy- Good words.
.
If I could
I would
Follow you forever, friend
Through years of fears, of tears.
I’d follow you
Through toys, boys, noise, joys
To poise.
If I could,
I’d follow, friend
But I am as a hollow end.
Be brave,
I am a memory saved
Despite the cave
of grave.
The misery of your biology and history
are a catastrophe wrapped in mystery.
.
The history of your misery
hurries worries.
The catastrophe of the mystery
buries furies.
.
Your biology creates
a doxology
of apology.
.
Misery
is your
personal mystery,
and our
catastrophe.
.
.
Thinking about the impact of untreated mental illness upon relationships.
It was intriguing to play with quite closely related rhyme, repetition, and unifying consonance.
I heard a laugh today,
And on the rolling strains
I saw your face again.
In unexpected ways
It seems the memory’s stained,
and still some trace remains.
Your laughter long away
Came creeping past the pain;
I see your face again.
6/10
A day to play with 3s: three triplet stanzas in iambic trimeter. A laugh, a flash, and a poem appears.
Captain T @capt_blues
Shawn L. Bird 