Lunes, Hulyo 11, 2011
The Drumshttp://www.gotpoetry.com/Poems/l_op=viewpoems/Your_Account/Poems/l_op=viewpoems/lid=92797.html
by butterflyzrfreeIt wasn't as bad as last night, the dream.
people screaming, much discord but, now, fear.
The other one will stay with me for some time
I lit a candle made prayer and more
I was afraid of that dream; won't discuss it
too many demons in that
tonight just a bunch of yelling and discord;
negative energy, I must rid myself;
toss it.
Mind in discord, disorganized, must get to
the heart of this, before it takes over
my heartbeat, my soul.
dreams can do that, you know.
Do not want to sink, as in the other time--
remember clearly that sinking,
that quicksand, don't like it, not at all.
No joke, that dream.
Dreams should be vivid, involve adventures,
love, travel and pleasant visits with the dead
Your mother, your grandma, your grandpa
smiles, gifts, and hugs and magic things
or travel to strange places
where everyone loves.
and there is no word for discord.
This happens, but not these past nights.
Go away discord, go away screams!
i chant, i chant
i need a drum and a chant and a circle
of dancers in grass and linen skirts surrounding.
The drums will get rid of it,
never forget the drums.
'Neath sullen skiesby punkhttp://www.gotpoetry.com/Poems/l_op=viewpoems/lid=7586.html'Neath sullen skies The dew drops lie Repenting the morning Bright Sun's rise And twilight's song Curse the wind that bore us and bears us yet hence as dawning lights what worlds encompassed yet by poets unsung |
Sabado, Hulyo 9, 2011
Who weeps for the faithful
by punkWho weeps for the faithful
Their blood spilled
Undrunk by the black earth
Hands clutching at passing airs
Who knows their words
Last uttered amid raindrops
And the dying dews
Reclaimed too soon by winds
Their names are lost to the tongue
Echoed no more by mountains
And their stony countenance
Nor admired by storm clouds
come to cleanse the field
To cover her in her nakedness
Devoured by prying eyes
Who taking pen in hand
Dares set down an epitaph http://www.gotpoetry.com/Poems/l_op=viewpoems/lid=8810.html
insomniaby punksing, master of songs of ashes thrown o’er fire’s tongue we of living earth to terra tied licked by gentle airs lofted and christened in morning’s dew our strength wanes withered by time’s chastening so few the strokes of clock’s rotating hand ere the land comes claiming its debts ham-fisted we curse our state we accursed and reviled demand our due more to us promised was before she unyielding began her march silence roars and would crush the spirit scurry and hide so soon the end |
Burning Trash
At night—the light turned off, the filament
Unburdened of its atom-eating charge,
His wife asleep, her breathing dipping low
To touch a swampy source—he thought of death.
Her father's hilltop home allowed him time
To sense the nothing standing like a sheet
Of speckless glass behind his human future.
He had two comforts he could see, just two.
One was the cheerful fullness of most things:
Plump stones and clouds, expectant pods, the soil
Offering up pressure to his knees and hands.
The other was burning the trash each day.
He liked the heat, the imitation danger,
And the way, as he tossed in used-up news,
String, napkins, envelopes, and paper cups,
Hypnotic tongues of order intervened. http//www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172266
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