Remember Your Origins
What does it truly mean to be human?
marianne
drank whisky from a bellybutton after hours in a bar heard the sound of my breathing through the lungs of your guitar heard a seagull sing the blues from the deck of a fishing boat heard Mississippi for the first time thought
The Human Experience
This is what my understanding of humanity, and our place on this planet, has become over the years
You Brought Me Back
Poem is just a humble message to same all,who without any relate with wants to trouble and tease.......and want to make ones life live as hell.
Spirits are Flying
Spirits are flying touching and tainting Our mystical sky that celestial painting Touch not, taste not They obey no rules They create a world fit for fools Spirits are flying invading the land On the loose they are To ruin man Wh
Nightfall
Nightfall The day is ending The sun drops below the horizon And yet there is light which stays on Twilight from the very earth itself held there holding back the fall of night The pall descends soft
Catching Up with An Old Love
the island was Jersey from there we went to Scotland it was good to reminisce but there's no going back our lives are now quite diverse
The penitent man walks in the footsteps of God
This is my highly antagonistic allegory of my own life. Well, Part one, anyway. The original is more than twice as long as the maximum character limit of 3000.
The power of regret
The power of regret So hard to forget Things said actions done Love lost for the search of one. How often we say and do things we can't take back Wishing and wondering if we should of said this instead of that. What always remains is
strawberry Hill
all was the same on strawberry hill the city looked up at those walking down and tethered boats traced the breath of cloud all was the same on strawberry hill shadows hid in the corners of old masonry at the stroke of 1 figures emerge
PAINTINGS 1
PAINTINGS BY OIL WATERCOLOUR FREEZE INTO TIME PORTRAITS EYES COME TO LIFE GAZING AT YOU PAINTINGS
[Untitled - again]
drenched in sadness the clouds are crying wrapping the skies in a sheet dark and dull cracks in the land's breaking rocky skull swallowing waves leaving them dying far out a tower, a lonely beacon a lighthouse in darkness missing its light mi
The End of the World
I wrote this poem in 1999 during the millenium when the end of the world was supposed to happened. I recieve an award for 1 of the top poem in the U.S. in the year 2000. I am so glad the world did not end, I would have never got the award. LOL
wild horses
wild horses are free to roam across the plain wind whisks their pace their open domain watch them they must move all the time and search for the pasture they graze and roll in it wild children in laughter so many colors so much power as t
cars and girls
the cafe was closing and the air was darker than age Mary was fixing her order and her world had become like a cage will you still see me on Sunday? will you wear that dress and look nice..? but you know that a question ain't a ques
guitar
I spent Monday just walking through town.. searching for magical.. timbers of brown Tuesday's arrival.. flooded my deck.. from the truest of branches.. I fashioned your neck I spent Wednesday doing nothing at all.. till a bird with your voice..
Question
Question What Everything I want, and what I do, can it be so bad that it drives my desires from my life. If everything can only lead to this, yet my convictions and beliefs be from logics depths Is it because of the interface between logic and
“oo”
All right, this one will probably confuse most of you, but if you truly read it, not just for rhyming, which it does through out, it actually does make sense. Read it a few times or so, if you must, if you still don't get it, then simply enjoy
White Dragon
He was chasing the white dragon as he sat puffing on his hubby bubbly soon he was afloat in a world of dreams not a care in the world for his family who would, again, go hungry this night He sat squandering his and their lives carried of into
This Isnt a Poem
this isnt a poem, not written by me, this isnt a poem, as you can plainly see, if this is a poem, the sun shines at night, if its a poem, the bat can see the light, it cant be a poem, it was written with no thought, i cant be a poem, c
way did you do this hurting game
I feel only loneliness how when I needed you all that's what you told your letter so much said but where were you when said you were my dear friend in your poem you mocked me why would you therefore say I do not understand your way yo
tracks
I sit transfixed as thought it flies to see warmth twice inside her eyes a carraige full of moving breath some bound for life some bound for death the train arrives and brakes do bite and all else there is prop and light a flicker of wind...
Reflection
For all in whom I know and knew and those who know me and those who choose to know. If we continue to hold onto our pain of regrets and anger of our past and not let go we all will eventually have to face it
Skin wear
In England, they talk about having your heart on your sleeve... in France we talk about having your heart on the edge of your skin.. à fleur de peau... which is kind of difficult to translate... on the edge doesn't give credit to it.. but the idea is there.. just underneath the surface.. I say I wear my heart on my skin.. kinda combination of both languages I guess... Anyway... I like the text.. I made a nice blues out of it!
focus
in a lousy mood
What is Pain ? ? ?
I saw the word pain and this is the result
Night Light ( Cinquain )
Stresses Per Line The first line has one stress, which was usually iambic meter with the first syllable unstressed and the second stressed. Line two has two stresses. Line three has three stresses. Line four has four stresses. Line five has one stress. Syllables Per Line Following the invention of this form, Crapsey made changes to the form and included a certain number of syllables per line. Line one had two syllables. Line two had four syllables. Line three had six syllables. Line four had eight syllables. Line five had two syllables. There are other forms of cinquain but I liked this one.
What is Haiku?
These few words I write Are stripped as bare as Winter Haiku poetry © lovecanbereal
my enemy
i am so lucky having you as my enemy having you to hate having you to fight i am so lucky having you as my opponent dreaming your death planning the million ways to kill you i am so lucky having you in my life someone to blame for all
canyon blues
canyon blues there are a couple ways to look at it traveling alone that is without a mate unencumbered by partner, passenger or plan on one hand you can go when & where & stay early or late hike a canyon or pee beside the road anytime you lik
For better or for worse
For better or for worse it often ends from an empty purse In sickness and health until you lose your wealth Yet often we fail because selfishness tends to prevail nobody seems to want to place their faith upon the scale There is of course
Tribal Conflict
6 billion strong are we and as restless as the sea We cannot turn left, nor to the right..but that we're engaged in petty fight Oh, anthropologist unearth those bones Can thou find the orgin of these soulful moans? Are we the relics of a bad
A moment of introspection
A moment of introspection As I ponder my reflection I sometimes hate what I see based on a bitter reality I am learning just how insignificant I really am to the mass majority Those who may see this, there is little to miss of it's morality.
"no cents"
“no cents” sure he is on fire, he is a freakin’ lightning rod a reason for existence in a town without a god the person in charge left for lunch a while ago in case you missed the point, the pilot has vertigo maybe a conclusion will be reach
LOVE ME TO DEATH
If one hides the truth for too long it will eventually burst thru like floodwaters thru a breached levee. Don't try to hold back. Say what you need to say, and say it to whom you feel you need to say it to, or you could find yourself........
her question (my answer)
she looks at me, mid pub, and asks in a way, rhetorical as if she knows something I don't and will never "why do you live on a boat?" for the sounds of raindrops above my sleeping head for my conversation with dawn always the same woman
the artist
our tale begins midwinter in austere and ancient rooms.. where landlords sold satanic ales to drink away life's glooms a tortured artist drinks alone his circumstances dire sheltering in his suffering ways adjacent to the fire the world h
"Don't think about it"
what poem?
"Remodeling"
the twisted discourse squeezed the life from the moment as sure as the ivy destroyed the willow in the back yard ever climbing in the darkness of night never ceasing until a crecendo led to disbandment of relations of old illicit accusations im
"the flow"
“the flow” i wanna go down to where the river runs deep check out the shore and talk to the folks maybe learn some lingo only locals speak there must be sights and smells that are one of a kind never the same, it changes each day their haw
over it
so, so, so over games over abuse over egotism over selfish stupidity over my dead body if you're lucky, pervert
All these Years
Abuse can take many shapes and forms. Vocally, mentally, physically. But perhaps a glimmer of hope and a spark of light is all that is needed To start a recovery