poetry for a new epoch

Posts tagged ‘emotional’

A Call to Alms

eternity drum

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Author: kozmikfish
Creative Commons Licence

‘Welcome Home’

My shadow is cast in all directions
The lights shine brighter for me
My footfalls are hard on the pavement
I will not be stopped

I chased Death out the door
and under the pallor of the night sky,
she worked her way into my chest
Her fingers ventured forth
with the warmth to melt my iron doors

Now I smoke a cigarette in the bone yard
I sit here waiting, wishing
for someone to lie by my side
The wind moans like a lover in my ear
It whispers ‘come back to me’

Walk with me through my haunted places
If we grow a shadow, it’ll soon disappear
I can show you beauty,
if you follow longer than fear allows
The smaller lights cast a greater glow
in the blackest of places

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Author: M. M. Danielson

Full Copyrights are asserted by the author.

Copyright 2012 M. M. Danielson
Creative Commons Licence

Drought

I witch for water.
Walking blindly,
I concentrate on my effort.
I am desperate,
you say.

You watch for rain.
Staring blindly,
you believe it will come.
You have faith,
you say.

It is in your nature
to trust in what you need.

Nature does not need you.

I witch for water,
…you watch for rain.

 

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Author: Rachel

All rights reserved. Full restrictions apply.

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Creative Commons Licence

Weeping Willow

My heart leaps up beyond the wishing excursions
of Summer when I see you standing alone in the
solitude of your ancestor glade, with tender tears
you weep to the tempo of this land’s rural architecture,
Weeping Willow, your beauty is a memory too green
to stay, too rare to last beyond this season’s late
sensitive spurs, still your spirit is embalmed in
rustic strength as your ageless roots drink the
milk from Gaia’s deep bosom, it rushes through you
-amber hot and amber cool-but as I look at you
content in your simple living I am left to wonder,
Weeping Willow, why does your sweeping leaves hang
down like tears, forsakened to this weary low,
weeping, ever weeping, why do you weep so, Willow?

Is it because you’re crying for the child who once
played among the timber sighs of your cradle branches,
but has now abandoned such blithful fare with
Summer’s hot and juicy end? If this is the reason
for your grieving then cease your perennial fears,
though the child is gone and though you may think
his laughter and the recess of fun he shared under
your protective boughs were but fond illusions,
falling onto your reprieve of Silence like the
falling Autumn leaves…his spirit remains behind
leisurely light and free, and the laughter that
has died into a bittersweet memorial of what was
will echo among the pretty lapses of your ivy tresses,
and even if he doesn’t return with the slow-evolving
of the Seasons’ tide his childhood shade will stay
to mingle with yours, and the weeping spray of your
leaves will remember as they shed trinkets of pleasures
now pale, vanishing with the delta Dusk, and I will
remember as I gaze at you, Willow, my fond friend.

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Author: Jewel MoonSilver Knight

© Jewel MoonSilver Knight – All rights reserved. Full restrictions apply.

September 11-13, 2002

A Dry Storm

I watched a thunder cloud rolling by
Its marching brigade stomped on velvet soles
Lightning bugs flashed in lazy response
It never rained, just roared in muffled solace
Closer, further…
.                        closer…
.                                  further…
The booms growled to another landscape

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Author: M. M. Danielson
Creative Commons Licence

The martyr of love

I am still a stranger in your battlefield
My rifle on my shoulder, I do not mean to fight
My tears cutting  the ground under  your feet
You stand over my bleeding body
Your cold blade dripping your way out

You stab me, once and twice, you grin at my wounds
My blood meets the thirsty salty soil
They greet, they hug, they mate under your feet
They give birth to the wild bloody roses
Where every wound blooms once more

I hear your walk away, leaving my barren land
I pray for death to push the arrow deeper in my back
To take the last hopeless breath, the last breeze of love
Bury me where the old moon was born
Let my head rest in a land of cinnamon and honey

When the white hands arrive with their remedy
Tell them all my birds left me and flew north
I do not wish to heal, I do not pray for cure
Battered and broken, my heart left the shore

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Author: Saida BUL.
Creative Commons Licence

Ribcage Symphonies

Passion has no taste
It just burns your tongue
While fingers compose symphonies
On nameless ribcages

Black widows don’t label their pets
Other than with dull numbers
Making disappointing engagements
Worthwhile episodes of a life wasted

On selfish charity, superiority
Damage of clarity of human heart
Dwelling frightened, cracked and murky
In its fragile shell

Soul is a carton box
That implodes in heavy rain
While rays of sun in a marmalade jar
Mean a miracle, if piled up carefully

A man says he met God in the subway
What most don’t want to listen to
See, mirror is the one true friend
As it always smiles back

A horse’s eye mutely reflects old days’ glory
Unnoticed by those who just recklessly ride
Into sunset full of screaming colours
At dusk that for a change might not be followed by dawn

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Author: Gabriela
Creative Commons Licence