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 Posted: Fri Jan 24, 2014 10:53 am
WELL!
Thanks to this whole guild event, I've been sucked back into poetry, the art I thought I left behind long ago. Prepare, you have awoken the beast, though she may be a little clumsy from under-use.
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Posted: Fri Jan 24, 2014 9:26 pm
Well, this one unfortunately does not have a title yet, but I think it reflects my inability to understand what love is like.
The fire is spreading across all the screens,
All the art, all the fiction, burned I have seen.
Bound to come to me
An epiphany.
Prances around like a fluff on the wind.
Volatile drumbeat, Short of breath accident.
Fast as cameras daze flashing then blink—
My bright spots are thought through before I sink.
But wrong, I do fear
Of who I might sear.
Into the center to pass through the magma
Emerge, confused, on the else side in China.
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Posted: Sat Jan 25, 2014 11:36 pm
Another SomeoneYou’ll never find someone
Like me.
There are a thousand
Of you,
And why would I
End us
If I wanted
To find
Another man
Like you.
Ever Dying
In the core of a trunk,
Where the tall tree stands,
The wood is deadened.
Leaving rings of the past.
Each generation
Dies before the next.
They spurn a ripple,
Spreading like a hex.
Like the last were smothered
By a young new layer
The child is shadowed.
Guilt and reality widening like a gyre.
The heavy bonds to the land
Accumulate with weight
Like the lead on the shoulders
As we dread our fate.
Things die from past out.
Each babe hurdles forward
Ignorant of what with
Our descendants can afford.
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Posted: Fri Jan 31, 2014 4:59 pm
The Withered Tree
Massive Queen of the field,
Alone in her reign,
Over grass stalks meek.
The Withering Oak stares at winter
Tense and determined.
Clothed in a cloak
Of imperial red and gold
She coaxes Sun through the clouds
For one last glory
In her coloured leaves.
Then Wind and Frost come howling upon her,
Blot out the sun.
Twists through her limbs.
Rots the brilliance of her autumn gown.
Her beauty turns brittle
In lonely cloud light.
Her proud fingers tremble and snap.
She drops her gold to Wind,
And they dull in Frost,
And scatter away,
Abandoned.
The fall of white buries her kingdom.
She is as exotic as rock,
And as lush as bone.
Defiant to the desolate cold,
The Queen remains,
Stark. Black.
And holds new grace.
Her limbs coil for warmth,
Cracked into dark knots
And wiry spirals.
She is bare and gnarled.
She is captivating.
Wicked, sinister statue.
Yearning only to outlive the winter,
To flourish in vibrant fire again,
When she is already bewitching.
Foolish.
Queen of the field.
The Withered Tree.
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