Poems. Enjoy.

[Ypres]

Street Corner
Streets so empty, an eerie silence
Trash blows across the vents, lifts slowly
Grey and Black, strangely metallic and cold
A breeze leaves a chill and the mist rises

And there on the corner is the sage
Hair hanging like branches, held up by a greasy glue
Hands encrusted, coated in slime and filth
Dark blue eyes, blood-shot and dry

As I walk by he raises his claws and beckons me
He probes my soul and senses my distress
His words so smooth with beauty like a melody
How he can tell I can not begin to know

In front of me he stands up, dew falls to the ground
His stained shirt and torn pants make me step back
He makes a wry smile with mossy, yellow teeth
With his fingers he points, let him take you, not yourself

Manic
I am no king of two nations, I can not rule both
I am no god of two universes, only one worships me
I am not a driver of two cars, I must drive one
Nor a baker and an iron worker, a vegetarian and
butcher, nor alive and dead, I am undead
I can not be on Earth and the moon
I can not swim and die of thirst
I have no dream yet I am in space
Without hope yet faithful, shielded
from desire yet unarmored from the world
I am falling yet standing
I am strumming yet tone deaf
Seeing though I have no eyes
Devoid of Consciousness though awake, feeling
pain though numb, I can not choose and be alive

[Ypres]

Silent Night
The air is cool whether by my emotion s or the night
I am surrounded by a serene tranquility, an undying calmness
It is the last moments for me to endure and enjoy
The perilous task ahead beckons to be finished
My eyes close, my body breathes, no longer to be
A dream of a candle that has been snuffed out
No longer mighty, nor ever were, punily pathetic
I reach for the finality once more, I sigh
Destined to end but the deadline extended again
The roaring of my heart is like a lion, but without courage
I collapse, as cold as the night air, or rather my soul


Styx
Styx flows daily and rightly, uncontrollably
Surrounded by light, flanked by purity, yet hollow
The core, the depth is darkness, the soul flawed
Passively failing into disrepair, addicted to its own death
Without hope, but always hoping, without faith, but true
Darkness triumphs evermore as the soul longs to leave
To be sent up or down is not its care, only to be gone
Maybe to a place where pleasure and laughter are free
The rimmed halo, glistening and bright shudders at it
The crusted horns, clawing and biting flee from it
One simple action, one desire brings so much pain
One simple action that should bring so much pleasure

[Ypres]

With Both Hands
I sit and instantly my pulse sharply rises
My face is calloused, stern, apathetic, perfect
I pull the scraps and place them in front of me
I receive plastic in exchange, I am ready
The two icons are tossed at me, I glance
Numbers, colors and shapes with such meaning
The others glare and stare like piercing arrows
I throw my plastic in the middle, it is greedily eyed
The scraps are flopped into the center
Livelihood is thrown into the cauldron
I throw my own sweat and tears as another ingredient
Another scrap is turned, fear is creeping in
What do the others possess, what do I need
We pull, prod, infuriate; Give me a sign
The last scrap slides into view; brief silence
The last plastic, the toiled treasure, is thrown
The icons show themselves to be liars and thieves
One sits and looks with a smile, the fox among them
My grin is devious as I toss my scraps and collect the plastic
Defiant, haughty and satisfied I wait for more
Always more

Hope
A glance, a look, a touch, some hope
All I ask for
To hold, to care, to love, desire
All I want
The warmth, the smile, the laugh, peace
All I need

[smokingjoe68]

I liked them all, especially, "Street Corner"

[Ypres]

Rise
Patterns in the mist, patterns in the mist.
Rise, Rise
Patterns in the mist, patterns in the mist.
Rise, Rise
Do we see what we see
Or only what we want to see
Do we see what we see
or only what we want to see
For the world we live is changed
From our perception arranged

Done Deal
Life is not a done deal with the outcome sealed
It can be changed and warped to suit the idler
Split apart into parallels all drifting into one
Then they do not become parallels but angles
All coming towards one point, the focus
In that focus is your God, the universe
Change it with your free will if you must
It is the center of everything and anything

Shall I?
As the net rises with the fish
So Shall I
As the sun sets with night
So Shall I
As the flowers bud into bloom
So Shall I
As Life continues through everything
So Shall I

As the world unites with peace
So Shall we
As the earth becomes one
So Shall we
As tolerance is with merit
So Shall we
As love makes miracles
So Shall we

[Alphaone]

Very deep. Love them.

[Ypres]

Sinking
It spins around like a tornado but with the allure of a carousel
You both fear it but find it oddly desirable and elusive
Calling to you you walk closer and inspect its oddities
Unusually dark, shafted, sharp and completely jaded
Smack it, burn it, warp it, torch it, beat it, clean it
You can not escape it now, it has become everything in you
You are living by it but forever dying by it
Grabbing hold of anything you fight away
But its too late, the hold tightens
You spiral, sinking
Self-destruction
Blackness


O, ok
Don't avoid the life put in front of you
Do what your told on your cue
Listen up and don't shed a tear
I got your life for you right here

Tear yourself apart trying to stop me
But I'll be the one, the mystery
Conform, reform and out-preform
Lke living life under chloroform

[RuseOfMetacarpi]

these are great! What a relief from the typical poems that we see on here. All very well done, with purpose and excellent word flow.

[Ypres]

Hummingbird
A warm night among the many houses of congregation rouses my curiosity and need for brotherhood. I enter the area of excitement and activity, so much going on; it is almost overwhelming. I glide into the hive of movement moving so slowly when everything else is moving so quickly.

I observe what is around me when I see her standing there. We catch glances and exchange smiles but I see so much sadness in that beautiful face. Someone that pretty should not be sad. She is friendly but troubled and I go to investigate.

The small talk and interview begin. She is like me, unable to smile at the world that she is trying to enjoy. Surrounded by happiness, joyful debauchery and blissful ignorance we can not truly smile. Without this we can not truly live and we feel the emptiness. But now there is a togetherness, not dependence but a sense of completion. The wonders of understanding and mutual struggle.

I extend my hand and she touches it. I feel the warmth in her hands and it rises to my heart. I can feel again and it is enchanting. We exist again; we are again. She leads me away to a better time where I will gain a sense of fulfillment with my new found desire to live and love.

Why hasn't this happened yet?

[Ypres]

I've been writing some short stories instead of poetry recently.

84 in 34

Stepping through the dark street and slinking through the alleys on his path to the convenience store. He Steps through and browses the sodas coming up with a Mountain Dew.

“Hey, two peach papers and a pack of Marlboro.”

“6.50 sir.”

He is Eighty-four in the year 2034, skin of a sixty year old, third heart, seventh set of lungs. It seems God does not want him on the Earth, but science strands him. A modern day Frankenstein but this time Man is triumphing. He snatches the merchandise on the ground and walks to the poorly-lit parking lot. Looking over his shoulder, as if guilty, he lights the first two cigarettes simultaneously.

His smoke flows upwards in lofty patterns that make him ponder his hard life. He’s endured coal mines, wars, aftermath and cancer three times including his bout now. There’s a look of sad wonder in his eyes as he ponders his life. Thoughts creep through his head asking about the various actions and occurrences and why they happened. He can’t figure out; but fate or destiny he postulates.

Unscrews the Mountain Dew and glances at the yellow green liquid. With a sigh he takes a swig but not after hitting it with some vodka. He tries to forget his life and live in the present but always reminisces. He does not want to but that is his nature. Has life gotten worse or is he simply unlucky?

The Earth obviously does not thank us and is she pushing Karma onto one person. Martyrdom without a cause is a cruel way for this man. Four cigarettes discarded, half a mountain dew sloshing in his stomach and a cruel past are all that becomes this man in his moment of epiphany. He isn't even aware as he forgets the past for this brief moment. He enjoys his drag and watches the smoke circle as he steps back into the alley and disappears.

[Ypres]

Theistic Thesis
Left in the dark I wander around
Missing the light since it's holy
I don't devout nor believe
It is not there; it's been proven

Miracles don't actually occur
Someone tricks themselves
Tired or stressed out visions
Superstition makes a mockery

Worship is inevitable to some
Those they worship cannot resist
Greater and greater forever
The one at the end is infinite

The list becomes long and narrow
Becoming a sloping triangle
The name at the end is not long
But it has existed forever

Dreams can not display it
Religion has not found and used it
It is unimaginable in the end
It is everything but nothing

[Ypres]

I particularly like this one I just wrote.

Intelligence is bliss
I am the intellectual
The Anarchist mind on the offensive
Swift words, taunting repartee
I see a perfect world

I am the intellectual
The billowing thunder in the sky
Striking thoughts, wondrous applause
I see the tired world

I am the intellectual
The pacing speed of my heart
Boiling blood, dreaded truths
I see the corrupted vision

I am the intellectual
The dirtying slander through power
Caustic desires, trademarked lies
I see the faulty system

I am the intellectual
And I will not be stopped


Pigeons
The streetlight shines on the black pavement casting an orange shadow
Lost souls, tired souls, elated souls and the rich have walked under it
It has watched great sorrow and lit the scene of lovers’ passion
It sleeps in the day and awakens in the night to cast its glorious glow
No one thinks twice of the happenings it has scene, the world it knows
It has been cursed, kicked, perched upon and used as a bulletin board
Dogs have used it as a bathroom but it simply does not care
But how I wish it could speak its wisdom from its experiences to me
The moments it has seen, the dialogue it has heard, the rough hands it has felt
All of this becomes a reminder that we need to sit down and watch the chaos

[Ypres]

Little Girl
Little girl with the needles in your arm
What would daddy say about you now
Little girl pushing everyone away
The dark makeup glows around your eyes

Pulled a trick just to get a hit last night
Fell asleep staring at the walls of some motel
Being used like the substance you abuse
Little girl please don’t run away from me

Blinked twice to realize you were there
Lying on that moldy couch all alone
Haven’t felt love since years back
The knife begins to look very friendly

She carves her initials into the wall
But worse, also into her writhing arm
Control the pain so you have something
Used the knife to end the pain forever

[Ypres]

Red Glow
The sun casts a shadow as it sets on my childhood
I lose sight of everything I once knew and learned
Old thoughts and visions cease to exist, unwanted
The dark night is reflected within my own self
I become a recluse, still childish in my actions
Trying to become something I am not, so foolish
But a glowing red begins to shine across the Earth
Optimism resurfaces for me as the sun rises again

[Ypres]

The Siege
Jagged buildings
like gnawing teeth
cut the sun
that bleeds the morning.
Concrete cracked and crumbling
sit in their foundations with blown off heads
while giant wounds in their sides
caused by artillery that weave an endless thread
Streets are littered--
rifles, photo albums, corpses, cribs
tanks, cars, shit-stained pants, teddy bears,
a bloated stomach near an outstretched hand
of a toddler hoping for one last touch
from its own mother.
Once bustling, now empty--
The city will be filled again
and the battle remembered
as a National holiday
while those who died
get a pitiful moment of silence