Thursday, March 10, 2011

More poems

A few more poems, again, never finished but close enough:

The Dying Beast

Can’t you smell it?
This dying ocean beast
Alive, still barely, in this storm
This ancient power hurtling our way

Can’t you see it?
His last few salty breaths
Growling, just barely, in those clouds
Downed only by distance, tamed with death

Winds beating out
That savage final claw
Threatening all life from above
His deadly haggard form warning quickly

“Come ye, just closer
And taste my sea, and
Your fear shall know its truest form
In me, instead of these weary bones”

Please understand
What fierceness wasted
By miles come from home, is this
Toothless lion once a beast of prey

Wish Upon a Storm

I wish I could smell like rainy days
Like sweet clean air
Or cozy classrooms all lit
While the darkness outside watches through open windows

I wish I could touch like rain
Soft and cool, light kisses
Dropping on your neck and caressing
Or inhaling rain breath through a window ajar

I wish I could speak like rain
Murmuring voice like music
Small drum-like tapings
A living cocoon of silence quietly surrounding

I wish I could look like rainy days
Deep and dark, powerful storms
Cleansing and healing
Mysterious hope and swift gliding movements

The Moonlight and Me

Sometimes I like to sit in the moonlight,
Just sit,
Letting it soak into my pours
Burrow under my skin
Fall like water on my hair-
Soaking me
I don’t know why I do it,
Maybe I desire it
To be come a part of me
Written on my face
Like this ink on pale paper,
So that you will be able to see it
Years later
A twinkle in my eye,
Just a gleam
Or smell on my hair
Like lingering fire-smoke.
So if its light pours out of me
Don’t be surprised
I keep it locked up
Like time in a bottle
But it may creep out sometimes,
Around the edges of me,
But don’t be alarmed, dear friend
Its just the moonlight in me
Reaching out to you,
Mysterious magic that it is
Maybe I sit here because of that,
Its intoxicating incense
A clear gazing eye
Keeping watch over the world by night

Waiting waiting waiting
A still bog growing green
Moist air, stale staying silent
Ancient attics left so long
Hopes and prayers long gone
Stiffened joints, jesting gazes
Reaching, pausing, lagging
Scratching, stretching, yawning
Waiting, waiting, waiting

thanks to flicker and wordpress for pictures

No comments :

Post a Comment