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 Sep 2014 Dylan
Abaigeal Skye
Honesty is the best poetry.
Part the Red Sea,
May your words flow free.

Only when minds ebb and flow you
Truly let go.
I just want to know.

If I fall once again on the pavement,
Will the light show through where I've been bent?
Will the universe release me from this symmetry?
When will I see? When will we see?
 Sep 2014 Dylan
infinitetune
Grey
 Sep 2014 Dylan
infinitetune
She stands among the grey scape with
So many muted colours inside her.
But today is a day of monochrome miasmas-
Of grey gulls that skim the pewter river
With wings that know such measures.

The greyness leeches her to the technicolour
World she knew long ago
Somewhere down the river.

A cauldron of rage wages above her
Filled with the bursts of brigands of
Grey restless beauty.

There's a rainbow now!

As it archly
Shows its palette she sees the separation
Appear ever nearer...
Above the rainbow is cobalt
Beneath it a merely flat grey.

Underneath her umbrella she enjoys
The puttered thwacks of soft water indenting
Thin fabric with a firework crack.
Suddenly she's back
Her shoes are black and her eyes are grey.
She wishes everyone was a million miles away.
She wishes everyone could stay.
 Sep 2014 Dylan
Lynn Spear
Scattered mind flying high,
Giving birth to ten more world-solving notions...
Like going on missions to foreign lands,
Healing the sick, giving out potions

My mind, embedded near gyrus and sulcus, knows no rest
The best ideas barge forth, within them come serious tests
  
Haunted, undone, one thought forms another
And another and another, above and beyond
I wish I could gaze into a crystal ball
Or wave it all away with a magic wand

Yet they're trapped, the thoughts fight each other with fervor
None of them ever wins because there's truth to every 'fever'

I know little slumber, its consequences given me to reap
I cannot sleep, I have no strength to weep
So disorderly I climb the steep dune
Sit atop and let go, and become immune

To what do I warrant such delightful diversion,
Enormity arousing enchanting excursions,
Bourn on adventure trudging into the night
An avalanche of answers for each weak 'goodnight'

The theory behind the presumption
An outline forms consumption
And consumes what? A faded thought that fails its test?
Only to leave hundreds more revelations? No rest!

The war rages within and is only consoled with more battle
I turn my head to respond and I hear an invisible rattle

A cannon resounds a magnificent clamor
And in genius there is found no candid glamour
The price is extraordinary, tormenting, fermenting
My soul takes toll of the mind's whirred lamenting

The motor consistently constantly churns
And within my being a fire lasciviously burns
Creativity is born on many a morn
When the moon moves so many amore

My meaning lies moaning not within lovers' arms
The link of such depth, no thwarting ensues
And I, sadly cannot pick up on the cues
And hour by hour I pay my dark dues

For possessing a disorderly knowledge beyond the mundane
At times I have no respect for ignorance, and then I refrain

From retorting what seems to be sheer morbid stupidity
I then realize that the unaware have more rest
I am a constant prisoner to my own uncontrolled lucidity
Transcendence is put upon my sad heart to test

And failure engulfs, suspicion again born
Trusting, untrusting, entrusting again
Paranoia peeks its head above a curtain irreparably torn
For the ten hundredth time my aura's adorned

And even if rain was painted bright colors
It wouldn't cling to the cloth absorbing herewith
For madness knows no such thing as height or width
It splatters on the gift, not a bubbling brook
But in sinister alleys intertwining the nooks
  
On a hard ridge it washes up, smacks hard against boulders
How could anyone see, no matter how big the shoulders
The raging, enraging, the madness of me
Unending sadness enshrouds, any gladness does flee
  
And nothing could have ever prepared me for this…….
The churning and burning and turnings amiss
Few attain such enlightenment, wisdom embedded with nails
To hell one must go to stand upon the high trail


Though nails now roses, its hilarity rests in what it imposes
The madness with sadness, humor to darkness transposes

And that is no gift, or is it? Annoyance
Pervades me incessantly.  I harbor clairvoyance
Extrasensory perception, the mind's grand deception?
In visions come to pass, messages impasse protection

And I in a world I barely understand
But there I take root and thusly extend my hands
To a world I hideously, abhorrently reprimand
Its normalcy thrives on an uncaring and desolate land.
Of which I want no part…..

It's within me to embark on a new beginning
For nothing will stop my thoughts from spinning
There is little that encourages sanity for winning

I rev up my engines, my spirit the pilot
And resign myself to the insidious riot


Lynn Goldner Spear
Copyright 2007
 Sep 2014 Dylan
Marshal Gebbie
There is no Makers formula
This life depends on chance,
The way you play your given cards
Depicts your daily dance.

Oh dogma flows in utterance
From pulpits far and wide
From those who claim to understand
Eternity's vast hide.
From those who hold damnation
As a weapon from on high,
From those who claim a judgement
As their finger points to sky.
The good, the bad are absolute,
The right bedevils wrong,
Redeemed shall live eternally
The bad shall singe for long.

Old men stand in pulpits
Across this Sunday's land
To threaten with damnation
If you should cross God's hand.
"Belief" is now their catchword
Abomination's wrong
Is to seek to proffer proof of claim
....to Sing the Devil's Song.

So gather all ye faithfull
Go listen to your man,
Sing the Gospel loud and long
And pay your tithe, as planned.
...But should you find you're dying
From cancer's frozen claw
And the the Godly fail to sweep you
To eternity's gold door?
Remember my clear message
Your life depends on chance,
You live within your own good sphere
....There is no Maker's Dance.

Marshalg
After an overdose of Pulpit hogwash.
10 March 2013
An assignation of confirmation.
A definitive repost.
M.
 Sep 2014 Dylan
Gigi Tiji
I wish I was as decisive
as the deciduous trees
they know when to let go
of their dying leaves

after a beautiful summer
 Sep 2014 Dylan
Jenny
Peace presses hard around us.
Like water seeping through
laid brick cracks.

It finds it's way to the soil
we're made of.
Saying let me be love
in your roots and
grace to help you grow.

Those bricks we laid
will crumble some day and
water will flood
new life forever,
as we
finally
break
aw
a
y.
 Sep 2014 Dylan
Oliver Grey
You made me feel needed in all the ways you shouldn't have;
Wanted in all the most inspiring ways;
Special in all the lonely ways:
All the ways you
Shouldn't

o.g.
 Sep 2014 Dylan
ASB
loving you
 Sep 2014 Dylan
ASB
"I'm loving you",
she said.
not "I love you",
which is what most people say,
which is what I would have said --
"I'm loving you."
because it was an ongoing action,
not just a passive state,
because she was loving me
while I was reading, or cooking.
it wasn't something like
"how do you feel?" "I feel good."
"what do you love?" "you, dear."
-- no.
no, loving is a verb, an act,
one that takes patience and time
and perseverance.
"I'm loving you", she said,
and her tone was casual or
almost indifferent, maybe,
as if she had said "I'm cleaning
the house", as if it should follow
"what are you doing today?",
she said the words as if they were
positively ordinary, but they weren't.
people tend to ask
"do you smoke?" or "do you drink?"
or "what do you believe in?"
-- habitually, passively --
and she said
"I'm loving
(and loving and loving)
you."
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