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Monthly Archives: March 2015

A Mere Mist

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Hold now, this gentle rain;
let us begin with mere mist,
testing all of our senses,
opening our eyes to now,
viewing horizons of clouds,
wandering along their way,
pausing only here and there
to touch upon our memory,
yet moving ever forward;
let us begin with this rain.

Aloft on a summer’s breeze;
to what shore shall we go
where we rise from the milieu,
alighting with wetted senses,
to taste the mist we have made?
Find the space between us,
and know why we have come;
for all that we have seen before,
and in this mist we now reside,
to what dream shall we defer?

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Posted by on March 31, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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There Is No Sigh In Goodbye

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There is no sigh in goodbye;
it is the severed moment
when the world is uncertain,
that such leaving should find
as much to regret, as to want.

There is no poetry in loss;
yet such pain may oft tender
the moment of our worth,
to say then we are lessened,
or speak no more of such need.

There is no truth in forlorn;
it is the sudden shadow, unseen,
upon the breath of our days,
and in the body of our nights,
when every light seems to fade.

There is no stillness in want;
in that, we become awash
with the urgency to move,
yet unable to breathe at all,
and left only with that goodbye.

 
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Posted by on March 28, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Another Cigarette

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Somewhat pensive am I,
but more passive and patient,
just biding my time,
slumped low in my chair –
awake and aware,
not streaming pure thought;
instead, mulling over
disjointed workings
of a haggard philosophy.

Here, in welcomed transit,
I rest upon the spirit of my wiles,
conscious only of the walls,
their faded colors mesh together,
and of this computer screen,
awash with symbols and colors,
with its only sign of life
as the placing of my words.

I hold no pattern of means,
drawing on my full reserve of ease,
brushing lightly
the strokes of cool blue
along the frame of thoughts
I have thus far painted,
and to which I have now
resigned myself.

Stillness pervades
the physical realm around me;
the calm of another day’s end,
my body at rest now,
with only the tapping
of the keyboard
to speak my words,
and the breath of smoke
from another cigarette
to give me life.

 
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Posted by on March 28, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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When Did The Words Die?

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When did the words fall in shards;
spilt into every conversation,
as if only time had any meaning?
When did the diction of words
become cliché, muted in recall,
accepted as undone for fashion;
no longer in context as an art,
now simply as the unkempt garb
we wear upon sheltered selves,
to show disdain for nakedness?
When did scribing become null,
replaced by lifeless screens
and multi-tasking scans,
where the placement of words
is for sight, rather than mind?
When did gods fall from grace,
the immortals of whom we wrote;
that they composed every word
to be the music of the writer,
painting our minds with stars?
When did the words die away,
only to be lost among the rubble;
the unmeasured mass, formless,
of roughly-hewn and partial ideas,
now only as legible as this very blog?

 
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Posted by on March 26, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Fragments

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Let me be the soft of your whisper,
let me be the guide of your gaze;
hold a cup of me in your hands,
drink your fill of me at your desire,
whether I am your thirst or soothe;
pray, I dare not stumble in my place,
for I may buckle under your prowess,
and fall, not from you, but with you;
let us be wanton with every breath,
yet contained in our zealous comfort;
the night gives in to dawn too soon,
the sun is but a revolution of memory.

 
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Posted by on March 25, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Your Horizon

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Upon your soft horizon,
the sun takes its cue
to leave the night;
let my eyes be blind
to the coming dawn,
yet view the moon
and stars in your eyes
as if seeing for the first time;
and only in gentle waves
may the sky shift
its blanket of clouds
across your form;
in your unending landscape,
there is more fire
than contained in all the stars.

 
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Posted by on March 23, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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Moments

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It is of these moments;
we walk into the world
to meet our dreams;
sun spills into our eyes
and fills us with warm;
wind wraps around us
and animates our flesh;
with your hand in mind,
our steps, uniform stride,
the world belongs to us;
our moments in the world,
where we resign ourselves,
amid a singular dream;
we two immortal souls,
lingering a while ’til dusk,
night, ‘neath a painted moon;
now, where a mere sigh
may startle the senses
and break rhythm of tides,
we wile away the hours
in this celestial sanctuary;
here, among the stars,
reborn in every moment.

 
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Posted by on March 23, 2015 in My Poetry

 

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