Once, I was alone.
Now, I am not.
Now, I burn hotter when my other is not there.
I must have been numb before.
Is what I think.
I remember feeling alone.
I remember thinking
I like this.
Hah! I did not like it.
I hated it.
I just couldn’t reconcile the thought,
that slithering coil around my heart;
the one that said,
“You will not receive that which you want”
and so, I guess,
I’m happier now.
But Oh,
do I burn.
Never have I shivered so.
Never will I let go.
No matter how impure this desperate attachment gets,
I do not want to experien
The wolf in his suit
strutting past maidens and mutts,
past women in red
past muscled men with pistols in their gaze,
and a will to subdue.
With obsidian eyes that mirror his mind
A void filled with non-remorse
People get lost in him; in the wood of his work.
He is the hunter amongst steel and stone,
through high up windows he gazes
feeling alone.
Do you feel still?
Silent and still like the rocks and long-gone glaciers,
Sitting silent on Northern ‘scapes.
In Peggy’s Cove, where erratics* dot the skin of the earth,
Recalling lost eras when nature carried their girth
Then dropped them in puddles,
on land.
Forever, homes to wade through.
Journeys of the mute,
Continuous and deep
Weathering away.
Less still then they seem.
And dying like fallen Heracles
Poisoned and brought down to his knees
He comes to an end and blossoms again as Form and Golden God.
A story of fate’s curving; what nature is pursuing?
Those erratic rocks remain and change--for that is their retur
Once, I was alone.
Now, I am not.
Now, I burn hotter when my other is not there.
I must have been numb before.
Is what I think.
I remember feeling alone.
I remember thinking
I like this.
Hah! I did not like it.
I hated it.
I just couldn’t reconcile the thought,
that slithering coil around my heart;
the one that said,
“You will not receive that which you want”
and so, I guess,
I’m happier now.
But Oh,
do I burn.
Never have I shivered so.
Never will I let go.
No matter how impure this desperate attachment gets,
I do not want to experien
The wolf in his suit
strutting past maidens and mutts,
past women in red
past muscled men with pistols in their gaze,
and a will to subdue.
With obsidian eyes that mirror his mind
A void filled with non-remorse
People get lost in him; in the wood of his work.
He is the hunter amongst steel and stone,
through high up windows he gazes
feeling alone.
So I've been on edge with my poetry in the past while...until now. HEhehe. I discovered groups and now I can submit art and actually have a chance of getting it looked at.
I had another strange dream the other night that had a compelling part where I was swimming in shallow water but couldn't stand up. Around me female lions were also jumping around the water and I suddenly became aware that they were growing in number and that if I stayed in much longer I would be mauled.
Last thing I remember is making a break for land.
What I love about poetry is inspiration can come from anywhere and then you have a part of you on paper that people can
Wrote two poems today while feeling artish.
They're slightly depressing i guess but I prefer 'insightful'.
I had a dream last night. I reminisced on when a bird got into my apartment through the laundry vent but in my dream I walked into the common room and there was a yellow and black bird stumbling about on the floor, the window half open as it usually is (we live in a high apartment) and a feeling that the bird was a visitor. Why else would it fly inside the house?
I think visitors in dreams are important. They sort of represent something significant happening I think.
Birds, lighthouses, Visitors
Lighthouses! I want to write a ghost
I have always been involved with my artistic side but now That I'm not a kid anymore I feel like what confidence I used to have in my skill is wearing away.
Hopefully I can become a develop a deeper perspective to my art.
I would like to try to start a comic again...