And here's the rest of them:
The Last Words I Shall Ever Write
Flickering faintly,
The cursor seems insistent, impatient;
Urging me to finish what I started
Some weeks ago when I was drunk.
But I fear I cannot indulge it,
For whatever it was that seized me
Now spurns me.
It was ephemeral, I fear, passing and never to return.
I don't know what else to add after
"These are the last words I shall ever write."
The Watcher
Suspended in time
By an infinitely thin thread of fate
In deepest darkness
Where unearthly denizens wait
Exists one man
Shrouded in somber haze
The knowledge of the universe
Reflected in his gaze.
The lights of a billion stars
Are but dust motes in his eyes.
Where this lonely stranger looks
A planet shrivels and dies.
His voice is naught but discord,
And his touch is atrophy;
His thoughts are swirling chaos
And his words catastrophe.
In the dark beyond the world
One man there holds sway.
He looks boldly into the abyss
And the abyss...looks away.
The House of Temptation
All across this lively nation
People are flocking to the House of Temptation,
Where the beer runs in rivers and the music is loud.
There are dancers on the ceiling and the band is on a cloud.
We promise you can always get your fix from dusk to dawn.
No matter the hour, the party's always on.
Welcome to the House of Temptation!
Welcome to the place where anything can happen, and it always does.
Step on in, hang up your coat, because
Whatever your price,
We've got the vice,
And everything is on the House.
Tell me, tell me, what's your poison?
I promise that we've got it here.
We've no debutantes in ballroom dresses
Faces icy and so austere.
We've got people dressed like pirates,
Silver robot suits,
Wild things in shimmering silk
With neon purple roots.
Glass reveals the mermaids swimming underneath the floor.
Go ahead and take your fill there's always room for more.
The drum machine's thumping, it is shaking the roof.
And even the water tastes at least eighty proof.
And the laser light show is pulsing in your eyes,
And you've only started dancing before you realize
You've lost your shirt, and your pants will soon follow.
The floor's disappeared and your head feels hollow.
Golden statues are crying diamond tears
And you're laughing, swinging from the chandelier.
The prince of parties greets his guests here each and every night.
We're a little slice of heaven and the price is always right.
Costumes and camaraderie, it's such a lovely sight.
We're a place where fantasies spread their wings in flight.
We're purveyors of every sinful sensation.
Have a good time, you need no invitation.
Just get your ticket at the door and you'll get your elation
At the wildest place around, at the House of Temptation.
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Sunday, May 17, 2009
More Poetry
Here's a bunch more poems I wrote, I actually posted them on my Facebook page a while ago but I thought I'd share them here as well.
The Taste of Winters Past
Always on your lips, the taste of winters past
And a girl who threw a snowball, tossed her hair, and laughed.
Where a cruel wind's fingers were stabbing at your skin
And the cracks were slowly spreading where the ice was getting thin
It was cold and white, but you were warm and flushed.
The time grew short, the day seemed rushed.
She left with a smile, without leaving her name,
And you were content to do the same.
And now that taste you can't define,
But you let it linger like expensive wine.
But what's a name worth anyway?
You'll always remember how you felt that day.
And all things considered, it stands to reason
That winter is your favorite season.
A Conversation With an Elderly Gentleman
Listening to him speak
Is like dredging a river
Filled with silt and debris
For a single nugget of gold.
I pick it up, polish it off,
To reveal a single point
Or some meaning
That would have otherwise escaped me.
As he talks,
The river meanders
On a lazy course
Off into the distance.
The river knows not where it flows,
Only that it has a long way to go.
If you're careful, you can wade across to safety.
Not a Hero
Well I hope that I
Don't get sent away to die
In some distant land
Whose name I can't
Pronounce.
I won't be part of the crusade.
Don't need no homecoming parade.
I won't lead the charge.
I won't leap into the fray.
I'm a coward,
I'm a bastard,
But I'll live another day.
I'll drink to those young men who've died.
I won't swallow lies, but I'll swallow pride.
I'll be home and safe and sound,
Not buried six feet underground.
I'd rather hide my eyes in shame
From patriots who curse my name
Then bear the scars of another's fight
And dream of slaughter every night.
Don't pin that medal to my chest.
Don't drape my coffin with that flag.
Don't salute me, don't pollute me,
Don't carve my name on a metal tag.
If I won't die for my own country,
How can you expect me to die for someone else's?
The Taste of Winters Past
Always on your lips, the taste of winters past
And a girl who threw a snowball, tossed her hair, and laughed.
Where a cruel wind's fingers were stabbing at your skin
And the cracks were slowly spreading where the ice was getting thin
It was cold and white, but you were warm and flushed.
The time grew short, the day seemed rushed.
She left with a smile, without leaving her name,
And you were content to do the same.
And now that taste you can't define,
But you let it linger like expensive wine.
But what's a name worth anyway?
You'll always remember how you felt that day.
And all things considered, it stands to reason
That winter is your favorite season.
A Conversation With an Elderly Gentleman
Listening to him speak
Is like dredging a river
Filled with silt and debris
For a single nugget of gold.
I pick it up, polish it off,
To reveal a single point
Or some meaning
That would have otherwise escaped me.
As he talks,
The river meanders
On a lazy course
Off into the distance.
The river knows not where it flows,
Only that it has a long way to go.
If you're careful, you can wade across to safety.
Not a Hero
Well I hope that I
Don't get sent away to die
In some distant land
Whose name I can't
Pronounce.
I won't be part of the crusade.
Don't need no homecoming parade.
I won't lead the charge.
I won't leap into the fray.
I'm a coward,
I'm a bastard,
But I'll live another day.
I'll drink to those young men who've died.
I won't swallow lies, but I'll swallow pride.
I'll be home and safe and sound,
Not buried six feet underground.
I'd rather hide my eyes in shame
From patriots who curse my name
Then bear the scars of another's fight
And dream of slaughter every night.
Don't pin that medal to my chest.
Don't drape my coffin with that flag.
Don't salute me, don't pollute me,
Don't carve my name on a metal tag.
If I won't die for my own country,
How can you expect me to die for someone else's?
The Mercurial Champion
I looked back and read my last post, and already it just seems whiny and depressing. So I thought I'd compensate for that lame entry by sharing a poem I just wrote. I think it's pretty good.
"The Mercurial Champion"
There's a place in my pocket where the money's gone thin
But sometimes even a born loser's gotta win.
And I've only one chance to scratch the sky
So let the slings and arrows of my enemies fly.
Can't forgive ya, sweet Virginia,
Never would have thought that you had it in ya.
You spoke your mind and you stole my heart
But you flew of the handle when I fell apart.
Heaven sent on a speeding train
Sitting here stuck trying to write the refrain.
Got nothing but a pen and a pad of scratch
And the flickering flame on the end of a match.
Do you think when I make it anyone will care
About the wind and the rain and the dust in my hair?
I made more selling rocks on the South Street docks.
These fools only listen when it's the money that talks.
Sage-like advice, it comes at a price
Sins of the city, how they love to entice.
Pages and pages of words for the ages
Written by men who make minimum wages.
I used to be one of those unfortunate souls
Entrapped by pretty eyes staring back from black holes.
I let the women in my life just run me aground.
They talk and they talk but they don't make a sound.
Now I'm a writer and a new-age fighter
In one hand a pen and in the other a lighter.
Inscribed on the walls left unscathed by the fire:
A mission statement for my fledgling empire.
Lived like a bandit and died like a king
Mourned by the masses, in the streets they will sing.
Composed my own anthem and waged my own war
Collected the debts and I settled the score.
There's a place in my pocket where the money's gone thin
But sometimes even a born loser's gotta win.
And I've only one chance to scratch the sky
So let the slings and arrows of my enemies fly.
"The Mercurial Champion"
There's a place in my pocket where the money's gone thin
But sometimes even a born loser's gotta win.
And I've only one chance to scratch the sky
So let the slings and arrows of my enemies fly.
Can't forgive ya, sweet Virginia,
Never would have thought that you had it in ya.
You spoke your mind and you stole my heart
But you flew of the handle when I fell apart.
Heaven sent on a speeding train
Sitting here stuck trying to write the refrain.
Got nothing but a pen and a pad of scratch
And the flickering flame on the end of a match.
Do you think when I make it anyone will care
About the wind and the rain and the dust in my hair?
I made more selling rocks on the South Street docks.
These fools only listen when it's the money that talks.
Sage-like advice, it comes at a price
Sins of the city, how they love to entice.
Pages and pages of words for the ages
Written by men who make minimum wages.
I used to be one of those unfortunate souls
Entrapped by pretty eyes staring back from black holes.
I let the women in my life just run me aground.
They talk and they talk but they don't make a sound.
Now I'm a writer and a new-age fighter
In one hand a pen and in the other a lighter.
Inscribed on the walls left unscathed by the fire:
A mission statement for my fledgling empire.
Lived like a bandit and died like a king
Mourned by the masses, in the streets they will sing.
Composed my own anthem and waged my own war
Collected the debts and I settled the score.
There's a place in my pocket where the money's gone thin
But sometimes even a born loser's gotta win.
And I've only one chance to scratch the sky
So let the slings and arrows of my enemies fly.
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