Tag Archives: reblog

Poem a day challenge #61 (The New)

‘should have been’
attempts to give power
to the past,
something that does not exist,
in reality,
but only in your perception.

now is all there is.
there is no
‘should have been’
in now.

thehouseofbailey

The New 

By Scott Bailey © 2013

The new can’t replace the should have been
The should have been haunts us forever
Though the new will be a healer
And receive all our love just the same.
It’s pointless being angry at fate
But that doesn’t stop the burn
The frisson on top of everyday stress
For the should have been we always yearn.
The new will have it’s own should have been.
So maybe we will understand.
And make a happier will be.
At least that is the plan.

Get the previous ones here
http://wp.me/P3kG6h-bb

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3. A word from god

hmmm…
these are very strong words,
coming from a space tiger,
though perhaps,
as you are poet as well,
they have their place.
but exegesis and proffered,
wed and nimble and decreed -
they stir my brain,
a tiresome task for a friday.

I think that I shall beware space tigers in the future.


You Are Shining

That night you were shining
as the flowing light of a million stars aligning,
or so my tortured mind perceived,
as I hoped myself worthy to hold
 the rainbowed flowers painted golden at sunset.
 Only those midnight shadows dared to touch your face,
 perfectly chilled to an icy clarity,
 rejecting the touch of all others,
 denying them the ‘honor’
 to grace your frozen flesh.
 The wind swept your raven locks
 o’er your eyes ripe with tormented sights,
 I wish that I had shut mine own
 and turned away ere the pain
 or permanent separation from who we were,
 unbearable extinction of all that was within in,
 closed off from all that is within you,
 denied my every hearts’ desire.
 I wallow in the misery here,
 in this place without you,
 without the shining light of your being,
 cursing the bones
 of the soul upon whom
 you shine that cold,
 fierce light.
I own nothing of this poem, as the words are a twisted perversion of what I read, consumed, and spat out from my pain.

Caitlin Breanne

Since my poetry collection is available again, I’ve decided to post one more poem out of this collection for you. I hope you’ll enjoy it.

You Are Shining

Tonight you are shining.

As you gaze at me, I feel the rivers rushing and the stars aligning.

I feel as worthy of you as I am to see rainbows, and flowers, and sunsets.

I see the midnight shadows touch your face and it fills me with envy. 

Who do they think they are to dare to touch such perfection?

As if anything or anyone is worthy to have such an honor.

The windswept vision of your dark hair falling across your face torments me.

To be pulled away from you, to close my eyes even for a moment shall be too much to bear.

I love all that is within you with all that is within me.

To behold you is…

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Things I hate about myself

this is a terrible contemplation
that serves only to belittle
the wonder that is you,
like hating an angel
for wings that glow an off-color,
a butterfly whose antennae
tickle the flower too much.


Emotions: Happiness

happiness is the reverse of the coin,
the ‘heads’ to the ‘tails’ of sadness,
neither are real.
Only peace is true,
and it is blissful joy.

Peace is,
and we can only rarely
exist in that place.

The Faded Pages

Happiness
More than an emotion,
A way of existence
It moves through us
Only if we welcome it
It is but a shy creature
Waiting to be coaxed out
Breathe in happiness
Absorb what there is to see
Live within reach
Of what is to come
For it may only last moments
Happiness
It’s more than an emotion.
— The Faded Pages

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Facing It ≠ Putting Your Heart In It

what terrible sadness
to understand,
to grasp,
the infinite line of humanity
with hands outstretched,
waiting in sadness for that glass.
I break,
questioning if truly,
this pain is in my perception,
and not the blunt hammer of reality.

Rampant and Golden

I don’t know why
but in the place of poetry
only sleep
the weight of covers
the dull ache of the body
asking mutely for escape
a cheat for freedom
deep dark soldier
…..ashamed
the fight all gone
……….just before battle
just before truth
just before the tolling
…..of the bells where
destiny will separate
the loved
……….from
…..the merely
……………vain lovers
and I will not stay awake
to count the hours
and weep on my knees
because I’ve seen
what brokenness looks like
and have marched
to the bugle call
…..with
……….sorry
held in my fist
…..and
……….why
burning on my tongue
and I’ve had my share,

so I pass
and let the glass of wine be
handed right down the line
.

thenamelessblack_dragantodorovic
.
“The Nameless Black” by photographer Dragan Todorović

.

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Who Are We

we are the imperfect children,
made in the image only,
toiling with our incomplete,
broken perception
of the yearning of creation.

Gray Poet

Sunset

Who are we to think that we
Can look at a sunset and pause
Yet we see flooding torrents
And look to God as the cause.

Who are we to think that we
Can do as we wish with the land
Then we see ills striking friends
And ask if it came from God’s hand.

Who are we to think that we
Can get away with whatever we say
Not a thought given through the week
And maybe worship God on just one day.

Who are we to think that we
Can make the world a better place
Bending even the natural laws
And fearing now to even bow our face.

Who are we to think that we
Can stop lifting our eyes above
Giving little of our self in return
And take advantage of God’s love.

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Watchtower

in winter, the trees look decrepit, forgotten.
in spring, the trees reawaken to who they are,
and become outwardly beautiful,
again.

…”it never came,” said the oak sleepily in december.
“wait,” said the fir.
“it never came” said the ash drowsily in January.
“wait,” said the pine.
“it never came,” said the poplar through a yawn.
“wait,” said the spruce.
in spring, their laughter tickled the crocuses.
in summer their shade cradled the toadstools.
in fall, they all prepared for a sleep,
to dream through the ling winter,
of the gentle rains of the spring.
in winter they wept as the saplings mourned the cold.

cruelconsuelo

To holler without sound, I’ve been listening
For a while now my love and there is
A story in my head. I cannot tell you
How it goes but it runs the distance
Of all my known fears and beyond.
The waking hours that creep
And strangle my feet. I am not
Going anywhere. I am not falling
Asleep. I am a watchtower
Forgotten, decrepit but I hold
On to the last vestiges of a former
Light. I can still cast some shadows
They make up for the absence
of what it is, I cannot tell you.
I am a watchtower and I will hold
On to the last.

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Portal

I cried,
opening the gates,
the elements tarnishing the gilded streets,
whitewashing my proud gray masonry.
I laughed at the wit,
sincerely captivated in the cleverness,
and quipped, ever so quickly,
a dance of words,
no meat, but something to fill the time.
And then I reveal the Truth of who I am,
and she cast it aside,
repulsed in all that was me.

Christina Strigas

Open up your portal
lead me into
your golden streets
and grey walls
laugh at all my witty jokes
and comments
keep up with me
give me a comeback
adjectives, nouns
anything will do.
Show me your ugliness
I will embrace it
as long as it is a part if you.

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Fleeting Love

nonsense.
I am the better for the dream,
though many of the details are lost
to the fog of forgetfulness,
though the love depart,
the bubble quickly burst,
for while it was,
I saw the light dance and move
across its surface,
a unique pattern of being
that had never been before
and shall never be
again

Experimental Fiction

Love comes, but soft;
timid, as a fawn in forest
glade.
With gentleness, patience,
and unrestrictive hold
it may stay.
But beware;
as a bubble too swiftly grasped,
a dream too quick remembered,
’tis all too soon removed,
and life will be all the poorer
for it.

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