This is a poem I wrote; or I guess I would call it that. I’d really like to hear poetry or stories from others reading this, as well as comments on mine.
The sound of a distant dog’s bark,
drown out by the melancholy tune of an acoustic song.
A song only listened to in hopes to
find the faint image to a nostalgic memory
held on to ever so tightly.
So far gone, yet just an arms reach away.
A memory of which the chance it rekindles is somewhat of the
dwindling brightness of a star in the night sky.
Knowing that it has already burned out,
Seeing nothing solid,
But only the light of what once was.
Sifting through shades of years long swept away,
I remember times when you weren’t such a miser.
When the sun smiled wide and promised me eternity,
when summer vacation unfurled like a winning lottery ticket,
when the playground just down the street was a far-off planet,
when I soared into the skies on the backs of winged days
and swirling purple evenings would rain fireflies for miles…
What happened to you?
Today you thump through my dreams,
a jackhammer on a concrete morning.
You etch yourself all over the faces of my family,
whisper fog into my ears,
and with a swish of your magician’s wrist
a scarf of clouds snuffs out the hours.
I’m astronomically atomical
Like a snowman, I’m abominable
Dropping bombs, cuz I’m unstoppable
Words of Mass Destruction forged in my abdominal
Strong enough to land you in the hospital
Could melt your brain like a popsicle
Understanding me is comical
But that’s the biggest obstacle
Might possibly be impossible
So welcome to my stompin ground
It’s time to take the system down
Blowin clouds by the pound
I’m living life out of bounds
Off the map, away from town
Just as crazy as it sounds
Can’t wait to share the things I’ve found
As a kid I wished time would speed up and I’d be older.
Years flew by, I’ve aged but now time isn’t any slower.
There’s no way to turn it back, my shortlived childhood is over.
Make believe monsters are now real world dreams.
Imaginary problems have turned to real life screams.
Budgeting how times spent, scheduling every thing.
The 6 year old me would hate me.
If I could explain it to him, maybe he wouldn’t blame me.
Doubtful. My once big dreams have all been compromised.
Along the road I’ve believed a ton of lies.
Life isn’t easy man, it’s all about the sacrifice.
The only real path to discovery is actually trying.
My life has changed and I feel like I’m at wits end.
If I make it, it’s only because of these friends
But time is short, I don’t quite have the time to pretend.
Slaves to money and we are counting every damn cent.
Our blanket forts have been replaced with jobs that we all resent,
But if I keep living in the past I’m gonna miss out on the present.
Appreciate the now.
wow that was fucking beautiful. gorgeous i read through it real slow and it painted a picture; at first of an imagined surrounding but then inside my own way of thinking and holding onto concepts. the depth to your poem as well as its direction tell me you have a beautiful outlook on Nothing and Everything, on Us and the dance of existence. i would like to celebrate your poem with a poem of my own:
stormy yet again, but i’m roaring back at it, and i’m sure it’s respected but i throw myself in with, and this low i feel within, is the woe of lone children, the unknown going unwitnessed our secrets closing in til we’re trapped inside our minds and climb out on our inhibitions fading with the changing day as well as life’s restrictions. playfully i’ll stay to teach and brave new reaches i shall seek out actively, i’ll pack with me, just love and strength no maps or feed. those baptists speak of passively obeying to false majesties and lavishly, impractically plus with attack to happy things that activate your happening, release your mind and have it sing. melodies so beautiful your conscious has to have it ring. melodies so beautiful your conscious has to listen, leveling your view until you conquer past regrets, and, i’ve been living deep inside your thoughts to know your switches, yet, you just keep falling down in fear so certain it’s a test. and there’s no way i can describe it i’ll just let you live the rest but i am sure before it’s over you’ll find wisdom to confess……then forgive.
I love your prose poem. I was intimidated by them at first but I finally tried it out. Please, anyone, let me know what you think of it; be a harsh critic.
A Theory of Memory
That summer the two of us and five friends sent off roman candles with high gleaming arcs into the black night sky, far away from the city lights, before we ran through the droughted hayfield and jackknifed into the Shendoah’s calm brown current as we sank slowly into the silty bottom, my hand holding hers in our halcyon grasp, suspended for a moment before rising breathlessly back up above the surface into the moonlit flotsam of a country night.
Somewhere there is an arena of concentric circles of graystone arches, each arch supported by a keystone memory that holds firm like a henge. Timeclouds rain and the keystones crack and, grain by grain, the pillars collapse, falling into separate piles of broken stone and dust amidst a landscape of fallen arches and heaps, far enough apart so that the breeze may carry the dust between them off to a faraway creek that is gray and coagulated from the dissolution of our memorials.
Over time our memories are stretched and the passing images that compose a sequence of events are overexposed and made into an effulgent panorama that bridges a moment’s beginning and ending until the two ends come together, bind, and become a contained whole, a separate memory far removed from all else like an island kept afloat by the waters of everydayness.
More poems on my blog: http://thingsithinkwhenothersarenotaround.wordpress.com/
i made this for my old psychologist who has helped me immensely:
Wake up feeling intoxicated and drunk
the room wherein I came back to consciousness smells like the flatulence of a skunk
neither this or that dimension is happy to see me
smoke weed and escape reality
dive into the eternal haze so cowardly
today is a good day for a killing spree
go on a binge, and party
find more people who have lost touch with there Psyche
desperately, longing for a social orgy
lost and wandering in a deluge of XTC
vengefulness rush through his veins
can’t see the contrast between evil and sane
the whole world deserves to go up in flames
only then will he be satisfied and stop being deranged
should i care about him?
Should i stay?
Or simply sway away?
Too bad this guy is me
divorce is not a possibility
rest my weary head and dream
tomorrow will bring with it a new life theme
today is the day I met you for the first time
entered your office anguished and upset, already feeling out of time
dripping with the toxic ooze accumulated in a lifetime
disfigured, an empty vessel of a being and thinking it will be the same as last time
you covered my eyes and whispered not this time
told me adorable truths time after time
I finally realized your beautiful heart and mind
and saw the gift that was not suicide
but years and years of more livable time
now life has flourished into something great!
Won’t make the same mistake and affiliate with hate
having a rosy outlook on life and living it straight
exuberance, jubilant, knowledge and faith
the traits I can share with the world, what a great feeling of grace!
Thank you again for all you have done
i can’t thank you enough, what comes close to being granted a lifetime full of fun?
@introspectivity, Just something short i wrote a while back.
The chest chokes on emotions, afflictive commotion
The mind battles for solutions, crooked mind illusions
The souls hooked on the fix, that orphic essence mix
Lusting the times when time ceases to exist
Some very nice imagery but I think you maybe do a little too much telling and note showing.
No need to say that the tune is ‘melancholy’- the imagery is melancholy and sets the tone well by itself.
What does nostalgia feel like? Show these feelings rather than using a word we have for them; this is where poetry diverges from everyday language.
Don’t want to seem like I don’t think it is a good poem, it is a very good poem, but this is what constructive criticism is for, feel free to review some of my poems and offer your insights at my blog: A Writer & Virginia Gentleman
(Watching the amassed lightning bugs set fire to an otherwise unnoticed Magnolia)
I had my eyes shut tight
enough so that their effulgence
could just squeeze between my reluctant eyes
but not pass, forever forgotten,
through the sieve of my memory
Many more at my blog: http://thingsithinkwhenothersarenotaround.wordpress.com/
@triplemind, @introspectivity, thanks for the nice feedback, both of you. It feels good both to post this, and it felt good to find my cache of old poems and stories. I had fallen off the writing wagon for a long time, but I find my inspiration coming back. Seeing proof that you can indeed write something neat is a great confidence boost for taking up the pen and paper and creating again.