 |
Oh,
the things that come my way,
ask for help and do not stray,
bid me listen to their thought
and their anger overwrought.
Are
they her..
|
|
How
much is the illusion of meaning
and how much is the seduction of sounds?
Too
much an obsession with reasoning
will exhaust, bore, and..
|
|
When I am young again
and this garment some call age --
in poor attempts at being vain --
has slipped from off my shoulders like a rage
no..
|
|
She
spreads her legs for me too soon I fear,
invites me in when I approach so near;
she whispers softly words I cannot hear;
yet her intent..
|
|
You
wicked woman! You know just how to win
my soul and mind with requests and sweet words
and just the very slightest hint of sin
and there..
|
|
Some supposed place of safety, there you hide
Twisting words, delusions that do not confide.
Though red and deep within your chamber sweet,
..
|
|
ON THE ONE HAND…
Whose dreams these are I do not
know,
nor why they haunt me so.
They come at night and cry to me
and s..
|
|
Like weed green hills of springtime,
I’m brown in summer’s day;
in bursting bold from winter
I burnt my life away...
Oh damn ..
|
|
The cat engaged in secret thoughts
that only he could know.
He pondered on profundities
in hopes that he could show
that all the wisdom o..
|
|
You cannot force a poem, you know;
You cannot tell it “Come!” or “Go!”
It will just be or it will not:
Forethought w..
|
 first  prev 1
|
|
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This