Just the title.
Faded gold
does trace the thread
of things not gone
and not quite dead.
~
Like tinsel then
in glinting eyes
does careful mend
bring bluer skies.
~
I tread upon
a bluer ocean
divided on
a zero quotient.
~
In truer blue
are eyes that cast
hateful stares
and loving glances,
at a pair that no longer dances.
~
Only wishing now
to show you how
I meant it then
and mean it now.
~
Eyes much bluer,
forever skewered
by glancing then
and staring now.
Evening, folks. It’s about damn time I put out another poem. Here’s one I wrote on a recent trip when I could only just see the moon. I hope you like it. Without further ado…
In the light of one sullen moon,
did sanguine, red wine cross his lips,
dripping and dripping into the abyss.
What sordid passion is this?
~
There sat an ignoble moon,
possessed of dark clouds
concealing its sight,
but for one sultry glimpse
by one half-mad loon.
~
So traveled as he was,
in this place he had been,
did fear still alight
in the hearts of some men.
~
Filtered then
by so much dust and so much vapor
was the light of the moon
doomed once again to taper.
Afternoon, folks. Here I am at a burger restaurant listening to Muse and I’m thinking, “Well, golly gee, I haven’t posted a poem in a while.” So here’s a tribute to my new girlfriend who happens to be pretty awesome. I hope you can see just a little bit of why she makes me so happy. Without further ado…
Untoward advance of the midnight sun
brings unfortunate end to evening fun,
but always there, some silver lining,
before my eyes a feast for dining.
Whitened stars
beset porcelain jars
astride feelings then
so far from mars.
Venusian hearts
pierced now and again
by Venusian darts
thrown now and then.
Tapered then,
by Aphroditic design,
is beauty spared
the stroke of a pen.
Yet here and now,
does candlelight bow,
and flicker,
and bicker,
and shedding evermore its wicker,
thus illuminating elegance ever quicker.
And under sheets of a bed
does red warmth lie
beside stones and pebbles
in a river you spied.
Howdy howdy. Back again with another poem. Everything I write means quite a bit to me and it means even more that you would read my words and enjoy them. I sincerely hope you enjoy this one. Tell me what you’d write if you had the words in the comments! Without further ado…
Would it be that I could write something so beautiful,
I think it ought to shine,
to light like a thousand stars in a dark night sky,
to burn like a lamp so flush with oil
that you fear for the cedar posts
that stand so tall at your sides.
I think it ought to be a thing.
Something you can touch and feel,
something real.
I think it ought to be yours,
and mine,
and everyone’s.
Something special,
and unique,
yet ubiquitous and clean.
Would it be that I could write something so beautiful
as to set that vile loneliness ablaze
and make love in your heart
that I could sign with a pen.
Good afternoon, everyone! Anybody in the mood for a romantic poem? I would consider this one of my finest, even if its subject no longer holds captive the workings of my heart. I sincerely hope you enjoy a look inside the way I love. Without further ado…
He stared, then,
in the low light of this cobwebbed attic,
at the weathered painting laid afore him;
there he saw it,
the face.
Taken aback, then,
by the radiance of this face,
he sat down upon a simple chair.
In this twilight,
her twilight,
he continued to look.
He was unafraid.
Beauty and grace in tactical confluence,
he stared so long at the elegant contours of this painting that the eyes began to move,
then the lips,
then the wisps of delicately tended hair,
until finally she rose from the painting
to greet her onlooker with a kiss.
Stupefied, he sat,
as the woman met his lips
and pulled back again
only to look deeply into him with warm, happy eyes.
For what might have been eternity,
the man could have looked,
staring into those deep and smiling eyes;
but he didn’t have that kind of time,
so he asked her to hold him as he fell asleep,
and in the morning he asked another question,
“Why don’t we go together?”
Poems by Sam