Tag Archives: eyes

Happy Webiversary!

Good afternoon, everybody! Today officially marks the full one-year anniversary of my first post on poemsbysam.com. I don’t have anything in particular planned for today, but I have a short and sweet poem that I wrote a while ago I think you might like. Without further ado, please enjoy.

Lost Planet

Shining there upon a far flung beach,

two suns and three moons

that illuminate

twinkling gemstones under an emerald sky,

reflections of those things that lie above.

She looks up at those stars,

those heavenly bodies,

and waits for one to return.

The only one.

Perhaps they’d sit under green skies

upon that red-tinged grass

and look out at the spear-whales

flying overhead

and great striders

crossing those shallow,

green seas.

Maybe they’ll have croissants.

An American Dream, Almost Forgotten

Blood-soaked visages and fetid rags fill the space before my eyes. You would have me believe that it’s all according to plan? The blunt-force trauma, the brain damage, the bleeding belly-wound that signals a final turn into the worst possible outcomes… How do you justify it all? How does it sit with you? In rusted manacles and filthy, putrid trousers sits the man, the woman, the Geist. Hardened hearts bely broken minds and haggard breaths, the death throes of a bygone era. Will the builders and the founders save us from staggering one-legged into the apocalypse? I shall await forever those things promised to me in my youth. We’ve all the time in the world.

An American Dream, Almost Forgotten

Lying there

staring out the window

look at things you cannot see.

Those little pictures in your head

reflected in the eyes atop your face.

Not broken,

but whole.

Down below

in streets unclean

where windows break

and saxophones wake

perhaps the eyes atop your face

would find themselves adrift

in one foreign little place.

I only wish,

come hell or high water,

that there upon that street

will your eyes not come to rest

for I wish a different future,

with a fair sight fewer sutures.

Fly, fly, fly

little bird.

It’s time to fly away

right on out the window.

The world awaits

your tired little eyes.

Tired Eyes That Do Not Slumber

Good morning, everyone! I didn’t really feel like writing too much today so I’ve got one for you that I wrote a while ago. My hope is that, in reading, you might see the same things I saw, that you might see the little baroque paintings that run their course behind my eyes. Without further ado, please enjoy…

Sleep Without Rest

I don’t dream anymore.

No,

not dream, per-say,

but imagine.

I don’t imagine that world of pigs and pirates,

of castles and coriander,

of vampires and veritas.

I don’t look up and see the stars,

telling you that some day I’ll go up there,

telling you that some day we’ll be together forever and always

under those beautiful, wispy heavens.

I won’t lie and say that I don’t miss it;

the future we had spun.

A thread of fate so long and storied,

severed now,

long forgotten.

I hoped that you would walk the halls of my addled mind with me

and later the sunlit halls of our shared house with me,

but it was not to be so.

Those dreams of mine remained only dreams

now turned to sour nightmares.

The walls of that pretty little house on the hill,

tattered wallpaper,

shattered windows

and empty cribs.

No, I do not dream anymore.