Tag Archives: sad

Drumbeats in the Deep

Howdy, howdy. Got another hot off the cheffin’ table. This one’s about a feeling I got while my girlfriend and I were reading Catch-22. I hope everybody enjoys. Without further ado…

Drumbeats in the Deep

Cerulean waves beat against the darkness

like drumbeats in the deep;

thump, thump, thump, thump

and emeralds shatter against the creep.

~

That dreaded demon’s ghost

lies slumbering below,

cascading out across the coast

and laying simple places low.

~

Crimson eyes

that pierce the veil,

like crimson lights

against the pale.

~

Ancient columns sound the call,

a coronach that trills,

and fills,

the silence of it all.

~

Beginning,

middle,

end,

is the man’s soul to bend?

Dust and Water Vapor

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…

Dust and Water Vapor

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.

Venusian Hearts

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…

Venusian Hearts

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.

Billiards

Good morning! I’m seriously not dead, just busy. I’ve been working as a carpenter the last six months and it’s gotten to be pretty regularly exhausting. Hoping everyone is having fun and finding the time. And now, without further ado…

Billiards

In the shadow of the billiards table,

does a lone man sit

ruminating on that which he ought to commit.

He does rage, rage, rage

against the budding bacteriophage,

for its presence

and its essence

diffuse and effuse,

refusing to assuage

the undying of the night.

Forlorn and in scorn,

yet the man still protests

against the very idea that there is dark

and in his own light he finds

a strength so stark

he would weather the bite and shirk the bark.

Eons ago,

in lifetimes past,

perhaps such a thing would leave him aghast,

but now, not then,

and certainly not again,

does his reign begin

with the stroke of a pen.

Altogether stable,

and no longer a fable,

the man does sit

under the shadow of a billiards table.

In The Light of a Red Dwarf

Afternoon, all. I’ve got a little something for you today. I really hope you enjoy. Without further ado…

In The Light of a Red Dwarf

There is a beauty in the tragedy of it all,

like diamonds shorn from rough stone

and polished,

flawless, even. 

The man did walk,

ensheathed by his dark and mottled felt cloak,

across these fields of diamonds.

No use for them now.

And so he trudged along on no path at all,

the whispers from the stones and the cracked desert beneath his feet,

carrying with him no small burden

to a destination he did not know.

There is a distant mountain,

perhaps like the one before,

shone in the glory of one perpetual and orange dusk.

He would climb it,

and then climb another,

and another yet still,

for there is no path but the one he is on

with virtue as his guide.