Tag Archives: sailor

Art and Artist

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…

Art and Artist

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?”

Lost Away

Good afternoon! I’m feeling a bit down today, like most days this year, but I’ve much work to do and the toil is never done. I hope you enjoy this little poem about being lost. Without further ado…

Lost Away

In the dim evening light,

hastily scrawled vines

crawl up the old brick

that lies before me.

Above,

leaves.

They gently twist in the wind

as the smoke from a man’s cigarette

drifts across the aged timbers of an old deck.

In the dark,

only with my eyes

can one see

the twinkling of ancient stars

and the stones they light beneath them.

Does it make sense

that I am here,

and yet,

lost?

I would seek to find my way

through the labyrinth.

Were it not for Ariadne,

would I be so lost?

The string seems to lead

further and further

into the dark

with no end in sight.

I do not remember treading this path.

It is lost to me,

the way home.

The way out.

Looking up,

I see the stars

and hope they’ll lead me away

but tonight,

like most nights,

I feel I am led astray.

The Old and the Lost

Good evening! I usually don’t post this late but uh… it’s my website. This one’s about another dream I had. Have not been sleeping very well, unfortunately. I hope you all like it. Without further ado…

The Old and the Lost

In my dreams again…

Old friends,

I like to say,

knowing that we never were.

~

They are kind in this place,

much unlike the way I remember.

There’s a comfort here,

a mentor,

a lover,

a friend.

~

I hear the din of distant dishes

like wispy echoes

of a kindly kitchen.

~

The mentor speaks,

in the way a grandfather would,

with a gentle and firm german accent,

“Are you trying to win her back?”

No, I respond in my head,

I’ve already got her.

~

An old friend sits down at the table.

“Can I get you anything else?”, I ask with sincerity.

“No, buddy. We’re here for you!”, the old friend says excitedly.

The scene fades to black.

~

I awake again to the dark.

Sadistic Assemblage

Afternoon, everyone! I should be reading the hundreds of pages I must read for my classes right now but instead I have decided to bring to you a delightfully terrifying piece that I’ve just written. Call it a gift from me to you, my darling readers. I do so value your affections. Without further ado…

Sadistic Assemblage

My heart aches.

I am beckoned

by hands I do not know

into the dark again.

They,

and the appendages to which they are attached,

would seek to hold me,

to constrict me,

in their warm embrace.

These hands would not allow me peace.

To them it would some great affront,

some catastrophe,

were I to be released from this gentle bondage.

I struggle to understand the reasoning,

despite knowing the impetus.

Perhaps,

for some,

it is the torture they find appealing.

Beasts and sadists that lurk in the shadows,

why should they not let me be?

Am I so magnetic

as to attract their undying attentions?

“Leave me be!”,

I scream in vain to the shadow.

It only advances,

for I am trapped by its gaze

and now its embrace.

Muffled screams bring me to wake.

The Devil’s Hands Do Idle Work

Good afternoon, everyone. I’ve got a pretty solid little poem for you guys today. Little sad, little whatever. I hope you enjoy. Without further ado…

The Devil’s Hands Do Idle Work

Beautiful there,

as it was,

there at the end of the tunnel,

bleak as it is,

a glimmering light.

Fingers trace,

in the dark,

the cool, dripping walls

on the way to the light.

I am surrounded by a calamitous black.

I cannot see the etchings,

nor identify that liquid which covers them.

I am alone here,

unbidden,

clawing my way forwards unto that little hope,

that distant light.

The darkness drives me.

It is not the light that I seek,

but the dark that I fear might take me.

I listen to the droning footsteps of the cavalcade that follows me,

their pacing only feet behind.

My heart has long since stopped racing.