Poetry: Still and Stark

Hey all,

I've really been feeling some poetry lately so  wanted to try my hand at crafting another poem. This is based on an image I saw on TV about a old man looking at himself in the mirror. The subject matter was completely different than the topic of the poem, but I like how easy this was to write. Maybe a total of 30 minutes all together? It just came really easy.

Anyway, enjoy.


Still and Stark


Softly lit under light bulbs glow,

The darkened recess ebbed of flow,

And the mirror shown in sheerest sheen,

Revealing a haggard man, a sight unseen.

His bristled face a mask of age,

Lines and wrinkles, a time wrought cage.

Hair gone white, thinned and bald,

With sallowed skin, whitened and palled.

He brushed his mouth with gnarled hands,

Withered with hurt, from hour wrought sands.

Eyes grown milky, dimmed from time,

The lust of life so far from its prime.


He knew his time was near the end,

Days gone by, just moments to send.

He touched his echo in reflection's gleam,

Fingers tracing death wrote seam.

His voice croaked from chappened lip,

Muttered prayers of regrets let slip.

He closed his eyes and reached on high,

Smashing the bulb with nary a sigh.

And in the dark he waited still,

As life blood's flow waned to nil.

In the quiet and lonely dark,

He died a death, still and stark.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Bare to the Earth

Hey all,

Minor activity abounds here at the old blog. It feels like a very long time since I have posted but I am really trying to get back to writing with some regularity. I intend to dial into more of Under A Dead Sun very soon. I really want to finish this tale that I feel like I started so very long ago.

As to poetry, this is the first one I've written in a very long time. I wanted to take the sort of excuses and bullshit of life and strip it away, the same sense I am trying to apply to getting back into writing. Welcome back and enjoy.


Bare to the Earth


Hardened beats upon the petals blade,

The spine of rain sluices the glade.

Earthen grass of greenest flush,

'Neath waters hail of skyfall's rush.

Trees wain in windy frowns,

From the gale of heaven stormy downs.


I stand in the meadow of the deluge,

Awash in those thoughts I can't refuse.

I don't feel the cold or shivers of chill,

The water overflows, my vessels at fill.

The past and present, futures are told,

In this momentary storm, they come, unfold.


Niether wind nor weather can purchase a gain.

Nor will water's fall wash away the pain.

But torrents peal still in hammering blows,

Battering at the truth, as if it already knows.

Nature's attack is mirrored in soul,

Patience and time unending in their toll.


I spread my arms to welcome the sky,

It's thundering clouds and lightning's cry,

Cracking to earth in bolts of pure rage,

Shattering the illusions I've cast with age.

Left bare to the Earth, I lay unfurled.

A rebirth in the storm, newborn to the world.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: After the Fall

Hey all!

Look at this. Two posts, two days! Crazy I know!.....

I really wanted to write some poetry after working on that Dead Sun piece yesterday and before I started working on the next chapter. This poem is sort of a companion piece to the last poem I wrote a few months back, Afterglow. That poem was about making love with someone you love. This poem mines though same fields but comes at it from a different perspective, its more of a poem about a one night stand and what happens when two people don't feel the same way about it. I thought about writing this as a short story, but I really just thought it worked better as a mirror to the other poem I wrote.

Anyway I hope you enjoy the poem. As always I welcome feedback on anything. Thank you for reading.


After the Fall


Strange lips brush my own,

Softest murmurs in dulcet tone.

Unknown hands upon my chest,

Nestled close, to sleep, to rest.

Passion's thrust a faded glow,

As urgency has rut and row.


A passing glance down at the bar,

Led the night so ever far.

And two strangers laugh and drink,

An electric touch as hands do link.

That simple spark leads to flame,

A burning need to which each must tame.


So the the two did lead to bed,

Where passion's lust needs were fed.

Lips and limbs grown, intertwine,

Chased by sweat, love, and cheaper wine.

They gave their bodies to basest needs,

Sex and love were wont to feed.


But now the night has come to pass,

And she feels the haze of liquor grow to pass.

She lay beside this man unknown,

Whom she met one night in roam,

And now she knows not his name,

Fearing last, that walk of shame.


He feels her body start to stir,

The pieces of his mind, a blur.

The night before a faded dream,

But now he wakes, lost in stream.

Yet one clean thought bubbles to rim,

This lovely woman had chosen him.


She mutters words she cannot hear,

Wishing now, she wasn't so near. 

Sliding free of grip and sheet,

Moments soon, her escape complete.

She gathers clothes and is out the door,

As he looks lost, wanting more.


He never saw the girl again,

A memory he could never quite begin.

But she was never far from his thoughts,

This perfect girl his memory has wrought.

Because for one lone night he had it all,

It's just the hardest part of love is after the fall.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Afterglow

 Hey all,

As you can see I've been posting a bit lately, mostly Flash Fiction as I approach the final chapters of Under a Dead Sun: Past Sins. I haven't mapped out each story individually, but I have the plot set up and we are certainly ramping up in bringing the group together. You can expect a new post of Under a Dead Sun every Sunday, with the exception of the week I'll be at Comic Con in July.

Anyway I still want to post poetry and other bits of fiction and stuff, which brings us to this post. I think the subject matter, and the poem itself for that matter, is pretty self evident. I'm not sure where I really got the subject matter for the poem, I just sat down and wrote it. It took maybe an hour, the actual poem itself was pretty fast, I just used a lot of time to tweak lines and rhymes. The poem is an idealized thought on the after moments of sex, of what two people think after making love. I think anyone who reads my poetry knows that a lot of what my poems are about are idealized loves. Whether loves lost, or unrequited, or of a love captured, I tend to like the idea of pure loss and pure hope. Of what love can be, or could be. I'm not sure this poem actually deals with those topics... but I think there is still a message there. Enjoy.

Afterglow

Softly lit drips candle wax,

As passions throws begets, gone lax.

Sounds of breath and labors love,

Climaxed so hard, crying to Him above.

Intertwined, they writhed and groan,

This expression of the love they've shown.

Without words of praise or scorn,

They feel the bond their souls adorn.

And in the afterglow of candles flame,

Each can feel no guilt or blame.

With fingers clasped, in hearts embrace.

They lock their eyes, now face to face.

The depth of stare, each other eyed,

Their bodies spent from crafts then plied.

But in each they know the others truth,

Spoken in a language known to aged and youth.

But before they turn themselves to sleep,

Cuddled close and nestled deep.

They say those words that meant the most,

I love you spoken in twin riposte.

As the candle light does snuff,

The flame extinguished in a tiny puff.

Our lovers turn and big good night,

Because everything feels just right. 

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: You

You


 I watched the rivers flow,


Sweeping, gone away,


And I wondered where you'd go.


 All the miles of the Earth,


And in all the depth of oceans blue,


Separated by miles without you.



I longed to hear your voice,


To feel your soft caress.


Never knowing what I'd done to you.




I've read words within a poem.


And listened to melodies of myriad tone.


But all the verses sang of you..



Every road I walked,


And all conversations that I sought,


Just led me back to you.




Time came and did pass,

As calendars burned gone past.


But I never stopped thinking about you.




But you had long left me alone,


To love a man I did not know.

But I learned that you could break a heart.




For when you learned to finally love,


I knew what I had failed to see.


You'd shown me love was just a fallacy.



End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Begone Before We Begin

Begone Before We Begin 

Start, then stop. 

Without the reason of thought.

We simply wander away,

Past battles long fought. 

Passions are dimmed, 

The headiness of zest, 

Simply grow cold, 

As motion begets rest. 

You never mean to leave, 

Or give up on dreams, 

It's just the rigors of life, 

As they pull at the seams. 

I didn't want to quit. 

Didn't mean to give in. 

Sometimes it just happens, 

Begone before we begin. 

End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: After the Yule

Hey all,

I've pretty much been at work since Christmas Eve so I haven't had a lot of time to write or do much of anything outside of just that, work. This morning though I took some time to write a poem I have been thinking about this week. As I drove through my brother's neighborhood the day after Christmas, and through other parts of town this week, I kept seeing discarded Christmas trees. When I went into a store I would see discounted Christmas decorations and themed gifts. It all seemed very sad to me. We spend so much time, pretty much starting in October, gearing up and hyping Christmas, only to throw it all away after one day. I wrote this poem with that thought in mind. That the Spirit of Christmas should be more than just once a year, the fellowship of man should be more than that. But it's not, and that's sad. I hope you like the poem, I'd appreciate any feedback.




After the Yule


The Holiday has come to close,

And the Christmas spirit is now repose.

For the weathers turned a cold, bleary bleat,

As the warmth of the season has grown complete.

Lights once bright have turned to dim,

The halls once decked have lost their trim.

Trees so green with ornaments bright,

Now lay in the street, a decay of blight.

And the sense of charity, once so profound,

Has lapsed again, to hibernate unfound.


All the feelings of mirth and cheer,

Are fleeting away, like Santa's reindeer.

How funny it feels that after just one day,

We all return to our selfish ways.

Gifts we gave, the meals we shared,

Are forgotten again, till next years cared.

The White Christmas that we coveted so,

Is broken in muck, the melted slush of snow.

And we say goodbye with smiles and mirth,

To the one day we give them worth.


All through the year we push and we take,

How often forgetting of charity's sake.

So consumed are we with our own selfish needs,

That we don't take the time for our hearts heeds.

If only we could saved some spirit to tithe,

A remnant of this day throughout all of our life,

We'd know that feeling everyone of our days,

But after the Yule, we lose the tides of our ways.

The 26th of December sees Christmas on sale,

That thought alone is the reason we fail.



End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: The Tides of Christmas

Hey all,

My laptop has been down for a while so I haven't updated as much as I would have liked. (well at all to be true) and while I still have no word processing program I can write directly in the blogger format. So I am going to get back to posting, at least one piece of short fiction this week. In the meantime here is a bit of a Christmas poem I started writing after I was struck by an image of the sky breaking over the mountaintops on my way to Flagstaff. It was a very beautiful and serene moment. I have been working on lines in bits and pieces for the last week or so but today i just sat down to type it out. I really like this poem, I thought it was a very different stanza structure with some nice word variations. I'd love some feedback.


The Tides of Christmas


Reddest sky bursts through stones,

The jagged spires of Earthen bones.

Azure rays stream from the dusk,

As the day rips free last ragged tusk.

And as the day gives way to night,

I feel the world in years twilight.

The wind, so shear, reaps its throne.

Cold and sharp, it cuts alone.


I stopped the car and gazed out West,

The tinge of winter in my breast.

I hugged myself against the cold,

As snowflakes fell, gently then bold

The hills dipped in bends and bows,

Fields of pines rest in rows.

And from above I looked below,

As the tides of Christmas began to flow.


The flecks of snow gave to flurries,

As the red lit sky begot blue tint furies.

Where the twinkled stars began to shine,

I saw the moony rays, a stream of line.

And the once green pines donned a white coat,

While the thistles whispered a windy note.

The Holiday was finally here,

As wintered sounded its snowy cheer.


I saw my breath in a puffy cloud,

As the chill wind chimed out so very loud.

So I jammed my hands in pockets deep,

And watched the snow build in piles steep.

I huddled in tight and looked to the sky,

To that one glimmering star upon so high.

And I thought to myself as I turned away,

Merry Christmas to me on this wintery day.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: My Day of Birth

Hey all,

Every year on my birthday I always post a new poem. It's usually some kind of reflection on getting older, or aging, or simply the passage of time. For me, this poem is about looking back and looking forward at the same time. It's about looking at the choices you have made, and how they set the path of your life before you. I hope you find something in the poem to take away. I honestly just really felt the poem, I wrote it very quickly, very organically. Thanks for reading.


My Day of Birth


When I woke up I felt alive,

Though much had changed.

Another year older now,

Of course my life had ranged.

A series of ups and downs,

Through the calm and strange.


But I asked myself why.


Sometimes life can't be explained,

You don't know what you'll face.

The days can blur right by,

As you're stuck in the race.

But those very best parts of life,

You can keep in place.


So never let yourself sigh.


I'm not proud of everything,

That I have done.

I've did both good and bad,

In the pursuit of fun.

But sometimes my selfishness,

Was the cost of one.


And sometimes that makes me cry.


I may not be the most perfect man,

On my day of birth.

Thirty five years have come and gone,

Through the full and the dearth.

But I look to the future now,

And I know my worth.


Cause I'll always try.

And that part of me can never die.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Idea

Hey all,

I know, I'm posting with some freaky regularity at this point. Though watch that comment jinx the whole matter. Anyway this poem came about while watching the film V For Vendetta last night. One of the actors in the film said a line, "Ideas are Bulletproof". It really got me thinking, about how many things in this life really are faulty, how fragile things are. So I set about taking that one line, and trying to create an idea itself, a simple poem about the immutability of thought and ideas. Enjoy.


Idea


My flesh may be pierced,

By bullet or blade,

My heart can be broke,

From a love gone mislaid.

The Earth may be burned,

By nature or man.

The skies can be polluted,

By the mechanics we ran.

My soul may be stained,

By the sins of my crime,

My skin can be weathered,

By the passage of time.

Rivers may be poisoned,

From all of our wastes.

Our lives are spoiling,

By our extravagant tastes.



But of an idea,

It holds no form,

It cannot be defeated,

Not by man nor by storm.

An idea cannot die,

Or fear mortal pain.

For in the minds of man,

It finds a purchase of gain.

Beliefs may change,

And will can be bent,

But the heart of the truth,

Can never be rent.

An idea can't be killed,

It's not of flesh or of bone,

It lives inside of all man,

And for that can never be alone.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Limelight

Hey all,

So this poem was actually a very difficult one to write. It was inspired by the film Limelight, a early 1950's Charlie Chaplin film where he plays an aging clown who is past his comedic prime. I found it to be a sad story, about how this lonely clown rescues and re-invigorates a young dancer, while he can't even rescue himself. I wrote the whole poem about how everything funny eventually becomes sad, but the film as a whole made me think about how skills fade over time, and it's only a brief window where one is at his best. I hope the poem reminds people to seize the moments of time that you have, and take the opportunities as they present themselves. I hope you enjoy the poem.




Limelight


Laughter and cheer,

The smiling face,

The roar of the crowd,

Filling the place.

They clap and applaud,

Crying for more,

So happy and bright,

Over shouts of encore.

And day after day,

You give of your all,

Till the spring of life,

Turns the ways of fall.

Those cheers so loud,

Will lessen through time,

Humor once bold,

No longer in its prime.

As comedy it bleeds,

Begets itself to tragedy,

Applause will fade away,

Laughter's now an elegy.

So as the shine turns dim,

Burnt out from the bright,

You step away from the spot,

And enter your limelight.




End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Rainy Days

Hey all,

It's been a long time. A really long time. Unsure how long it will be to my next post, but in the meantime, Rainy Days. Trying something from a happier place.




Rainy Days


Rain and shadows blur the slickened streets.

A misty haze that dulls the beats.

The fog and clouds submit the sun.

Yet the rays of hope aren't yet done.


For in the rain the waters flow,

Washing out the pains unknown.

And in the slush of gutters lost,

We can leave away the pains of cost.

Down the drains the hurt can flow,

Scrubbed clean, away they go.



And in the mask of hazey grey,

It can hide the things we want to say.

But if you're close and looking right,

The prayers you make can come to light.

For the closer you get to what you want,

The truths you seek need no longer be hunt.



Behind the clouds the sun may hide,

From the barbs and japes that others chide.

But even under the bleary overcast,

This shady coverage cannot everlast.

The winds will blow and clear the clouds,

And allow the rays of hope to cry aloud.



So rainy days are nought to fear,

Soon they'll give way to days most dear.

What is hidden will find the light,

A cleansing rain will make it right.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poety: The Heart of Me

Hey all!

I was looking through a wonderful art book by one of my favorite painters and illustrators, Tara McPherson. I am sure that I have mentioned on other blog posts how much I admire and love Tara's work, it's very haunting, and sad, and poignant. Underneath it though, there is a kind of wonder and mischievousness. Any time I am having a bad day, or feel sad, I can look through her art book and find inspiration. Some people may be motivated by authors, I have always found art to be a great motivator for me. I have no talent for art, I can't paint or draw, my art has always been words. But any time I look at a painting, or drawing, I have such an appreciation for the talent involved, you're creating an image of thought into form without words. And that really moves me.

Anyway, as I was looking through Tara's book, Lost Constellations, she did a series of paintings with a woman who had a heart shaped hole in her chest. Those pieces, so sad and fierce, inspired me to write this poem. Hope you like it.


The Heart of Me


I tried to feel my heart,

But felt an empty beat.

Didn't even feel the pain,

To numb for the defeat.

No prison held it hostage,

Not a cage of iron bar,

It simply wasn't there,

Just escaped so very far.

When I looked into the mirror,

The wound seeped no blood,

I saw the heart shaped hole,

Where tears flowed like a flood.

The water left a salty trail,

Pouring from my soul,

I thought the pain would hurt me more,

This part of me that wasn't whole.

I never cut it from my chest,

Or had it ripped apart by love,

My heart had simply left me there,

To float away, up above.

It longed for any kind of feeling,

Its wants were a simple cost,

To feel the flush of newborn love,

Or even of pain of ache not lost.

But all it knew was solitude,

The lone and lonely passage of time,

Until the day it could take no more,

For neglect was my greatest crime.

Now I'm left with this scar,

And a trail of dried, salty teared,

I'll never feel love or loss,

For the heart of me has disappeared.




End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: The Compass

Hey all,

Here's another bit of poetry I plucked away at today. I really wanted to use the directions of the compass in a poem, sort of comparing the directions of the Earth to the sun and it's relation to your life. It's supposed to be a poem that tells a story, of questioning your own path to finding one out through the course of the poem. I am not sure if I accomplished that or not in the poem itself, but I think it's to a point where I feel like I have done what I can, where I have told what I wanted to say with it. I'd be interested in hearing what you have to say about how that worked, or what kind of feelings you had about the poem.

Anyway, enjoy the poem, I am going to keep plucking away at this keyboard.


The Compass



In the east,

The sun rose from my feet.

I watched the horizon break,

Never knowing it's own defeat.


Towards the north,

The chills set in my bones.

I saw no sun, just northern lights,

As the cold wind blew its tones.


Down to the south,

The hot and humid days,

I felt the sweat fall from my face,

As the sun beat it's heated rays.


But to the west,

The sun did fall to sleep,

So the day had come to pass,

For the black of night begins creep.


Directions lead us to and fro,

Along the paths which our lives may flow.

North or south, east and west,

May lead us to a place of rest.

Or down a road of love or pain,

Even back along a path once gained.

The compass of our life has no true north,

Only a promise of what may lie forth.

Life's a journey that you take,

Sometimes right, often a mistake.

But to never travel the path ahead,

That's a soul already dead.


So in the east,

The sun burns in the sky,

Breaking the night's hold,

Letting the darkness die.


Still in the north,

The wind may blow so cold,

But in those precious moments,

Life can play itself most bold.


But in the south,

Amid the sun drenched day,

I feel the warmth of light,

When the special moments pass away.


And to the west,

I walk towards the setting sun.

The day has come to it's end,

But life has just begun.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: The Dirt of Days

Hey all,

So below is a poem that was really written in bits and parts over the course of about five months. As I let life get in the way of my writing, I kept meaning to get back to the blog and writing a little every day. Since I got my first comic book published though it has really rekindled my creative juices. Or at least shamed me enough to get back to writing. I'm going to try to post more over the coming weeks, maybe slowly at first, but hopefully with more frequency as time goes on.

Anyway this poem is a bit of piecemeal effort, stretched out over the many aborted reboots I've tried in the last 5 months. I sat down today and read it over, deleted the whole post, then retyped it in about two read throughs. I tried to channel some of the original flavor that the early drafts had while taking a new approach to the work. A lot of the references to washing away pain were in the original poem, but I feel the later parts were where I tried to freshen the take I had up on the whole poem. Anyway I hope you enjoy it.


The Dirt of Days


New days as they turn from the dark,

Silent nights break as the moon parts.

Open the dawn as the rains do come,

Washing away the evenings sum.

The dirt circles around the drain,

Futility scrubbing at the stains.

But nothing I do can wash it clean,

The sins of the flesh grown obscene.

I scrub and scrub, but never clear,

The layers of the filth and fear.

Broken trust and brittle lies,

Lay atop the dirt surmised.

Falsehoods lie, no cleansing truth,

Just words betrayed, my faith uncouth.

And 'neath the dirt and painful grime,

Lay the raw scene of the crime.

You hurt me most with words I said,

When my silence should have served in stead.

So now the lies have built upon,

A broken trust that can't go on.

You're dead to me, just lies and hate,

I no longer care to suffer this fate.

For I know the hurt will never wash away,

My lies and pain are the dirt of days.




End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: I Saw Her Standing There

Hey all,

I wrote this poem based on some of the personal issues a friend of mine has been having. Plagued with just many sad and bitter feelings about life, love, liberty, she has been trying to deal with it all. Listening to her stories was very sad, and I extrapolated the basis from that story into this one. The specifics to me aren't as important as the meaning, the motif. Happiness cannot be bought or sold, but given by a friend or loved one. Sometimes though, we realize these things to late to help.

I like how easy it was to write this poem, it took maybe 20 0r 30 minutes, it was very fast. The rhymes seem to come very readily. Enjoy the post and again, thanks for reading.



I Saw Her Standing There


I saw her standing there,

Staring out into the rising sun,

Tears long dried upon her face,

And wondered what she'd done.

She seemed so sad and all alone,

Imprisoned in her brittle shell,

By all the things that held her down,

Trapped in her own sweet hell.

I thought that maybe I could change,

And show her how to love,

To rescue her from bitter things,

And help her rise above.

Together we could see the world,

And all that life held dear,

The colors of the day and sky,

If only I was near.

But in that far off stare,

Clouded behind her eye,

I saw the truth of the hurt,

Buried to deep for me to pry.

Her sadness poised upon her smile,

The air heavy with the pall,

A weight that clung to her soul,

So damaged from the fall.

I wanted to make her happy,

And end her hurtful pains,

But some things run so very deep,

Like a poison in her veins.

I knew that I could never be,

The man to melt the ice.

That frosty coat upon the flame,

For I was far too nice.

She'd been to hurt, bruised and bled,

Seen too many things,

For me to change her painful past,

And dull the echoed rings.

I saw her standing there,

Turning from the setting sun,

How I wished I'd acted sooner,

Before her hurt begun.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: The Quiet Wake

Hey all,

Here is a poem that I have been working on for a few days. After the tragedy of the Earthquakes and Tsunamis in Japan though I re-worked portions of it to reflect some of what I assume some people may be going through now, dealing with loss and heartache and longing for those lost. I don't suppose it's all that uplifting but I didn't really have an uplifting poem in me after watching the tragic news coverage the past few days. I hope you find some measure of merit in the poem and I thank you for reading. I'll be back with some new Flash Fiction tomorrow.

The Quiet Wake


I had a dream in which I died,

But at my funeral no one cried.

I walked among the silent wake,

And wondered how the world could shake.

Torn from life by nature's wrath,

Whose fury cut out a path.

Storm and winds had come to head,

As the quake of Earth struck us dead.

So many taken by the raging storm,

Mine, a single life lost in form.

I looked to my father, lost in gaze,

Who said no words, his eyes a glaze.

My mother dabbed at driest eyes,

Her tears had now long since dried.

My brother sat and raged and fumed,

In remembrance of the fires that plumed.

My friend he sat, struck by thought.

Longing for the friend he sought.

But at the chair where my love did sit,

The empty space lay open, remit.

Taken too by the worldly clamor,

She now lay rest in death's own glamor.

So many lives were taken today,

As you hear the world stop and pray.

And even though many were lost,

Survivors often feel the cost.

But now I walk among my friends,

A ghostly shade here at the end,

I cast my eyes towards a burning dusk,

The rays of the afterlife shedding its husk.

I begin to think of those I leave behind,

And start to wonder what's more unkind.

To move beyond those you love,

While you await in Heaven above?

Or to long for something forever lost,

Regardless of the hurt it costs?

So as I fade into the sun,

The quiet wake falls undone.

I watch the pieces of my life,

Separate and break, their sorrows tithed.

A gathered band, unique in their loss,

As one last time our paths would cross.




End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Valentine's Day

Hey all,

It's been quite a while since I blogged, and really I have no valid excuse. Ever since I moved I just haven't found the motivation. I did sit down today and start to wok on a poem and it came pretty easy. I am hoping that I can use this success to site, my writing back into some meager semblance of shape.

Below is a Valentine's Day poem, something of lost love and heartache. It's hard being alone on this day, it's usually a day where I find myself kind of sad and introverted. I tried to foster some of these feelings into the poem. Enjoy the poem as you will. I'll try to police myself better to offer more output in the coming days.



Valentine's Day


Time has turned, the future past.

Today won't stay, never last.

The breaking dawn will turn to dusk,

As the horizon sheds its rotting husk.

The change occurs, it cannot stay,

As all tommorrows become yesterdays.


Looking at all the time left behind,

The past seems longer and more unkind.

Places you've been are but a thought,

Where you're going, you've never sought.

Future days seem shorter then,

As the known outweighs the unbegan.


And when you look into the rear,

All you see are dashed hope and fear.

The failures seem to weigh much more,

As the triumphs feel but tender sores.

Your hindsight seems to capitalize,

On all the things you thought you'd try.

And as you hope to change your fate,

The times not left, you're out of dates.


Flowers crushed, bound in book,

A withered love that time has took.

Crumpled poems tossed to flame,

The burning love snubbed by blame.

Pictures taken of love brand new,

Now yellow and faded, cast astrew.

Another Valentine's Day has come around,

But here we wait, our love aground.



End of Time.
Gerrad!

Poetry: Birthdays

Hey all,

As is my usual habit here I try to write a poem on my birthday, about the passage of time of growing older, something to commemorate the coming year. This year my poem is really about embracing all the things you've done wrong in your life and realizing that those mistakes allow you to be at the place you are now, for good or for bad. Getting older is merely a state of mind, I certainly don't feel more different today than I did yesterday, age isn't about the passing year, its about the passing of life. One year of opportunity is nothing in comparison to a decade of them. This year for me was about embracing the wrongs of the past, and living to the fullest extent of the future. As always, thanks for reading.

Birthdays


Years have passed that were rough,

Times I've face have sure been tough.

Decisions I've made have been mistakes,

And all the consequences and the breaks,

Don't get any easier with the years,

Or get washed away by shedding tears.

But as this year comes to an end,

The fruits I've sown I can't defend.

All I can say is after all these days,

I know now three hundred sixty five ways,

To make mistakes and fuck up your life,

How not to pay the dues you should tithe.

Or all the other ways I've screwed up then,

Can't even say I'm sorry or defend it when,

My life's a mess from from my poor choice,

Or when my words caress without a voice.

So as this new birthday comes to pass,

I'll view my life from a looking glass.

Reflecting on the many reasons,

I messed up these past four seasons,

One could certainly say without a doubt,

About all the things that life has held without,

There are plenty of reasons to feel sad,

When the older you get starts to turn bad.

And each new birthday fills you with despair,

I want you to look back and compare.

And if you live your life like I do mine,

As the years have passed you can find,

The things in which you've been blessed,

Are more important than why you've obsessed,

About getting on and growing old,

So listen to me and do what you're told.

The zest of life is yours to grasp,

If you just let go of to the fears you clasp.

And live your life like each day is your last,

Cause at the end, it passes by so fast.

Birthdays are not about the passage of time,

But remembering that the joys of life can be sublime.

The habits of life and love you can never shake,

But the world around is yours to take.


End of Line.
Gerrad!

Poetry: To Simple

Hey all,

I thought I really needed to do a love poem, something more upbeat and impassioned, especially with the kind of foreboding poetry that I have been writing of late. This poem is about how sometimes words cannot express all the emotions that a person makes you feel. That sometimes people make you feel in ways that you just can't put into words. I don't write a love of love poetry, but I am definitely a bit of a classic romantic. I very much want to be able to express these feelings, these longings, to another person but I tend to write poems to an idealized love. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the poem! Thanks for reading.



To Simple


Love is to simple a word,

To express so many things.

From feelings bold and passionate,

To sounding what your heart sings.

It cannot convey in words or speech,

Even text can fall so short,

The facets in which you lift me up,

And hold my soul in court.

Poems or rhyme may hold no verse,

A beauty that you can’t undo.

Perfection given earthly form,

Each time I come to think of you.

Even music is a dull affair,

You cannot be contained in song.

No verse or chord is worthy yet,

Your majesty is just too strong.

I struggle to find the words to say,

To express just how I feel.

The day you came into my life,

Is when the world became so real.

Even prayer cannot demonstrate,

The love and warmth within,

You’re my savior, an angel of the heart,

My lust for you my only sin.

Adore, admire, praise, and covet,

Each are but a pale lit dare,

To words or actions I hold so dear,

For a lady without compare.

As grammar fails to truly show,

All the things you mean to me,

Know that my heart is yours,

And everything I’ll ever be.


End of Line.
Gerrad!