One for sorrow – 2 October 2016

October 19, 2016 at 5:29 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , )

He’ll always be my one for sorrow

My magpie, corvid, skulking black crow

In my mind I try to run

To hide, to move, to scream, to overcome

Instead I find this block immobile

It holds me back; a constant trial

One day my demon will be put to bed

But for now this magpie lives in my head.

Just getting words on paper. Not a good poem, but a needed one.

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Out of Reach – 13 July 2015

July 13, 2015 at 2:50 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , )

Stars melt into the sea –

I stare, paralyzed.

With fear? Or wonder?

My hand reaches back

And grasps a dying branch.

The long-dead tree,

still putting on a façade of life,

At first feels stable.

Comfortable.

But the branch breaks in my hand.

Paralyzed.

No more going back.

But the sky aflame with molten stars

Keeps me from moving forward –

Down to where fire and water meet.

Oh, how I long to brush the colors

with even just my fingertips.

Instead I sit on the gray, crumbling rocks.

Dead, brown tree at my back.

Infinity just out of reach.

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The Key

December 2, 2014 at 1:32 am (Poetry) (, , , , , )

Constantly trapped

between the multitude and the desire,

the hope to be the spark,

the fire –

The great catalyst of an age.

But still one with the flow,

an ink drop on a page

blacked out by scribblings,

jottings,

drawings –

Everything that was,

is,

may yet be.

Paralyzed by apprehenison –

An obsidonal tension

that my everything is nothing

and my something’s just that.

My every contribution

to the world of self-expression

may only be a splotch,

a blot,

a drop –

but at least my something is just that.

Something.

Anything.

My spark in the fire.

My scribble on the page.

The key to my cage.

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London

April 18, 2014 at 6:57 pm (Poetry) (, , , , )

I haven’t written poetry in a year or so, but I figured now was as good a time as any to pick it back up. Starting small and rather cliche, but it’s something! 

 

A town that runs along a river
Jogging, driving, strolling, cycling
People outrun the languid flow
A race with one competitor
Doomed to lose.

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River Dreams

February 11, 2011 at 4:14 pm (Words for the Great and Small) (, , , , , , )

This is what I like to imagine is Rivkah’s first foray into the poetic world.  She probably wrote it around the time she learning how words sounded out loud and what they meant.

Splishy, splashy water runs

River, river where do you go?

Splishy fishy travels with

River, river why do you run?

Splishy wishy dreams run too

River, river take me with you.

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Mother Eternal

February 10, 2011 at 12:27 pm (Words for the Great and Small) (, , , , , , , )

This is another poem from this set that I rather enjoy. It was fun to write because I got to tie in some of my favorite tree lore with Rivkah’s (my DnD character) feelings and desires.

Find comfort in the beech trees arms

She loves you, little one

Climb high upon her noble brow

She beckons you, little one

Be crowned with leaves of joy and grace

They’re just for you, little one

Rest in her shade and safety

She will protect you, little one

Though you grow older she stays the same

She will watch you, little one

Never fear her, always love her

Heed my words, little one

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Complications

September 2, 2010 at 6:55 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

The days when we drew breath so soft and sweet

Have long gone in the dark and complications

The simplicity, the serenity were once around us

Now they are lost in the midst of complexity

Where is the seamless ease?

The silent pools?

The light?

Done.

What is done cannot be undone.

Only forgiven.

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Deceptive Beauty

August 9, 2010 at 2:33 am (Poetry) (, , , , , )

What a beautiful thing it is to lie,

A well crafted web of intricacies,

A magnificent and misleading façade,

And what of the liar?

A painter of falsehoods,

A sculptor of hyperbole,

Who but a genius could weave such a story?

A splendid deception,

A perfect untruth,

And who, you may ask, is telling you this?

An injured party?

A liar in denial?

If not them, than who?

The master of pretending,

The lover of tall tales,

The grand illusionist herself.

At your service.

***I have had a problem as a compulsive liar in the past, and I still slip up sometimes.  This poem is my confession, as well as an expression of my feelings about lying.

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Match Girl

August 1, 2010 at 8:50 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , )

Little girl

Playing with fire

Spreading it all around her

All she knows

Is that it keeps her safe

And warm

But when it is gone

She shivers in the cold

Dreaming of the fire

Wishing it would return

Wishing it would spread

Little match girl

Lost in the cold.

***The only thing I wanted from my grandmother when she passed away was a doll.  The little match girl sat in her living room for years, and now she is in my bedroom as a reminder.  I named her Etterene…after my grandmother.

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Puddles and Cobblestones

June 29, 2010 at 4:25 pm (Poetry) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

Traveling down a cobblestone road,

I’ve seen it before

Crumbling with green in the cracks

Ahead there is a shining tower

That beckons the lost and longing.

I stumble, and see the tower

Reflected in a shallow puddle.

Mirrored in the water

The tower no longer shines

But blends with the water and sky.

I will leave this road

That is taking me no where

I will leave the puddles and cobblestones

Only be sure that I will return

Inevitably.

***I wrote this after I had a very strange dream in which I was in a crumbling city full of reflective puddles.  It was inspiring for sure, but still quite creepy.

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