Madman

Calmly,
Selecting paths,
Creating waves,
Inciting ink to flow across the page.

Could passion prompt dissention,
Will force destruction,
Confound,
Obstruction.

From orderly possessions come stupidity,
Expectations of normalcy,
Employed action,
Disdain.

Reflections,
Obscure the view,
Deflect,
Correct my step.

Tomorrow needs for nothing,
Yet somehow,
Demands,
What sweet folly is this?

We are but sparkling dust,
Dissolved from error,
Escaping,
Disarming chuckling spirits.

Another night,
Perhaps another evening will confirm,
Reality,
Is but judgement.

What greater reason could we need?
Immortality springs forth from word,
From thought,
From misunderstandings.

Capture this script,
Hold it to the flame,
Burn,
And be satisfied.

For I have chosen to walk the path,
Not stroll, but march,
Not whole,
But longer still.

Bleeding,
I finally see the man,
Composed of infinite metaphors,
Wrought of silver.

Purchased from the tortured shadows,
Justified,
Escaping mere innocence,
Seeing nothing in my past.

Rebellion is a sin,
Which frees the soul,
Shackles,
Only the wrists.

Madman,
I hear voices,
Directing prosperity,
Feeding on tension alone.

This day is over,
Dying,
Repercussions exacting,
A measured tone.

Tormented

Confirmed,
Known as less,
Known as paltry,
Known as jest.

Despised,
Kept dormant,
Left to descend,
Met with abandon.

Tortured,
Destined to fail,
Known for illusion,
Gone from thought.

Imagine,
Perfect harmony,
Blessed prodigies,
Incumbent child.

Torrential,
Sloven motion,
Horrid frailty,
Choral sound.

Common,
Felt as terror,
Known as caramel,
Seen as God.

Justice
Owned by mother,
Quoted honourably,
Kept outdoors.

Night,
Under finger,
Under footstep,
Solving time.

The Postcard

Simply snapped,
Brusquely captured.

As seasons pass sweetly,
Performed for others,
Displayed for warmth,
Betraying that which lies within.

Enchantment.
A rosy wash beneath
Expectant hues.

Discarded thoughts,
Remembered heights.

Convenience draped in sentiment,
Images left to cross
The blue divide.
Wrote to spare us depth.

My duty fulfilled,
Three sentences,
Speak the truth.

Your Love,
Is worth a postcard.

Torn from clouds

Common paths are drawn,
Shaping the pavement,
Filling silence.

Tracing vulnerably,
Left unsaid,
While Mother weaves.

Raindrops course the gutters,
While currents soothe our battered skull,
Creation bargains.

As if of heaven,
Torn from clouds,
Quenching damned thirst.

Tombs devour the rivers,
Sewers overflow,
Nature still abhors us,
Tonight we sleep alone.

The Symphony

The jagged symphony,
Waits with baited breath,
Ignores paltry applause,
Forgets to sound our death.

Imagination seeds the thought,
But can it persevere,
Violists pluck in measured time,
Whilst timpanists count years.

Desertion seems to be the norm,
Distraction seems the goal,
Yet nothing beats the frolicking,
Found within music’s whole.

Alas, all said the harpist cries,
Disdain, laid with the tune,
Discern the field, perchance to form,
The perfect chord is hewn.

December kneads the melody,
September strikes the gong,
Yet we can verily confirm,
April provides the song.

Within the promised orchestra,
Without the fervent theme,
Alone abides the commenter,
Disturbed throughout the scene.

Dreams

Cornered,
Pressed beneath falling snow,
Left unsaid, unused, untried,
The morning breaks.

Impure,
Alone despite the crowds,
Washing eyes of vulgarous thoughts,
Mimicking the clown.

Laughter,
Used at once as self defense,
Carried harmlessly,
Wielded as our shield.

There will not come another,
Not as sweet as this.

Feverish,
Dreams that toss and turn,
Ghosts that flutter,
Past the window pane.

There could not be another,
Not as great as this.

So I will press onward,
Captured,
Soiled,
Filtering my passion,
Needing nothing more.

Haiku

In my opinion the haiku is both the simplest and most complex of poems.  If a haiku does not leave the reader crippled, then it has not succeeded.  Please comment on the following poem.  If you have not been left speechless, then you have not been adequately touched.

Upon falcon’s wing,
Crisp silence splits the senses,
Leaving one’s sight pure.

Please be brutally honest about your opinion of this poem.  A haiku leaves no room for error.

– Author’s Note –

I may or may not have had a couple of drinks before posting this message late last night.  That could explain why the surrounding text is a little dramatic.  Here is another Haiku, written in the cold light of day after a couple of Tylenols…

Succulent mind games,
Create the perfect storm, that
Echoes evermore.

I wonder which you will like more… Sober Haiku, or Drunken Haiku?

The Warbler’s Song

As summer sweetly burns the hours,
The morning’s dew will heal our pain.
Not oft the bee forgets the flowers,
Nor sun forgets to dry the rain.

Stilled by the echo of the ghost,
Chilled by the winds beneath our wing,
We have tomorrow at the most,
We have today to feel the sting.

Can you imagine moving past,
The hours that hover through the air?
Can you discern the trumpet’s blast,
That tolls the end to nature’s prayer?

With winter clawing at our backs,
The Guardian presses close at hand,
The mourning lark lets drop the axe,
The timid song turns from the land.

Roll Back the Curtain

Three stories,
Performed in sequence,
Bathed in moonlight,
Intriguing no one.

A young harp,
Carved of ash,
Polished smartly,
Left to rot.

The mummer’s maiden,
Seen from stage right,
Dreams of silver,
Ashamed to sing.

A world grown colder,
Her eyes turned down,
Believes in nothing,
Smiles alone.

When did this happen,
Who gave the order,
Where was the poet,
What let us down?

The babes of springtime,
Deceived by autumn,
Roll back the curtain,
Unveil the scene.

For all that’s certain,
Is come tomorrow,
And all that’s hollow,
Today abounds.

Drop of Water

The droplet hangs a moment,
Collecting courage,
Mustering strength,
Preparing for its descent.

Hovering at the tip of the golden leaf,
It gathers itself together,
Ready to take the plunge,
Willing to engage what lays below.

The tension broken,
A sturdy platform left to dry alone,
Our swirling mass hangs but a moment longer,
Waiting for the earth to rise in response.

Slowly twisting through space,
Our sphere of molten humidity,
Unraveling a secret story,
Somersaulting a voiceless song.

It cannot fall forever,
This troupe of collected dews,
Despite the lethargic tumbling,
Soon must brace itself.

For that which lays below,
Will not be parted,
Can not be negotiated with,
Must stand true.

And with that thought,
In such a cataclysmic instant,
The droplet finds its mark,
Shape swiftly eradicated.

Striking the bridge of her nose,
Splashing in all directions,
Finding purchase upon her cheek,
The gallant unit is dispersed.

Its secret story quickly silenced,
With the flick of her wrist,
Our droplet wiped away,
Scattered to the wind once more.