a poem written with Nepenthes ...
a cold message turning into shape
holding the wind hostage, letting hurt call
through past tense or is it me
looking beyond searching shadows
reviving memories as light tells of darkness
adjective words describing abandoned days
remembering the pasteurized sense of verbs
under waterfalls, calling for moonstone dolls
to recall my self from the dark trees
rising above – piercing the poetry
reminiscent of poe (edgar allan, of course)
adverbial swords on a singular mantelpiece
and dying gardens calling for refuge
as the summer sun etches words
picking the hard over the soft now
light hearted feel is a memory still
us broken into nouns and syllables
wanting nothing else but love
over here gardens are flying in sunny
daze which is sometimes crazy shade
converted into leaves sipping
the green grass (classified, of course)
then the lawnmowerman started ripping
away at the layers of metaphorical sense
... finding poesy
words crashing into infinity
crying out the blind messages
for you and me to see once more
-please embrace pictures surreal
and still so touchable - as the sun
colours darkness with hope
... cutting edges into softness
across the beaches of warm silver sand
concealing buds, but for the stubbles
that subtly obscured themselves
pleasures are measures of treasure
and still so tangible as the moon
brightens the sunrise in yellow
... sprinkling on the brink of magic
Poetry by kath
Read 652 times
Written on 2007-06-14 at 09:08
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moonbeams
a cold message turning into shape
holding the wind hostage, letting hurt call
through past tense or is it me
looking beyond searching shadows
reviving memories as light tells of darkness
adjective words describing abandoned days
remembering the pasteurized sense of verbs
under waterfalls, calling for moonstone dolls
to recall my self from the dark trees
rising above – piercing the poetry
reminiscent of poe (edgar allan, of course)
adverbial swords on a singular mantelpiece
and dying gardens calling for refuge
as the summer sun etches words
picking the hard over the soft now
light hearted feel is a memory still
us broken into nouns and syllables
wanting nothing else but love
over here gardens are flying in sunny
daze which is sometimes crazy shade
converted into leaves sipping
the green grass (classified, of course)
then the lawnmowerman started ripping
away at the layers of metaphorical sense
... finding poesy
words crashing into infinity
crying out the blind messages
for you and me to see once more
-please embrace pictures surreal
and still so touchable - as the sun
colours darkness with hope
... cutting edges into softness
across the beaches of warm silver sand
concealing buds, but for the stubbles
that subtly obscured themselves
pleasures are measures of treasure
and still so tangible as the moon
brightens the sunrise in yellow
... sprinkling on the brink of magic
Poetry by kath
Read 652 times
Written on 2007-06-14 at 09:08
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Rob Graber |
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John Ashleigh |
