Poetry/lyrics!

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hard to come by

I reached for courage in the dark,
but daylight's cowardice
burned holes right through
my scant shroud of lies.

I wanted so much to see you
then, so much to tell you
of all my lantern walks
in the moonlight,
my shadowed passions,
and the umbilical shard of innocence
I have cradled for you.

I find the space around me
strangling;
the empty air
won't feed my lazy lungs.

That sweet capacity I had once,
that candid range
--my god, that's hard to come by
these days.

It's great to read a poem which permits me to inhabit your your eyes, your lungs, your heart to see and hear and feel what you feel.

thank you so much for the wonderful compliment every artist and writer plies their craft by presenting pieces of themselves, in the hopes of reaching and connecting with others, and sharing a moment of understanding. that is the true reward for what we do, i think.

and thank you to everyone who has shared their work on this thread. it is always a treat to read the work of others, and there is so much talent in the world with no venue for sharing except places like this

and btw sunshower--your work is far from amateur. i thought it was gorgeous! i felt i was walking in the woods in autumn when i read it....amazing and ironic how the leaves can be at their most beautiful when they're dying, isn't it? autumn is my favourite season

Here's a few more.

THE SPEED OF LIGHT

Come with me to a star
Sixty light years away
And look back
With super eyes
At the small blue point
We call the Earth.
Squint to see the peninsula
We call Florida.
The morning sun
Has struck the sea
With lines of fire.
There on the beach
Where quiet waves
Throw long smooth curves
On the flats of sand
My mother and my father
Perch on folding stools
Before stick easels
Wetting Watman paper
With streaks of ultramarine
And prussian blue.
Strands of seaweed
In thick tangled piles
Meander on for miles
Along the empty beach
Concealing treasures.
Curly spiral wormshells,
Pink scallops, purple mussels
Thumbnail sized,
Strange hooked eggs of sharks,
Round sea beans liked cusped doorknobs.
My brother, ten years old,
And I, twelve,
Shuffle slowly through the piles
Garnering delights.
Florida like that
Is long gone.
But the image

Of my father, my mother
My brother and I
And the glory that was Florida
Is sailing out
Into the universe
At the speed of light.


MISTRESS'S FAREWELL


Have you ever seen a lady with fried chicken in her hair?
Or slept with thirty seagulls in very deep despair?
Have you witnessed glowing sunsets while hanging by your teeth
From a thirty meter tree with hungry roaches underneath?
Have you thrilled to singing waffles doused in motor oil
While demented chimpanzees wrapped your feet in metal foil?
Have you soared above the Andes supported by umbrellas
Lifted to the zenith by four thousand farting fellahs?
Or wandered on the shores
Of the far away Azores
While your ears were gently trembled
By the most persistent snores
Of a somnolent tarantula
In stylish striped plus fours?
If so, there is little I can add to your life.
You had better leave me now and go back to your wife.


THE BREAKFAST MOUSE

There is a mouse
Inside my house
Who comes outside to see.
When he comes out
I look at him
And he looks at me.

With his teeth
He mines my wall
To make his living room
And hall.
My architecture,
No conjecture,
For his pragmatic taste.
My house is just a warmer hole

To make his Winter living space
Where Summer always seems to be.
When he comes out
I look at him
And he looks at me.

The round small eyes
To take in facts
Like shiny headed ball top tacks
Regard me with but little fear.
Just let me sneeze -
He'll disappear.
But sometimes,
When I'm drinking tea,
Then he comes out.
I look at him,
And he looks at me.

Since he's the guest
And I'm the host
I sometimes offer him
Some toast
Which he accepts most gratefully.
And as he eats
I look at him,
And, he looks at me.

I do not mind,
In my house
A single solitary mouse.
But it happens frequently
Mice start their own
Community.
I cast a worried look at him,
And he looks at me.

If he brings a girlfriend home
With her suitcase, brush and comb,
To have a family,
Soon every nook and every cranny
Will fill with kids and aunts and granny!
Frankly, that's a bit too many.
Nervously, I look at him
And he looks at me.

If he over-multiplies
He'll fill the walls
With small mouse cries.
They'll gaze at me,
Near and far,
Eyes like
Russian caviar.

They'll drill my walls
Like Swiss cheese
Admitting in
The Winter breeze
And we'll cough and gasp and sneeze!
This is what I could foresee.
Panicking, I look at him
And he looks at me.

Toast in paw,
He looks at me
Trusting in humanity,
Gnawing very steadily,
Extending friendship readily.
"Oh well,"I think,
"I'm sure he's single.
Let him stay and hang his shingle.
Allow this fellow to exist.
Perhaps he's a misogynist !"
My house is nice, we both agree.
I smile at him.
He grins at me.

My house is like the Earth,
You see.
There's room for him
And room for me.
But we must plan
Most carefully
So space for both of us
Is free.
I at my chair, he in his hole
Can make it very comfortably.
I wipe my mouth,
He scrubs his nose.
I nod my head to him, and he
Shows his tail to me.

not that good but whatever

The friend

Sitting in the box that’s inside your head
Bang on the glass they can’t hear you
Strapped down by a wonderful burden
Trapped and comforted by the constant daydream
The lights spin around and the walls make the sounds
Of a thousand voices you can’t make out
Your friend is here, your irritating shadow
You need no magic potion; no one can break the spell
It screams in your ears and flashes in your eyes
It makes you laugh at the memoires whilst wanting to cry
Your fearful of their faces, they approach you with claws sharpened
Warm and friendly, they make acquaintance
Touch of a hand triggers your friend to react
Wipe what their muddy paws left
Stare at the floor away from their lazar eyes
You friend holds you back when you want to move forward
You don’t want it to go they tell you so
It’s always there the gift of the upside down mind
In your cell drum beat sounding on the ground
Spinning tops and stacked up blocks
Traces of an innocent child
Screaming its violent protest in the physically adult
They mistaken you for things much worse
Listen to their sickly voice their soft slow words
Wrapping you up in a blanket so warm you can’t breathe
You friend is back and overstayed its welcome
You read another book and it stares you in the face
This is you and there’s no escape
Not that you’d want to, most of the time

I am pretty new to this site and only worked out I have Aspergers 6 weeks ago.
It's lovely and also fascinating to see there is such a talent out there. And also nice to know I am not the only one who has strange and beautiful thoughts
Oddly, I only started writing again last October after a gap of 20 years

What I noticed in some of the poems is a fascination with trees. I thought it was just me! Although I do write about other stuff - mostly music and nature but also things inspired by music
Here is one of mine:

Is anyone else obsessed with trees to the point they are looking up at them all the time ?

Also anyone into the poetry of John Clare ? I can't get enough.


Neil


Watchers

Sweet calling of the hidden wood
The place we used to go
Those birches with their creamy sheen
They beckon us who know

A kinship of simplicity
With slender figurines
Outstretched arms with brittle poise
Spread calmness on the scene

Rows of seedlings fast erupt
To form a Giant’s Mile
Turned to stone by Earth’s own pace
Parade in unique style

Tangled sentinels of day
Defiant in chaotic sway
Their branches undulate and flow
As leaves to furious whispers grow

The rising portent of your breath
Following us from birth to death
You mourn as if behind a screen
By the many go unseen

Give full vent in dimming light
Thrash and hiss in endless fight
Life that was and life to be
Never touched eternity

Love on a Spring Day

Look deep into your being
And you might grieve
Because you will find
Love is naive

Look deep into your soul
And you might be, a bit tearful
Because you will find
Love is for the beautiful

Look deep into your heart
And you might find
Love doesn't matter
It's all in your mind

Falling Through Space

I am falling down through an empty space...
Devoid of all meaning and lacking in love...
And I am lost not finding what I need to find...

It is the most dire of predicaments,
An exercise in futility with no avail,
A meaningless hardship of a forgotten life,
Seen through a kaleidoscope guise broken in hate,
Always persisting never failing to destroy,


Locked in, not truly knowing what I feel,
Never feeling like I'm really there.

This Way

Why does it have to be this way?
The clouds turn black,
Everything seems grey.

Why do I put on this facade?
Always turning with a smile,
Inside, hating the life I've made.

Why can't I see past the hate?
Never knowing where life's gone,
Trying, but it's too late.

This is a poem inspired by a Portland reporter's Twitter
that I happened upon a few weeks ago.

Sounds of the Past

Here I am in my child's room
Picking up my child's old belongings
Because my child is "not into it anymore"
Sounds and memories of the past
Fly left, right, and center as I hold on in vain

My child is growing up
Yes, I am aware of age
As I too age with grace
My employer asks that I look ageless and elegant
Reporting the day's news
With neutrality and a montonic voice

But here in my child's room
More sounds of the past
Hit me in the stomach with no mercy at all
Tears flood my face as the sounds finish with me
What is the sound that finishes with me?
Me falling down in the vortex of time
And my lungs screaming