The poetry corner - post your poems in here

[Chris_B]

Hi everyone,

This is a thread for sharing your creative works. 

Please bear in mind our community rules before submitting your work.  

This thread is located in the BB Social Zone, so the primary purpose here is entertainment.

We will not publish poems containing dark or disturbing content, including themes of suicide, self-harm, death, dying, abuse or other forms of trauma.

Thanks for your understanding. 

[white knight]

HI,

These poems are great.

Mary- at the beginning of this thread I have several poems in the first 2 pages. But two of my favourite poems relating to being positive. The following ones might be what you are referring to. cheers.

SOCIETY OF SAND

I’m sitting in a desert

Upon sand of friend and foe

Can’t find a piece of turf

Where I cannot stand on toes

I collect a handful of grain

Then watch as it escapes

Just like some friendships

A barren temporary landscape

I create my own oasis

By weeping on a weed

But the sand around me laughs

Cause it doesn’t have a need

Till lately it be the friends

That helped me walk the land

They holding me up under my feet

-supportive grains of sand

I begin to sink so slowly

As they gather my precious hide

The quick sand laughing so loud

A kind man says goodbye

And as I become one of ‘them’

My heart now granuled and dry

I try to weep to water the weed

But sand has no means to cry

Damn it! I struggle so

Be damned if I be like them

I crawl out of the society of sand

To remain the man I am…

LEGS OF SPOKE

How can I let them know?

When the dark exceeds the glow

When the sun hides behind the clouds

Silence they hear...but I scream so loud.

Some stand beside a 6 foot hole

Shake their heads and see its toll

They ask how he could have dropped

Out of the circle -a forget me knot

Yet they seem to see clear and there is hope

When they sight a person with legs of spoke

A crippled girl pushing her chair

A man be manic- there's no one there.

"Storm in a tea cup" hurts so bad

Like the cyber crow who remains so glad

Keeps flying and in full flight

Achieves his art...in the middle of the night

For some in power see it their way

Even at the side of a 6 foot grave

Shake their head and call out "why"

"Why on earth- he didnt have to die".

So kind some be they reach out so true

Smile away "we want to meet you"

Bring along your vintage car and your smile"

But leave - what's behind your dial.

So we laugh and dine and all's ok

Leave at home come what may

If I be saddled with legs of spoke

They'd lift me around- bloody good bloke.

But as my mind hurts so bad

Cannot hide my feelings- mad?

Can no longer be bloody good bloke

Sometimes I wish.....

                                 I had legs of spoke......

Tony WK 

[Roberty_Bob]

Little black dragon, part one

I have a little black dragon.
She came to me before I had memory,
Feeding upon my insecurities.

As I grew older I fed her drugs and alcohol,
Praying she would leave me when sated.
She didn't. She grew.

Now I am starving her.
Denying her attention. Feigning confidence.
She is not happy. She doesn't want to leave.

At night when the world sleeps,
I receive a visitor.
I have a little black dragon.

[Roberty_Bob]

Little black dragon, part two

I ride my little black dragon. Faster. Higher. Harder.
He takes me to a place of unbridled joy,
Of sex and drugs and rock and roll.
Frustrated that the world is slow,
He drinks to let them catch up.
They continue to fall behind,
Then we crash.
I miss him.

[Roberty_Bob]

The salesman

The man with the flash suit and the gold tooth was selling happiness. A mysterious elixir in coloured bottles. People crowded around his stall. None of them looked happy. The only one smiling was the man with the flash suit and the gold tooth.

[white knight]

Hi Bob, Welcome

The Salesman got to me haha. Well done there.

This one is about my dad. I have several printed here in the first two pages of the thread.

DADS PRINT (to dad)

Dad knew I’d try to follow
where ever he went – in his footsteps
through his pride and boyish whim
I always tried to follow him

And on Sundays a few hours spare
I be his shadow for the day to care
Boy behind his dad so tall
He never minded, not at all

Then as life cut so short
I wish to follow as my last resort
No wonder he used a broom to sweep
To hide his stencilled footstep feet

But now and then I see a print
Where he’s been in the misty tint
Like a ghostly outline of a soul
I place my foot inside the hole

Sadness follows in my inept
It just something I must accept
But I be eager the day my feet will greet
My father’s footstep stencilled feet….

Tony WK

[White_Rose]

Hey Tony

I just saw your message to me re the poetry. Many thanks.

Mary

[Lost_Girl]

My heart greaves for the way things used to be.

I'm shedding tears for memories upon my dampened pillow sleeve.

And as the darkness falls on me, I feel so torn apart.

I wish my tears would to turn to ice to numb my broken heart.

But then within the darkness, a touch, a reassuring hand.

A kiss upon my forehead that shows you understand.

And in that quiet moment there's a warmth within my soul.

 I remember truths and promises of together 'til we're old.

And in that touch a hope is formed, the power to survive.

And a hope that I shall smile again like I did when I became your wife.

[white knight]

THE PICKPOCKET

I sealed my pocket with epoxy glue

Inside this pocket a friend true blue

A picker walked by as smooth as can be

Why pick the pocket of little ol’ me?

For I not have gold or things to give

I once survived on little, on which to live

Oh picker, oh heart, please be sure

That this pocket of love is open and pure

My pocket got picked anyway

My friend got taken in an unusual way

Oh pocket, oh friend, where did you go?

Why not tell the picker- “please share my glow”?

Pickpocket alas you were so slow

But over the years the glue did flow

Slow but sure it was so clear

But my wits not quick, that the picker so near

The picker identity I always knew

Wanted the gold and the friends so few

Had to have what others cherish

No matter that others friendship perish

I let the picker pick my pocket

I feel like the plug that lost its socket

Naught I can do, naught I can say

My pocket picked to my hearts dismay

The picker goes on her merry way

Not a worry of how the pocket got that way

“Your pocket is empty how sad, too bad”

-It is empty now, to which I'm glad

How is it that some dont think of others

thieve their friends even their brothers

seal your pockets and protect your neck

for the pickpocket is around when you least expect...

Tony WK

[Silenus]

And So I Am Become Darkness

The dark night consumes me with its unfeeling blackness,
Incapable of caring or even knowing I exist within its infinite reach;
Hope, that warm light that I once could turn my face towards,
Is for naïve fools and restless fanatics, neither of which is me;
And so I am become darkness.

Love, that crazy dream, that half-lucid reverie of madness,
Once called to me, promising a bridge to cross the breach,
With its boiling of the blood and its tantalizing rewards,
Only to turn its back on me, a slave who once was free;
And so I am become darkness.

There is no space more cavernous, nor place that is more cold,
Than that which for so long was bathed with golden light,
Only to be plunged into a startling, deathly gloom,
All the more real and palpable for having known its opposite;
And so I am become darkness.

I once was drawn to believe that fortune favours the bold,
But that is a hard ideal to cling to, surrounded by uncaring night;
With sight’s sense gone, I listen for my heart’s boom,
Only to confront a numbing silence inapposite;
And so I am become darkness.

What once I turned to for comfort, is now emptiness and lies,
There is not enough stuff in this world to fill the gaping void,
And thought is but a reminder that emotions cut so deep,
And emotions are but a reminder that thought is of no aid;
And so I am become darkness.

With love being the seed of life, what’s left when it dies,
And with the fields struck fallow, of growth and hope devoid,
What is there left to do? Oh cruel harvest, now it’s time to reap,
With light but a memory, given now to fade;
And so I am become darkness.

[Silenus]

Dreamweaver

The demons had their way with me last night,
Ichorous talons rending at my heart and soul.
Dreams, the doorway to the id,
Played across the silver screen of my inner eye,
And I, the helpless spectator,
The trapped and tormented watcher,
Was forced to look on and to feel the horrors that lie within.
I did not even have the cold comfort of Beethoven’s ninth
To accompany my journey into the depths of my psyche.
Screaming without sound,
Trying with all of my might to close the eye that cannot close,
Turning away in a hall of mirrors without end,
Always focusing on the turbid tendrils of terror,
I at last faced the cold and brutal truth that no lies can hide.
I, a pitifully weak Virgil, faced my own hell, 
So much more profound and real than Dante’s wildest imaginings.

All stark and in my face, my weakness, my faults, my flaws,
Gathered around me to throw me around in a circle,
Sneering, hating, teasing, tormenting, violating, ripping me to shreds.
I could not escape.
There was no rope, no helping hand, no lighted tunnel,
No omniscient God-figure, no guide, no love nor hope.

Waking in a cold sweat, eyes wide and fearful,
Looking for phantasmagoria in the shadows of my room,
I calmed my turbulent mind, my wounded soul, my beating heart,
And turned my waking eyes to the flayed and splayed
Mess that is me.
What had the demons shown me?

The Truth,
With all lies stripped away,
Especially the ones we tell ourselves
In the dark recesses of our mind,
That we repeat so many times
We do not dare or care to question them.

I am a weak and flawed creature,
Full of false pride, full of myself;
Hurtful and hurting, I have lashed out in pain,
And shared my hurt with the world;
When actions should have spoken so much louder than words,
I chose to remain silent, mute,
Ensnared in a trap of my own making,
Hurting those I love (including myself);
Ignoble beast, I bite the hand that feeds me,
I gave in to the darkness, the hunger, and hate myself for it;
I am emptiness, I am void, I am null,
The nullerman with a gaping hole where his heart should be,
Playing at being human, pretending to be whole;
I weave my own fate,
And hang from the threads, a limp and useless lump;
Damnation, salvation, flip sides of the same coin,
Minted in my mind, deposited in a bank
Where no interest is paid.

I face this Truth,
And facing it,
I dream on,
And try to change
The broken empty thing that is me.