Current poems in progress...

like the fire brigade calling after an ant
I feel overrated & insignificant
entitled, but not worthy

challenging :)

Glass dreams

I wanted to say more than just words
when I came to see the ghosts of me
surrounded by old friends
who gathered words too
Picking odd flowers
branches broken by storms
making them into pictures
paintings and dreams.
My toungue sticks lightly
while words get tangled
then slip and root
between and below my teeth.
Old friends
saturated dreams of lost days
somewhere back there.
I turn the pages
ever so slowly
I can still feel them
word by word
soul by soul
still here.
They are the ghosts
of a life time ago
just like me.

-------
- - you've captured an atmosphere quite well
-------
definitely; interesting imagery of constraints
:)
-------
thankyou.
W.

arrogare poverty

Arrogare Distain
dressed in ragged evening clothes
wanders through alleys
looking for disgarded left-overs
of paying patrons
dressed in fully mended garments.
Too proud to admit need
to filled with self ambition
turning dumpster diving
designed to still hunger pains
into an illusion of grandure.
Dismissing crumbs of aging dirt
from grease stained lapels
He thinks any working man a fool
for spending their days
enslaved to corporate masters
who feed off the flesh and sweat
of spawning humans.
"I am king of all I survey!"
Arrogare Distain
announces loudly
pompously
to bricks and morter
along with the drunks
lost in stupors.
Mumbling madness is the food of applause
greeting and agreeing
somewhat in a foggy state.
Arrogare Distain
a truely fitting name
for none other would fit
one who sees nothing
worthy of this place
how ever ragged and worn
it may be.
Arrogare Distain
has chosen
to keep blind
the eyes
to keep bound the soul
of any who would follow
his illusions of grandure.
Proud
Self absorbed
fallen into abandonment
due to love of self
now lives in delusion.
Poverty of mind
poverty of spirit
friendless
is god like to himself
when he catches his immage
in any mirrored surface
that can stomach his passing.

-------
an interesting POV. we see persons of such here in the alleyways. most are mentally ill and or drug addicted. it is sad...you've caught it well.
-------
thank you. W.

Requiem for the bees

In the orchard
while trees still dream
of apples and plums
peaches too
the offering of blooms
heavy with sweet perfume
sang the song of invation
sent it ribboned in the wind
but there was no answer
no dancing and singing
in summer that wore a shroud.
As days turned
the song withered
petals became tears
raining in the summer sun.
Now spring has come
and the trees still dream
but no blooms
with their sirens song
can be heard or seen
for the bees have all gone
they are now just a dream.
I can still remember
the taste of honey
the sweet flesh of apples
pears, peaches and plums
and the sound,
the sweet song
that is no more.
-------
Wendy, did you write the poem in the commentary? This is so good!
...BR
-------
Yes, I did and thank you.
-------
genuinely moving

What is

Worn thin
bruised in soul
madness I've a mind
to take you home.
Modern art
shades and layers
brittle paint
joining me
mixing badly
infecting shampoo and soap.
Madness I've a mind
that your already here.
Galleries filled
flow over with garbage
sealed or not
priced for the weathly.
Madness you've been busy
spinning webs
weaving clothes
visible only to the vain.
What is or not is
Shakespears question
applied in thick layers
to this our modern hope.
Distressed for 50
in posh windows
whoring out 5th avenue
making drooling monsters
of the painted and well caged.
Madness I'm of a mind
that your eyeballing politics.
Generations of genius
driven to your door
you are what is
you smile
you laugh
while plucking at our skin
to test for fat content
while heating the oven with in.
We are the turkey
that dresses your dinner table
madness your a mind
that invades
then conquors
divides and consumes.
Madness I know
you are what is.

FX eyes

Slowing motions
catching every flavor
running through my eyes
shattering in surround sound
singular vision
exploding into an endless stream
perspectives everywhere.
Media eating marrow
of every single string
things that mean nothing
becomming icons and gods
wearing gloriously
15 minuets of fame.
Mundane views
fill candy dishes
behind glass counters
the mob of cheering fans
getting drunk
fx illusions that infect
eyes that no longer see
simple magnificance
in fields of dying summer.
Demanding to be entertained
enthrawled and in love.
Larger than life
with fx in their eyes
blind and obedient
enslaved and entangled
wanting to believe
wanting to be icons
forever worshiped
forever boxed on a flat screen
a projection of light
filtered and glazed
embedded and coded
with fx eyes.