Smells Like Poetry
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| Blog Name: | Smells Like Poetry |
| Url: | http://smellslikepoetry.blogspot.com |
| Language: | English |
| Topics: | poetry, rants, commentary |
| Description: | Long time wine guy, brief rock star wannabe, and lifelong poet/geek, this blog is a working project in progress, the online compilation of my next poetry compilation, POSTCARDS FROM ANTARCTICA, and all future work soonafter. |
| Popularity: | 88 Followers |
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(IN EXILE)
(Life has kept me pretty busy. Haven't been able to sit down and process even the slightest thought. Hope to have some new material up soon.)
(Life has kept me pretty busy. Haven't been able to sit down and process even the slightest thought. Hope to have some new material up soon.)
TIMIDITY
Wrapped in night,Smoky apparitions.Lost in translation,Inaudible words.Paralytic in the open -Coiling up,Falling away.Shrinking,Shriveling,And thenI disappear.
Wrapped in night,Smoky apparitions.Lost in translation,Inaudible words.Paralytic in the open -Coiling up,Falling away.Shrinking,Shriveling,And thenI disappear.
THE MEANING OF FUTILITY
Things rushing around in my head,Things of which cannot be explained.The elusive pursuitOf truth and purityHas become nothing moreThan an alley catChasing its tailIn some darkened corner of Hell.
Things rushing around in my head,Things of which cannot be explained.The elusive pursuitOf truth and purityHas become nothing moreThan an alley catChasing its tailIn some darkened corner of Hell.
THE FIRST STEPS AFTER THE FALL
Trying to see through the smokeRising up from the smolderingBridges and fallen temples.Blackwind rising upWhile hope seems all but buriedAmongst the ruined world.Eyes that stare outAcross the wreckage,Wanting to be shut foreverAnd pray for amnesia,Knowing that the miseryHas only just begun.
Trying to see through the smokeRising up from the smolderingBridges and fallen temples.Blackwind rising upWhile hope seems all but buriedAmongst the ruined world.Eyes that stare outAcross the wreckage,Wanting to be shut foreverAnd pray for amnesia,Knowing that the miseryHas only just begun.
A CROWD OF THORNS
The language of a crowd,Whether hostile or jubilant,Sounds the sameTo the mind and earsOf the unamused.Somber still,The imbalanced virtuesOf the cynical,The diabolical,And the damned.
The language of a crowd,Whether hostile or jubilant,Sounds the sameTo the mind and earsOf the unamused.Somber still,The imbalanced virtuesOf the cynical,The diabolical,And the damned.
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