Okay, things have gotten entirely too cerebral in here. It's time for me to bring things back to silly with some toilet humor.

Ode to a Load

Pity the lowly dog turd,
all brown like a rotten log,
its fate to stink, and draw more flies,
and be eaten by another dog.

Reaching out
My window I try to grab hold of the wipers which
are going to and fro and making more of a mess doing their job than if I had not commanded them to do so.

I struggle a bit more, irritated that I can barely see what is looming in front of me
It could be a tractor-trailer, an ally if only I could be sure of his spot.

Of course, trailing the trailer led to more groanings from my once careful wipers.

I pulled off the road.

Once I deemed it clear enough, I slowly pulled out into traffic again.

Anticipation
The fluttery feeling of waiting
The mental lists, the planning
The should-I-get-those-earrings
The can-I-break-those shoes-in?

As I plan out what to wear
Will I feel when I am there
That the evening can compare
To the fun as I prepare?

I am not a poet. I have terrible grammer and I've never taken a poetry class so I have no technical ability to write. I just string along words sometimes to try to express what I am seeing or feeling at the time.

Last night there was this incredible twilight. So out comes this jumbled prose. Lyrics maybe. I havn't felt inspired for a long time. Don't laugh :)
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A mist falls on an early spring twilight like diamonds sprayed on grey silk. The Natural and erethrial coalescing in gods petrie dish

Clouds like dripping watercolor stripe across the sky.
Dark midnight blue holding captive the lighter hue of the day gone by.
Smothered in it's sleepy grasp night time pulls the curtains down around the dark green pines.

This day is done. Nature is once again motionless and undisturbed. Glowing picture windows in the distance seem to punctuate this atmosphere of untroubled contemplation. All is good. Night has come.

IMHO, Art is in the eye of the beholder. Sky, your poem speaks to peoples hearts. I have no training either, but to me, your poetry is loftier than some of the so called "greats" of poetry. Don't apologize for sharing beauty.

Amen.

Nice images Sky - don't put yourself down.
There was nothing there that I couldn't visualise - poetry can just be about capturing a moment, a feeling, a mood. I call the polaroid poems myself - which isn't to knock them at all.

Of course, my "Ode to a Load" is classic poetry.

thanks

sky, that was supreme. They were lovely, perfect, liquid, living images. They go quite well with Orb's remix of Hybrid's song, Higher Than A Skyscraper, by the way. For I be that.


Overturning, waves within
Wrenching muscle, twisting skin
Wrap your nether round my heart
If it whines, don't let it in

As the night seeps through the door
Kitchen counter, bed and floor
Far too drunk to cuddle now
Don't you fret; I never snore

Atmosphammers crack my head
Morning breezes reek of dread
Silent, quick, and lithe I leave
Walking shoes are filled with lead

thanks again:D and I'll be looking for that remix.


Oh and I really enjoyed your poem. Great Feeling to it.

staying up again, way too late
with eyes that rest their lids upon my knees.
unrest curdles in my torso,
and stings my heart like angry killer bees
my feet they long to roam, my ass it likes to sit
so my mind will go and wander, until IT becomes unfit.
Run this treadmill, run run run
routine and money,
cooking and cleaning
obligation and sacrifice
and indulgence in dreaming.

(Long wet brain fart/ was thinking lyrics to Some Song)


Rise from refuse
Shake the sleep
Wipe the crust
From eyes set deep

It purrs beneath
My bony hands
My shattered teeth
Saliva glands

Host of hours
Westward bound
Lingers late
Yellow ground

It does not weep
For wasted time
Does not change
And never rhymes

Taste its breath
Through lips made thin
Touch its death
Translucent skin

Love its heat
Through quiet scars
Sleep as embers
Under stars

Stoke the glow
Electric sleep
Gather crust
As void lights creep

It grows again
Join the fray
Fly to waste
Another day

there's a weirdo cunt on this board
 

there's a weirdo cunt on this board
a weirdo cunt and a weirdo whore
a weirdo whore and a weirdo cock
when the dust has settled
the boots will knock

Somewhere,
along the way
I took my hand away from,
the long and snaking
safety rail,
I can't remember quite when.

I noticed briefly
,then forgot,
too busy running fult tilt,
down the steep
and studded hill,
past the house that Jack built.

When I recalled,
and looked around,
Saw nothing of my former ground,
The safety rail had
snaked away,
And left me with no way home.