Anyone here enjoy original Poetry or Prose?

Untitled, April 7, 2014

I’m sitting here
pounding a nail into the wall with my forehead
over and over
and the blood is spraying as if I’m a fountainhead


if the alcohol doesn’t kill me
my feelings will
it’s not the distilled spirits
but the spiritual swill
maybe I can take a few with me
give them one hell of a last ride
it’s not the subject matter
it’s the swelling of the tide
that’ll carry them out to the see I live in

Untitled, March 17, 2014

Days of unstoppable rain
followed by the suns rays
you’d think it was a trick of the brain
but in reality, it was as it was always

you see, San Francisco is
a measure of opposites
something where folks complain
about two days of rain followed by two days of bliss sustained

I left my balcony door open year round
even though fog would slowly creep in
around 4pm every day
it didn’t matter, I was happy for the change

OK You've tempted me into posting an old poem of mine

Or as a Bob Dylan impersonator once said " I have had to suffer for my art ... Now it's your turn "


Dreaming Awake 1996

Maybe I forgot to gaze to the stars
And lost my way in inner space
The child that held a sense of wonder
A sense of belonging, a sense of being

Walking in the ruins of a garden
Where love once wandered natural and wild
You! Your uplifted eyes looking skyward
As if forever was in sight

Oh tell me, what have you seen
Play these heart strings once again
For bitter sweet recallings
Well up in silent tears

Bramble tears this flesh
Along the twisting path
The untender world without appeal
Too often brings love to it's knees

Father do you remember the day
That quiet country lane
Watching clouds roll overhead
My childbright chatter full of questions

What if this life is but a dream
Arising layers of slumbering
One day to awaken
Oh soul awaken

I dreamt I was in Eternity
Loved ones from all time within glow
Like my doubts had all been answered
As I awoke my heart beat so

With sleep still soft upon the eye
Dawn comes like crystal shining
Falling upon this sheltering bay
Where all troubles are forgotten

The mind is calm, thoughts flow clearly
It feels as if a door has opened
Between the Heavens and the Earth
Where the soul is free to journey

High above blue skies are drifting
Over green ancient hills
Gently the ocean breaking
Leaves patterns in the glistening sand

There's a humble croft upon a lane
Springs abuzz the fragrant air
Natures in her renaissance
Blossoming Bluebells sing

In the mossy hollow of a tree
There are nestled golden oak leafs
And in a rock is carved a sign
Honouring a Celtic time

In the woodlands ancient ground
What was lost is now found
As seeds nurtured in rich dark manna
Break ground to seek the heavenly Sun.

nice work. you clearly have talent, and a broad palette of expression.

i like poetry. i like a good 'rhythm' of words.

Valiant Efforts

discretion is the better part of valor
unless one is in the room of cloaks and daggers
in which case, assertion takes the day
and leaves the opponent with a noticeable pallor

discretion is the better part of valor
unless one is in a fickle matter of the heart
in which case it is part of the chivalric code
and you lead the young maiden by her hand to the parlor

discretion is the better part of valor
unless one is sick of lies with their constant drawing of flies
sick of tenebrous whispers and sick of silken webs
and weary of constantly being in the role of the actor

a reply to: RoScoLaz4

"a broad palete of expression.." Ok, my friend, that was pretty damned cool the way you put those words together

Thank you, I'm truly glad you're enjoying them



-NF

a reply to: artistpoet


Awesome imagery, my friend


Thank you...dig up any more you'd like to share...


-NF

Shattered Eye

voyage set upon sea of dreams
cutting waves, deep slice through cerulean blue
disturbance shifting sands deep
lies become solid, apparitions in the near distance
wild horses, old loves, and electric sheep

Bad Thoughts

my eyes saw something I can’t unsee
the space between a murder and a cry
and now my mind remains filthy
staring in the mirror wondering why

so I’ll remove what offends me
my eyes…they vibrate
the frequency is still too high
even for my minds third lie

I’m left here wondering
what could be done as penance
I’ve already plucked out the bad seeds and I realize
I am the virus from which you can’t flee

Friday, 13 October 1307

It wasn’t only the poor soldiers of Christ that cursed this day
but also my poor son Atlas, struggling through pain
to keep the worst of what might happen at bay

you see, these things follow you
year by year, the occasion still occurs, just shy a baker’s dozen
surmounting defenses you had thought through

what’s worse? being the victim of it
or the one that has to live in observance
fearing the turn of the worm, or a quick look at the daily obit

there is actually a clinical term
for the fear induced by these circumstances
triskaidekaphobia, a trait we can confirm

from my father, three of four grandparents, to Atlas
other occurrences in between, awash in the baptismal waters of anxiety
for me, it is a monthly occurrence, a palpable sadness

The Savoy

there are things you don’t forget, like riding a bike
sometimes they are good things, things you enjoy
sometimes they are bad, things you don’t truly like

I’ve done the two-step, I’ve done the tango
but dancing with you…
is an autonomic response that sets my nerves to “Whoa”

it’s been over eleven years since our last dance
something I once put down, wrote off
and here we are again, not so sure it’s because of chance

the moves come so naturally, as if I’ve been doing them all along
with the mindset of C’est la vie
the fact, the act, the impact….who could think it would be wrong

and yet here you are, once more, your slender form in my hands
forgotten, neglected, sequestered neurons fire off in the sunset
surprising, how quickly (once thought) dead embers to life can be fanned

I know the consequences, I know the facts, I know precisely how she’ll react
she’s said before she couldn’t, wouldn’t, stand living with me
yet here I am, at the precipice of love and loss, one hell of a balancing act

A Spike Milligan poem .....

A baby sardine
Saw her first submarine:
She was scared and watched through a peephole.
"Oh, come, come, come,"
Said the sardine's mum
"It's only a tin full of people."

a reply to: artistpoet



Alright, I dig that


-NF

a reply to: nullafides

Ill post a few poems of mine if you would be willing to give me some advice on them, how to make them better. I am attempting to write a Novel, for the past over a year, and it will be quite experimental and poetic, but I have some shards of poems lying around, I dont mind writing but I hate trying to edit, which depending on how good of a poet you are, how natural and everything, some poets dont need to edit much if ever, while some may spend a lot of time getting every single thing perfect...etc.

a reply to: ImaFungi


Actually, I think poetry is about honesty. Telling what you feel. Saying it in succint, powerful ways.

I do edit, but almost always with deleting words. I try to not make things too lengthy. I look for impact, short and sweet.

But, that's just me.

Was there a particular poem I wrote you liked? Maybe I could go back into it, relive it, and attempt to explain where my head was, and the edits I made, in writing it? Would that be helpful?



- NF

Another one

Oh Heart !

Oh Heart! What hurt has built a wall round thee
When did love become thy enemy
That unrequited came undone
And left a world so barren

My love lays bleeding rosy red
Its cruel thorns smite my weary head
Oh! If only I had understood
Would I have ever pledged my love

This walking coffin of stardust flesh
That does my sacred soul enmesh
Is no longer pleasing to your eyes
And it is my soul forlorn that cries

Above the rooftops of the town
A pair of doves flutter down
As the light of the world grows ever dim,
My eyes transfixed turn to him.

Whom gazed into my soul and “I got it”
His unconditional love, his spirit
Unspoken now let it suffice,
This love is not a sacrifice.

a reply to: artistpoet

Again, great imagery and pattern



-NF

originally posted by: nullafides
a reply to: ImaFungi


Actually, I think poetry is about honesty. Telling what you feel. Saying it in succint, powerful ways.

I do edit, but almost always with deleting words. I try to not make things too lengthy. I look for impact, short and sweet.

But, that's just me.

Was there a particular poem I wrote you liked? Maybe I could go back into it, relive it, and attempt to explain where my head was, and the edits I made, in writing it? Would that be helpful?



- NF

No, sorry, I will just remain a spectator of your poetry entries. And none of yours in particular, they are all enjoyable.

a reply to: ImaFungi

If you ever change your mind



-NF

Wonderfully impressive poems in here! Keep up the great work!!!!!!!!!