Details |
Morgan Pontious Poem
hearing the news
suddenly
taken aback
feelings mix
mingle
a groggy mess
inside
a confused
mind
shocked
surprised
frightened
upset
nervous
anxious
monotonously
quickly
as though
simply
a robot
packing my bags
clothes
pile
stack
go
up
up
up
seem
neverending
saying goodbye
tears streaming
down frowning cheeks
loading up
suitcases in
boxes in
everything in
key turned
motor going
backing up
crying
sobbing
looking back
for just
one
last
goodbye
gravel crackling
beneath
worn tires
worn souls
paved road
passing under
quickly
coming
then suddenly
going
going
and then
it's gone
there is simply
nothing
nothing but the lonely beat of a hurting heart.
Copyright © Morgan Pontious | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Morgan Pontious Poem
The breeze is blowing on my shoulders
as I pedal hard through the snow.
My tired legs just won't give up,
my chilly cheeks aglow.
The wind is hitting my bike with a force
so strong that I cannot fight it, of course.
The cold is slowly getting to me,
my voice is crackly, dry and hoarse.
And I know that it's winter,
And I know it is cold,
But I can't stop biking,
All the winter long.
The leaves are falling slowly down,
I've rode my bike all over town,
My shoes are squeaking as I ride,
my hair is whipped around.
The crisp fall colors surround me,
and I stop for breath as I buy some sweets,
I munch on them as I ride,
up the hill and around the creek.
And I know that it is fall,
And I know it is cool,
But I can't stop biking,
All the fall long.
I sit and ride all morning,
no time for any mourning.
The spring has come,
and I am done, the days so awfully boring.
I pick a dandelion,
as I pedal by one,
I blow it as I go,
watching it blow away, and it's gone.
And I know that it is spring,
And I know it is warm,
But I can't stop biking,
All the spring long.
Now comes the most painful season,
and I hope to bike for no reason.
The hot has crept upon me,
And I know that this is treason.
And I know that it's summer,
And I know it is hot,
But I can't stop biking,
All the summer long.
Copyright © Morgan Pontious | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Morgan Pontious Poem
My wonderful cloud,
A catalyst for wishes,
Desires spilling out.
Gently, the cloud has
Rested its head, still full
Of dreams and thoughts, too.
I love the stories,
Coming freely to my cloud.
I gobble them up.
Like ideas to treasure,
They come willingly and free,
Floating my cloud.
It feeds on dreaming,
Chews on thoughtfulness, daydreams,
lives on fruits of heart.
My cloud, wondrously
Outpouring my thoughts and wants,
Precipitating.
Copyright © Morgan Pontious | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Morgan Pontious Poem
Love is in the lover.
Beauty in the eye of the beholder.
Care in the caretaker.
Baking in the baker.
Emotion in the emotional.
Commercial in the promotional.
Laugh in the comedian.
Leeway in the median.
Nature in the natural.
Serious in the literal.
Adversity in the linguist.
Song in the lyrist.
Pleading in the poet,
and you really should know it,
I write this for humanity's sake,
peace and understanding at stake.
Together is not so bad.
We are all different - why be so sad?
Instead, accept and embrace,
not reject and attempt to erase.
Learning to love each other,
Like sister and like brother.
Instead of putting up a fight.
Now why be wrong, when you can be right?
Copyright © Morgan Pontious | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Morgan Pontious Poem
The house is a wreck,
and I'm sorry I'm late.
The cats are all grounded,
because one of them ate -
Oh no!! My homework!
The cat ate my homework.
Which one? I know not.
I have forty two, Miss,
and all of them have been taught.
Taught what?
To know right from wrong, Miss.
I now think the dog did it.
Oh no, my candy!
The dog knocked them down.
My cats don't like wrong, Miss,
and they knocked down the dog.
The dog ate my homework, he was very mad.
For he was hungry, he was not fed.
I tried to make him give it to me,
but give he did not.
I pulled and I pulled,
but I crashed into the cactus.
The house is a wreck,
and I'm sorry I'm late,
the cats aren't grounded,
because none of them ate
my homework.
In conclusion, Miss, It was the dog!
Copyright © Morgan Pontious | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Morgan Pontious Poem
Depression is a little shell
for the hermit who peeks out
from where they always dwell.
Depression is a window
splattered with rain
and never a rainbow.
Depression is a stare
off into space
and you're unaware.
Depression is a pillow
that you've cried on and beaten
when your tears flow.
Depression is a mind that's empty
a room that's full
yet you are lonely.
Depression is a full-fledged flair
of bursted bubbles
and horrific nightmares.
Depression is this poem
and it's ending
rather solemn.
Depression is not a walk in the park.
It's a room, you're alone,
you shiver in the dark.
Depression is not something to kid,
it'll crush your heart
and it's rather well hid.
For all those so depressed,
I must say,
I will confess,
That once I too,
this person here,
was in your shoes.
Depression will end soon,
so find a shoulder
to cry onto.
Copyright © Morgan Pontious | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Morgan Pontious Poem
Falling in love is a walk in the park.
Lighting a candle in the pitch black dark.
You find the one that makes your heart beat fast,
But the one that you stick with just might be the last.
Copyright © Morgan Pontious | Year Posted 2016
|