Lightning lances across the sky
But off in the distance like dragon spines
Are the Mountains of Madness
And that is where I march
A sky twisted scarlet and violet
The clouds themselves seem to be bleeding
And the temperature alternates
Between blistering heat and blizzardly freeze
Reality is fabricated from dreams
And dreams are a distortion of my thoughts
Which are poorly mimicked by my voice
And I can't even tell what is real
I found the blade of heroes
In a secret spring in a forgotten forest
Blessed as a scion of the gods
Even the elves helped guide my feet
A witch cast illusions over my eyes
Humans became demons
And demons became human
But the harsh reality is that was always true
In a world of demons and angels
Sometimes it's hard to know which is which
But with a hand over my heart
I offer a solemn prayer to find guidance
The Mountains of Madness loom larger
Demons, angels, and witches all beaten
And while never defeated I have been wounded
But to the mountains I have come
But alas the madness was not in the mountains
Because the madness was in my mind
And the villain I pursued this whole time
Was actually me all along
Unicycle’s silly;
it’s sure fun to ride.
Best is when it’s hilly;
mud just makes you slide.
It’s sure fun to ride
unless it’s quite chilly.
Then, I can confide,
inside’s better really.
Best is when it’s hilly;
I know ‘cuz I’ve tried.
I’m better than Billy;
he just cried and cried.
Mud just makes you slide,
go all willy nilly.
Hard pack lets you glide
frisky as a filly.
----------
This is a Quadrilew (6A:5B:6A:5B 5B:6a:5b:6a 6A:5b:6a:5b 5B:6a:5b:6a) where the lines in the first stanza are used as the first line of the next 3 stanzas. The line length either alternates as 6/5/6/5 or 5/6/5/6. Kinda fun!
Note: no animals were maimed in the writing of this poem
This life can sell you dreams that are too
expensive for you to buy
Covered eyes can't see the truth as they're
being blinded by the lies
This wicked world is full of sin affecting
all from great to least
We're full of ourselves yet we're starving while
trapped in the belly of the beast
It feasts on those that are lost in this tangled
sorted maze
You find peace when you're whole within not
just at the end of days
Darkness comes and it will go as it alternates
with the light
Just know everything needs to be balanced
between the left and our right
Most confining and to the decencies,
Feebled feelings and enslaved alternates,
Oddly detached, from them degradations,
Of whimpered whines and conceived illusions.
The reliance on the diminished decisiveness,
The age past then that's best in stewardship,
Oddly detached from the practice in manship,
The dependence on them downed possessions,
Of untimely prowess, times of emancipations,
But conceitedly troubled with fantasized them,
The perceived attachments to concise illusions.
#Aug_2022
Match so naughty of self calamity,
Alternates modernized tactics of play
Neglecting physical aggression.
Countless clearcut chances,
Impulsively lost to anxiety.
Trying the best possible to weigh
Yoke propelled by GARCIA in depression.
With frill-edged petals, in red, white, orange and yellow,
Beauteous daffodils gorgeously gleam and glow;
With long, wide, collaterally aligned leaves stand erect,
Tulips of all colors, as though in beauty so perfect;
Blue urn shaped flowers thrill-filled dancing,
Muscari stands as though glory-glaring;
Nodding with bell-shaped flowers, Lily of the valley,
Stands solemn with its glossy leaves with no folly;
Flowers, indeed, make my spring gloriously great,
My soul, a butterfly midst them, joyfully does elevate;
Their tentativeness, when, my mind alternates,
Rebirth and resurrection, like seeds, in me, germinate...!
07 March 2022
Spring Showers or Spring Flowers Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh
Standing aloof in thought
by the roadside,
where traffic alternates
by the roadside.
Wondering why things are
and what life had to give
as time motions without emotions
by the roadside.
Do I cross or wait here?
says a voice in my head,
people passing by
do not seem to matter
as they go about daily business
with fate as their witness
truly, time and chance
happen to them all…
Suddenly, she came in a red dress
that splatters on the road,
like a red carpet,
with people clamoring like its reception
the traffic came to a halt
and onlookers scattered about
shouting, sighing, and screaming
by the roadside.
Only then do I realize
I had been standing there
with my mouth agape,
writhing without words.
Death has come in a red dress,
and behold; it splatters on the road!
By the roadside.
When came for a swim
In what looked to me like dream,
Water nor worries,
We swam in old memories,
Or so did it seem.
____________________________________
Tanka | 07.09.13 |
Poet's note: This Tanka of five lines alternates a 3-7-3-7-3 scheme.
The sands of time slips through the void
It courses as it gravitates
Neath chamber fills with sand deployed
The sands of time slips through the void
With gifts of passage mounds employed
One sits bare the spare alternates
The sands of time slips through the void
It courses as it gravitates
Date: 06/13/2019
The left blame the right, the right blame the left,
both concealed in ideology logically lost on me.
It's not that I don't understand, there's no one with which I stand,
both succeed in ways necessary then turn sour though a good recipe.
The point and blame at those with fame game stays the same,
.....somewhat lame.
All I've learnt from this,
is they've no alternatives,
so take turns in bliss
and ignorance lives.
And as the system alternates,
between political counterweights,
with opposing views on politics,
all I think is bollocks to this.
Love is a noun
in the need of finding it,
once found, a verb.
Love is a beast
so wild
haunting on its prey.
Love is a drug
leading to addiction.
Love is a novel
starting at prologue,
chapters follows and
epilogue as closure.
Love is the sunrise
born and dies at setting
to await rebirth.
Love is a catastrophe
leaving an aftermath
of destruction.
Love is a disguise
of melancholic grief.
Love is an illness
that is inevitable
to weaken one’s resistance.
Love is a danger
when the warning sign
is left unposted.
Love is a season
coming then going
in alternates.
Love is a word
defined
when
felt.
The heaven stretch'd her a shade.
Fortune and luck on her did lay.
Her generosity had never fade,
But a but remain'd a say.
Lucifer's face she wore,
Wrath and fury lent her no fight.
Even honour and seats she bore.
Yet, a but lodge in her site.
Here tarry'd my arguement:
Must this demon boastfully exist?
For so long he had ham'd our merry'ment.
Prescribe me a pill, else the arguement
persist.
Joyfully, should we in this circle?
Or by construction, intuities alternates a
triangle? .
C.2017
You’ve drastically missed your
Philosopher's Stone
Long time ago,
At an ancient past
Since that time
Your face was
Filled with some
Unbearable
Dark rays
Since that time
Your eyes were
Craving for some
Vein alternates
To equate this
Ultimate loss
Since that time
Your heart was
Transformed into
A lightless cave
Since that time
You devilishly swallowed
Countless animals
That come about you
To fill your hunger
He and she
Everybody and everything
On this Universe
Are now engulfed
By your Darkest Rays
.....
.....
Could you wake up,
At any point in time,
And completely erase your
Black facial seams
To make your face
Bright and blissful?
Could you come out
Of your dark and deep cave
And sincerely seek the
Help of the sun
To search your P-stone?
And,
By this faithful search
Could you find your
Philosopher's stone,
At any point in time,
To blissfully regain your
Golden life?
As I sit and try to imagine,
I look and find another distraction,
find there's a fly in my poetry soup,
quite like a Michael Phelps swimming laps
around like an Olympian champion,
he must think he's pretty cool
using my bowl of soup like a swimming pool,
as I disdainfully sit here and watch him
while drinking my glass of coke,
he swims figure 8's and alternates
between freestyle and the backstroke,
once again I try to think of a poem verse
as the fly swims and winks at me, what nerve!
then he slows down and does the doggie paddle
looking like he's treading the soup waters for awhile,
finally he stops and looks mercifully at me,
and as he goes under I count to three,
the fly in my soup is finally gone,
once again I can concentrate and carry on.
Earlier Days
Written: by Tom Wright
7-19-2016
The sweet scent of remembrance,
Alternates between past and present;
As I summon thoughts of youth,
When time was ours,
I stare at images of life, as two, united.
Understanding that,
The years can never be reclaimed,
Just remembered;
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