Best Timenight Poems
Spirit of the night
Spirit of the night soil man
Spirit of the night soil man is awake
Spirit of the night soil man is abroad,
Here, the emerging mystery, more a sinister from a
dungeon,
When twilight sat on sad rooftops,
Lurking eyes, creeping limbs in the damp backyards,
To Loo looking gunt in the gloomy moonlight
Where broiling broths in chamberpots and bedpans are
emptied.
A structure of planks led upstairs
Ushering to crouch in a crouching mode,
Over hot hole on the pedestial,
Displaying buttocks lob over poe
Began the winced and windy screeching sirocco,
Screaming complaining bass and solo guitars,
Can be irksome when catch unawares
Of habitual sacrificial ritual of defecating,
On other hand, when afflicted in fora,
Go gawky limping along all the way
Any convenience found,
Unleashed mixed vortex of dark diarrhoea,
Ascendancy of curl buxom python laid,
Windy circular terra-cotta thin rope
And from top, short brief beef cake grenade drop,
After, some bruisers clean with dry cardboard
Or old newspapers that headline "Hard Times"
All add up sure riches to wealth,
Well soughted out after in heap chest.
Last night,
just last night I wish
again she was here
I thought it would be best
I wonder this is a sign
and I took notice
and begin to feel the energy
Only last night I looked up
to that Star
There was none
other shining
brighter and coming to life
once again
She flash before me,
I reached
with both hands thinking
of her tragedy,
she was involved in
Only if I could pull her
beside me in that moment
before she drift away
Dreaming in sorrow, I
woke up it was raining
tears in June
I watch
as whispers
of smoke
curl up into
the stratosphere
then, it was as if
the night seemed to yawn,
a great mouth of darkness,
swallowed the day
another moment, was recorded
and cataloged
to be digested by the future
but always, held in a voided past
as the smoke
over history thickened
and night and day
turned to meet,
face to face
and back to back
I wondered why it is
that so many people
live in the past ?,
when we are all laying
over the silver hands
of a timepiece,
in a pocket
made of moments
shining up ahead
is a dreamtime of
‘Could Be’s’
and it awaits,
calling us all
into the fall of tomorrow
Riding on a steed of black
Comes the Prince of Dusk
The night navy at his heels
A cheeky smile sweeps across his lips
As pastel paints the sky
Silently he slips off his horse
The night navy on alert
He bids goodnight to all creatures
And tucks them into bed
Now it's playtime for the Prince
Hither and thither the Dusk Prince Skips
Prancing amongst the pines
Then he spies his father rising
And clambers on his steed
He hurries home to supper
The prince's playtime has now ended
Father night and his men have taken charge
The soldiers canter across the land
All chatter ceases when the king arises
His reign has now begun
Form:
Pictures of the past
Ehoes of the future
Dreams or reality.
Every night the fight goes on trying to separate the past from the future.
Given only so much quite time to sort and put into order what is, what was and
what will be.
You awaken feeling refreshed not knowing the impact of your dreams, knowing only
the way you must go.
Every night the rush goes on sorting your day to help you find your way, before the
light of morning awakes you.
Awake now to a clear mind and the knowledge of that nights sleep.
Your journey has just started, but never will it end.