Gateway Poems - Poems about Gateway

I thought that I had matured enought to have the strenght within me To look and accept reality I thought I could look into the eyes of past and accept that it has passed Old camera i haven’t picked up in months is my only gateway to past regrets and memmories Vision blured with tears I can’t get past...

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Whispers of fingers an apparitions touch took residence inside my mirrored bones frantic rationale is a skeletal destination crunchy landing of hard fossil dust This sad beast of remains stands low in the sag dry tears of sand drips down to mandible mayhem its remnant clothing, phalanges hanging in defeat while random flutist sings it's hollow tune Fleshly hand, the kindly...

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Toiling around the town I grew up in. Never knew there was another way. My footsteps followed those before, keeping my ship anchored at bay. Staring out on the horizon and noticing far off lands in the distance. Dreaming about a journey, but couldn't fathom risking my existence. Maybe I can draw up a plan...

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Ripples of gawk and gaze splendour, at one’s fingertips eternally, cornucopia an instant dream float, golden gust garner without rein, indulgent Pysche extract from nirvana, but voyage of the quadrille quill, on impact whilst a glittering weave, admission of luxurious environment, a stimulus awakening the verse vendor, bursts of benevolent vista stoic, enigmatic present minute float on by, capture, rapture, entranced, hue spike, glorious basket of heaven...

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Look into the eyes, Dark colored gate, flame and greed, Eyes reflect the soul....

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Wind can be a bit pushy at times Though I would be first to admit of needing nudges in different directions inclined to linger too long under shady canopy or at the seashore gazing off into dreamy horizon my mind inclined toward repainting sunsets rearranging stars into unique constellations or writing poetry strictly for sojourners each poem a gateway to ports further unknown...

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Outside the sanctum, clenched teeth, tension, a sense of being spun slowly, in comical ocean drift Bobbed cork barely able to rein my orientation. Luckily, current flux of haphazard happening flapped a variable vantage. Blown as though...

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My passage, sometimes narrow, the other times wide, I know it's a vent through which I glide and slide; It's my opening; it's my passage; my birthright, Through this, I witness my liberty light and bright...! The entrance; exit; Through this, I go straight or bend, My communication; my web; mild and wild blend; It's my progress; my success; my...

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I remember the days before spring break being pregnant with buzzes Of stirring summer drafts that rubbed elbows with me in the museum, in that hotel in St. Louis Where his visage turned a new leaf of mine Where resting my head on his stomach brought forth a budding youth Which should’ve produced a flower But instead yielded a blister That...

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Gateway town, Mississippi and Missouri river flooding confluence, with its celebration of manifest destiny, its looming, iconic archway. Stainless westward marker, its culture flowed southward for influence within the lawn-jockey, pink flamingo neighborhoods of moral decay. T.S, Eliot, Darren Wilson, William Burroughs, Dick Gregory, Phyllis Schlafly, just like all my childhood companions who remained on the plantation. With all...

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Be still and know that I am who I am and I know the comings and the goings of your heart Behold the scepter and embrace the light within you I am the fire that stokes your emotions and if you allow me I can calm your worse storms and ease your tears Believe in the...

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The paths I walk, I trace them with my mind... They are made and remade... other paths are shortened for strange reasons to our judgment... free paths in which all pass and repass... crooked paths are inventions of men... the heavenly paths, are gifts from heaven, the paths of life and light, they are works of God! The paths are, tests and awards that we must walk... !...

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Two Dogs at the Gateway By Sy Roth They slurped their saliva, huge globs, big, barking mouthfuls dripping from their jowls like milky icicles Teeth-bared lips, They guarded the gateway. Pleased by their vacated spittle, their noses now sniffed the air, and like a marching band of electric ants they ogled the nearing invader. Anew, the soppy, conglomeration of spittle wells at their...

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''With hailing glory, forever, I pray --unto God's treasured gateway.''...

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November, as the poets say - autumn's demise, winter's gateway. Its shortened days and longer nights descending, death is in her sights: leaves fall, as is their yearly fate, while beasts prepare to hibernate. November, as my lady lies so silent, moving not her eyes - with ashen skin, lips cold as death, I wait in vain to feel her breath. Her soul immortal, this...

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