I try not to let myself ask:
Would I be happier if you’d walked away?
If you didn’t turn around
If you’d gone another way
I try to just complete my tasks:
Be happy, be kind, be satisfied
but something seems to be standing in my way
A Shadow - cast upon the wall from a tinged vanity mirror
screaming aloud all my fears
I’m not afraid of dying alone
I’m just afraid of letting go
The moon spilling through the blinds is our only light
It’s too dark for you to see me -
crying - ever so silently
I don’t know what I want
but I don’t need to not be alone
I’d rather rot in my corner than venture out into the world
and risk someone smelling the staleness of my soul
rotten, old
dead and cold
better off where you’d left me,
unable to hurt anyone else
when it’s just me
alone
no one’s wrists to cut but my own
A pain I deserve
from a sadness unjustified
from reading too much into the lines
a pain self-inflicted
by a mind broken and twisted
to this blood -
I am addicted
Silence………A solemn hush
except
for
insects
running
amongst the jade green grass
and the large invasive vines.
Large cypress trees,
stately and tall,
throw shadows around me
as I wend my way
along the lonely lanes
of moss-covered, musty-smelling tombs
careful not to touch the poison ivy
or admire the wisteria vines.
People do visit here,
for look, bunches of flowers
adorn the place,
emitting scents to try and nullify
the staleness of the resting place.
Headstones obliterated by the wind,
makes me wonder who lies beneath.
Was she beautiful and tall?
Ugly and short?
What does it matter now?
For all I care she could have been
beautiful and short.
But some things do matter
in our personal short earthly time.
All that matters is
what we do with our life.
Death holds no sting, really.
But
don’t
touch
the poison ivy.
Here I once am again,
Resting where there's true peace
But not in the way you would imagine
Let me go on and explain.
Others accept the usuality of reality
But to I, I think beyond such staleness
Things that embody greatness.
The way that the trees are complete with their leaves
Is how I feel sanity
When the mind is at ease.
Where it can scatter and be free.
That's my own little fun curated reality,
Well, outside the outside world.
The air is foetid and breathing is so difficult.
The open window allows floating debris,
To spread its pungent staleness over all.
It’s a difficult struggle for sunlight to shine
Through the clouded fog we must inhale.
I see more pallid faces of people at the portal.
Where I read trees and flowers once grew,
Is now an industrial slum with a thick oil slick,
Oozing across the land, dead trees pillaged.
A cemetery for what once was, a thing called beauty.
Nothing that can be described that way still exists.
Farms had to die in the regal name of progress.
Oceans of fish polluted and poisoned, whales extinct.
No sand left on our beaches, Coral reefs destroyed.
Shorelines stinking and black, streams contaminated.
Waters have risen and islands sunk into the seas.
A novelty to see one of the remaining birds,
Concrete replaced something they used to call grass.
Praise the pharmaceutical manufacturers
Producing pills with vitamins to feed us and keep us alive.
I cast these concepts
I cast these kernels
Kernels in my hand
Kernels in the clay
Clay of loam
Clay of words
Words to describe
Words packed
Packed with exegesis
Packed with strength
Strength of scavenging
Strength of crowd
Crowd of swarms
Crowd of staleness
Staleness with enthusiasm
Staleness with bluntness
Bluntness of prediction
Bluntness of demeanor
Demeanor with smile
Demeanor of delight
Delight in adventure
Delight of writing
Writing of nursery stories
Writing of poetry
Poetry from heart
Poetry for show
Show of pride
Show of faith
Faith in progression
Faith in aestheticism
Aestheticism in connoisseurship
Aestheticism of spirit
Spirit to convince
Spirit with zoanthropy
Zoanthropy from hysteria
Zoanthropy of diabolical
Diabolical in a cave
Diabolical of power
Power to rule
Power to deceive
Deceive with attempt
Deceive to mislead
Mislead unfair impression
Mislead into thinking
Thinking about calm
Thinking about success
Success isn't happiness
Success isn't wealth
Wealth
Happiness
it's teeth
some jaw around
my head, biting
baiting an air beast
wintering wind
anaconda squeeze
of miserly monsters
that I'm dragging
as I walk and wings
whose tips stipple
cheeks, reddening
through slow-mo
torture but somehow
that winter stroll
hidden critters galore
is a glorious break
beckoning staleness
from stolid afternoons
Some bits and pieces. Stoleness doesn't empower one to
gain material goods, financial and emotional leverages some
are disloyal—possession over someone Stoleness.
Abducted along with one's self-confidence and innermost thoughts
and deepest sentiments will be revealed for safekeeping.
Demoralized and staleness broken trust in addition to anything
so on and on, and so forth Stoleness has causes and effects,
lessons learned? intuitive conception, and conclusion that Stoleness
is forbidden.
A cobwebby, antiquated and
moldy. Folded pages marked by
dried tears and pressed flower
from an unforgettable love from
former sweetheart.
A classical romance, aged and
lovingly kept in between the
layers and pages, with yellowish
color from pressed flower. A memory
of a deceitful stained sin heart, left
no traces in the midsts, except,
Old scent of love poetry book at times,
overwhelming the senses, the sweet
fragrance of staleness, haunting, the
old crispy pressed flowers, reminiscing
the nostalgic love, hanging in mid-air.
It tricks the sense of smell, mind
and heart, agreed that the old scent
of poetry, still swirling the fragrance
of a lost love, haunting a desolate
soul, still longing for him to return..
©aroque
All rights reserved
I run to clear my mind
Of life’s extremely stressful day
Freeing my thoughts of all
Negativity and the clogging of my brains
I run to cleanse my soul
Sweating out all toxins and impurities
Rejuvenating my body’s energy
Taking it to new heights
I run to clear away all confusion
That’s deep in my thoughts
An replace them with positivity
So, the good energy will soak inside
I run to feel the breeze upon my face
And feel the whispers of the wind
Stroking my body as if
It was coming from someone’s touch
Heat, sweat or cold cradles me as
I pick up my running pace
According to the seasons
While I smell the freshness or
Staleness of the air’s divine
With each step I take
I begin to pound out my fears
And disappointments
As I run, I take control of
Each breath I take
To survive each path I take
In life, as I run
Waking up to the
smell of sweaty socks
much like a locker room
at the gym.
Took my morning brew outside -
relieving my lungs of the staleness
of a closed room.
The air much to be
a relief as I watch the clouds
and trees moving in a world
of continual change.
Nothing ever to stay the same
except for change - and fresh morning
air cooling my brew - good thing
to be living alone - who else
could put up with the stench
of sweaty socks - or a stale room?
there's a black cloud in my house
and i'm screaming
and dreaming on what might have been
there's no sunshine within these walls
and i'm crying
and there's no denying i'm going to fall
there's a song that plays in my lonely room
and i'm screeching
wailing along for i know every word
there's a staleness to the air
and i'm gasping
breathe in, breathe out, but don't ever stop
there's sticky floors in my abode
and i'm trippin
memories of bitter days stick to my boots
there's an echo within these walls
and i'm silent
rubber rooms call to me come rest friend
and i'm not lonely
but i am a bit scared
and i'm not lonely
but i am slightly impaired
I must have left the window up
For a creature came inside.
She was bright and beautiful, with ornate wings;
You would never believe your eyes.
"What are you doing here, little thing?
The meadow is your home.
You are much too stunning, lovely, wonderful,
To be in the dreary dome.
But you might just be the perfect thing
To give this house some light."
So I fetched a jar of transparent glass,
And lured her in without a fight.
She flapped and fluttered in her crystal lodge,
Inducing the cat to the table.
I then moved her up to a safer place
Where she was seen but not obtainable.
This should keep the critter safe;
Secure and snug in her own bubble.
No dangers shall she ever face:
No killers, no storms, no trouble.
A week had passed with my radiant guest
Though I hadn't much observed it.
I was far too busy tending other things
To notice every flit.
Then one day while knitting it was grimly silent,
And staleness filled my mug.
I sat 'til I finished my husband's sweater
Then got up to check the bug.
How long was she like this? I gasped,
As I cringed with utter disgust.
Nothing was left of her but folded wings,
For her body had turned to dust.
Flame trees flicker on way into town
but nothing kindles their flames to excite
the sleepy town set in its dampened, dank frown.
All the folks lie barricaded behind trenches
of never to be forgotten fights and campaigns
about, noise, litter, dogs and fences.
'Smile and wave' the response to encounters.
Gossip and tattle-tail endless behind closed doors,
for everyone knows everything, and about everyone blabbers.
Nothing changes, nothing excites, change on timeout.
The town heart's pace is fixed on 'set in ones ways'.
Everything in its place, nothing to catch fire, the pilot snuffed out.
The flame trees bloom anew each spring
blinding weary drivers entering the town,
sparing them the sight of sameness, staleness, tedium within.
How brittle is the vessel of my boundless dreams
When briny waves crash longingly upon the shore
Of wisdom drenched in lust for peace! It seems
As though its hull has been consumed or pierced in war.
The sun is faint. The stars have died away and must
Have slowly slipped into the caving pit of space,
Whence certainty of will cannot escape the rust
On swords unfit to win a long and futile race.
The herded thoughts of ill and brutish minds are high
Upon the firmament where sanguine words should dwell,
And never can dry truth beset and burn the lie
Encased in gold on heavy monuments from hell.
Where staleness dwells, so does the antiphon of sand,
Outspread in layers, thick upon the ocean floor,
Unbending in its ruthless rage, resolved to strand—
Upon the rim of night—the fated ship of lore.
At last, what little love remains must ebb and face
The unsuspended void enveloping faint hope,
And then succumb to the pale ghost who wields the mace,
Or even hang by a most sturdy silken rope.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
I find it quite strange
how so many people
desire drastic change:
Change would be so simple!
Change would be terrific!
Yet when I ask them,
what kind of change,
they leave out specifics
saying,
"Change is what we need
and change is for the better!
Staleness has gotten old
like an ugly Christmas sweater!
At this point in time
any change at all
would most likely do;
I care not what that entails
just as long as it's something
shiny and new!"
But pray tell, I'd wish you stop and ponder
what it is you're convinced is greener
out there in yonder.
Bigger house? Shinier car?
More fashionable attire?
Perhaps some allusive 'she'
whose heart you could admire?
Some people want to change
until the day they die.
While old-fashioned me,
can't help but wonder why?
Let us never exercise the thought of changing!
Let us be as mountain rivers ceaselessly flowing!
Do you recall what the seed said
before it became a tree:
some dream of changing,
I dream of growing.
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.