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Maygin Creekmore Poem
My head spins and I zone out.
This storm rants and raves,
Tossing me violently to and fro'.
I struggle to go forward,
Only to be taken aback.
Surrounded by vivid memories,
I can't evade myself.
I am unable to see straight.
I can't walk,
Let alone walk a straight line.
I'm bound to this raging sea of
Pain and confusion and self- repremand
For something I could not have helped
At such a young age.
A young soul, a young heart;
A young mind, old flashbacks.
I'm wasting my time
Trying to get free.
There is no way out.
This is not a dream.
The crashing of the waves remind me,
Constantly renewing the sound in my mind of
The gunshot that rang out so clearly.
I fall,
Reminding myself that he fell;
He fell hard.
Was it the drugs?
Was it depression, agony of the soul?
Was he lonely?
Was it anything at all?
Again, I hear the waves hit the rocks.
Again, I am reminded of the gunshot.
Again, I'm tossed here and there.
Again, I fall.
Again, my head spins.
Again, I zone out.
Then I do it all over again.
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2012
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
As the thorn pricks the butterfly, and
As the clouds cover the moon,
A child wails at the crack of the pistol.
The shot rings out so loud and clear.
As the blood descends from the butterfly's wing, and
As the tears drip from the heavens,
The life drains from the open wounds of
Another shattered family.
The crimson stains and blots the floor.
The cries of the gods rings high from above,
The salt water soaking the earth.
Another child deserted.
Another wife, mother betrayed.
An empty hole where her head used to lay
Is now covered as the memories are pushed away.
The mourners are haunted by the tragedy
As they try to reassure themselves that
It was all just a dream.
Her shadow still lingers;
He rests behind bars.
The butterfly falls, never to fly again;
The moon is hidden incessantly,
Light forever suppressed.
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2012
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
I glide carelessly, smoothly, and contently through the deep, dark, murky lake water,
Not knowing that the devious, mysterious, and ruthless hunter is quickly approaching
With the sole intent to plot against his prey then mercilessly yet blissfully slaughter and
Not knowing that today I will meet my maker; I will be the victim he is poaching.
Down my undetermined, winding path through the weeds and small schools I saunter,
Gleefully blowing my bubbles and creating my carefree traveler’s tune, but
I halt in my water trail at the first hint of the presence of the fearfully dreaded haunter.
The hunted cannot evade the condemning temptations of the beast treading the lagoon.
The renowned blue attraction is easily distinguished and catches my attention at once.
I repetitiously bark commandments at myself to move on and ignore the dazing bait but
It entices me, causing a controversial, internal, real battle where there are no fronts.
Back and forth I sway, losing grip on my sanity; I feel suppressed by a heavy weight.
It is simply a mind game that none have overcome and I foresee my despairing fate.
I lose control and dart after the blue wonder out of desperation just to reach it and
To be able to experience adventure derived from curiosity and a purely rebellious state.
The frightful chase begins, puzzling me as the tricky figure eases up yet refuses to quit.
Though I am apprehensive of moving forward I decide to pursue the shadowy feature.
It is like I am racing from the law toward my drug and I know I am about to be booked.
I am gaining on the insistent critter when I glance at the bank to see a giant creature.
Ignoring it, I catch the blue bit, chomp down, and immediately realize: I am hooked.
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2012
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
Wither,
Wither and die,
Said I, to the flower,
Your purpose in life is what?
To beautify,
To beautify the land?
Inquired I of the flower,
Would that be your reason for existence?
Wither,
Wither and die,
Commanded I to the flower,
Should your beauty forever live?
Answer,
Answer me!
Pleaded I to the flower,
What has your destiny shown?
Should your beauty thrive?
Should your beauty thrive forever?
Wondered I of the flower,
Or should the Earth wither and crumble?
Wither,
Wither and die I shall,
Said the flower to me,
Should I live forever, only you may know.
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2011
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
so they seek the sorcerer;
so they seek the sorcerer's stone,
masked in malignant malice,
savoring in the sacrifice of singed souls,
preying on power with passion,
dauntlessly drowning deeply in delirium.
quoted questions and questionable quests
drive them with defiant desire and
pride and pandemonium push them parlously
to tantalize, taunt, and tease;
to tear down the tallest of the towers, and
to cause catastrophic chaos.
they foster future generations with failure and
kill kindness with a desolate kismet.
they lead as a luminary of loathing.
they ponder pathetic, pandering paradoxes.
no longer do they lead with lies.
they now rest in rebellious retribution.
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2011
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
Maygin Creekmore
>>> SOUND MADNESS <<<
The sweet sound cannot escape me
As it encircles my mind and caresses my soul.
The noise glides gently across the land:
Flowing smoothly with the rivers,
Escalating with the rolling hills, and
Popping with the mountains.
The sweet melody turns violent,
As though it were of crashing nightmares.
Bittersweet it may be,
A trained ear could easily decipher
the madness from the beauty.
It never ends.
Amazement as the notes fade
Softly across the earth.
The end of the song has arrived.
Still there is no instrument
That could ever be more triumphant.
There is no sound more royal.
The Trumpet.
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2011
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
Feeling so lonely and left in despair;
Suffocating in this thin dry air
That's been stolen from me.
My hope and my love and all of my care
Has desiccated, disseminated, and completely disappeared.
It's been stolen from me.
My heart and soul ache terribly and are forlorn.
I may not live to see another morning.
My life's been stolen from me.
Since I have no life to live anymore,
I might as well say goodbye, but
My words have been stolen from me.
So confused; I don't know what to do.
One thought remains: to end the pain.
My serenity has been stolen from me.
I run with this one thought in mind.
I end it all in bitter suicide.
My perseverance has been stolen from me.
I leave a note with just a few lonely words.
In tear-blotted ink a single line did read:
Everything's been stolen from me.
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2012
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
Listens when it is not time to speak
Open to trust and caring gestures
Vivacious instead of desicated
Everlasting, neverending
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2011
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
The water, calm and slow, reflects
Memories of here and of there:
Those of climbing tall, steep mountains
And those of crossing low valleys;
The water, freezing cold, contains
Forever life’s dark untold secrets
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2011
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Maygin Creekmore Poem
A person's last breath
Should be that
Of an Autumn leaf
Gently gliding
To land serenely on
Earth's surface.
Doubt is like
A cold wind's whisper
Declaring it's presence,
Whisking the beautiful leaf
In two directions:
For it floats toward
The abyss and the heavens.
As much as one
Does truly doubt
One equally yearns to believe,
And as the leaf disseminates
In a sort of malign peace,
We fall apart.
Copyright © Maygin Creekmore | Year Posted 2011
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