|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
I can hear the silence again
I can take back the time to think, to feel, to just
breathe.
I have held out my hand to slow down time
and I have floated back down to myself
returned to my body for a while, you see;
I am here just on loan.
I dont know if I can lose myself again,
lose myself to the fear of living, fear of the inevitable, fear of pain inescapable
so I think I'm just gonna ride on out on this illusion wave
and, you know-
If you find a rock to cling to, and it breaks away suddenly, and you find another
rock to cling to,
and it also uproots itself as well,
and you feel uneasy without solid ground
you gotta just learn how to be at ease with floating
till you gather the courage to fly away
into the unknown
and pardon my sudden departure.
but the next flight is at 12 sharp
and its already a quarter to midnight
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
The trail of the dying sun
told me of your tears
and the west wind
brought me your name
The river spoke
of all our fears
the ocean
felt the same
The earth waits to receive your bones
and your spirit be cradled by sky
all we are is dust and thought
dust and thought until we die
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2005
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
If the lovely breeze had a name
we could drift together as two dandelion wishes
floating wanton on foamy winds.
If the river were rolling, gently
we could slide in and swim
for hours, without rushing
and love is like that.
Love is like still water
standing so deep in a vessel
yet so easily broken upon the smallest of stones;
scattered, and yet-
from this another river begins
(as you begin)
How lovely if you had a name
I would call out to you
and I would hear your reply as
the wind blowing, the water rushing
and not your echoes
as you trickled across so many small, jagged stones
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
Grandmother sits in her rocking chair
nearly as old as she
ragged patches of scrap spread across her lap.
She tells stories from her eighty years of senescence,
of faces now aged, some no longer bound by this earth
as though they were still enjoying the blessings of youth-
as fresh in her mind as the daisies and buttercups I picked for her this morning
and placed beside her chair;
its occasional accompanying squeaks affirming her words from time to time.
She did not know then that she was sewing two blankets for me;
weaving quilts of words
from patterns of memories
patching good times to bad
making one smooth blanket of emotions.
The needle stings-it's true
but only so little by comparison
to the warmth it provides
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
An old man, worn and wearied by the toils of life,
stood alone in a darkened hallway,
each wall hung with brightly lit paintings.
He walked by the Mona Lisa, and as he passed
he knew the reason for her smile.
He paused before Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt,
and the air seemed to be sweetly scented with the heavy perfume of roses, which pulled at his soul with soft, wraithlike arms.
He stopped.
The world seemed to shrink away from him,
dissolving into nothingness.
Before him was Van Gogh's "Starry Night"
Its yellow paint looked wet, vivid.
The blue rippled as the colours swirled
together, hypnotizing; the old man transfixed
by their mesmerizing beauty
as he was swept up into their whirling splendor,
leaving the blue-shadowed hallway silent and empty,
as the pale stars wavered on in cold brilliance
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2005
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
Well it's sad to say, that this ugly duckling
never grew into anything more than an ugly duck
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2005
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
Wandering traveller of the night
Occult creature,
your velvet butterfly tongue leaves thoughts lingering in my mind
as visions of obscured beauty pass before me,
in the shadow of your smile
hypnotic, illuminating
to pluck the thoughts out of the void
like petals from divine lotus
streams of consciousness pool, playing before our shimmering eyes
in crescent moon lullaby
melodic rhythm of throbbing life,
spinning illusion
illuminated in violet luster
revealing truth hidden in images of splendor
every hue brilliantly diffused
in the immensity of an unshattered silence
fragmented bliss,
I sleep, lulled deeply in Morpheus' embrace
and so I ask you,
if I am a child of the light why do I feel so at home in the dark?
falling tears die delicately
as you told me that
today is the child of yesterday and tomorrow
innocence, captured peacefully
formed with golden bough.
Strange, twilight child,
lost in your mercurial pleasure
set free my naked soul
shivering, into darkened night
ascending on stairways of delirium
to the orphaned city of stars
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2005
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
monarch butterfly
breathing regal in colours
black, white, and orange
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2006
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
When radiant blooms of springtime abound
in every humble garden grows
many a fancier flower to be found
though noblest is still the rose
How gently do the ivy vines cling
like sunshine on mossy walls
how lovely does the little bird sing
his sweet, throaty enthralls
Where blazing morning glories climb
in shades of violet and blue
they grow like memories entwined
with seasons spent here with you
In a springtime of soft lovers' strolls
we walked the garden path
across verdant and dewy knolls
echoed the river's laugh
As we grow old and lose our faith
there is a truth that will console
the footsteps of our fleeting youth
leave balmy imprints on our souls
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2005
|
Details |
Meggan Rogalski Poem
A is for angry atheist angst
B- you're bleeding bruised broken taking your allowance to the bank
C is for cutting, crimson and crying
D is for daemons, death, darkness, and dying
E is for everything gone wrong in your life
F is the freedom you find in the knife
G is for gothic, straight from the womb
H is for the latest hawthorne heights tune
I is for immortal- you've commited suicide ten times already
J is for the jaded and emotionally unsteady
K is the knife you "accidentally" misplaced
L is for losers, lost life and lace
M is for makeup that cakes up your face
N is the nightlight to keep away the dark you "embrace"
O is because you're obviously obscure
P is for poetry or prose- you're not sure
Q is for quiet, you sit all alone
R is for razors when no one picks up the phone
S is for screamo you can't get enough
T is for tears damn, being fourteen is tough!
U is for ubiquitous mental disease
V is for vacant vacuous vampire wanna-be's
W is for whiny,well-fed suburbanite teens
X is for Xanax- you know what it means
Y is for youth spent all about you and your anhedonia
No diamond in the rough, you're just another cubic zirconia
Copyright © Meggan Rogalski | Year Posted 2006
|
|