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Daniel Tate Poem
As I lay in bed there dreaming.
Lowered down in silent screaming.
into a world of silent shadowed shores.
In the waters bleak and freezing.
In a time I wander teasing.
Seeking out the life I so desperately sought before.
Then a tree so distant tall.
leaves that tumbled unto a call.
Lightly falling glades of silvery seeds,
glistening upon the shadow shaded shore.
Reality it came to me.
The time that left the time that be.
insightful colors joyous glee
growing life from guilt of battered devils door.
Whence there upon a breath I took.
A whitened light the shadow shook.
Smiles greeting journey of time that lie before.
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
How are you doing?
I'm fine how are you doing?
I'm fine how are you?
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
A confused heart. Confused by meaning. Words that fall into a ravine of of saturated hopes. Are they defined by my aspirations? Frequent the questions arise. I dare not look at her radiance. Twisted the explanations become. Wondering all the while. Shaking away the tremors from the indulgence of fantasy. Can she? Would she? Dreaming of a break from solitude. Passions running a awry. Palms glistening with fear. Rhetorical my thoghts be. And courage finding no tongue. Purposeless poetry. What does she mean? What does she feel? The confused heart sighs. All I am births all I can be. And I ask... Where did she go? The pain returns. And I prepare for the lonely night. Solitude once more. A saturated pillow of foolishness.
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Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
Whispering winds whistle softly through amber moores. Babbling brooks of billowing blue dreams folded back on timeless quanderings. Refreshing swirls of waters quench my very soul. Light ponders the darkness, a foe to each neither has known. Sparkling golden sphere has thou shined upon a dark so dismal drear. To a sullen peace you find your place to the comfort of thine eyes. Wrap me in your blessed blues. Fill me with your sunlit shine. Do I know not my place in your schemes?
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
Spin swirling pinwheels cities of stars.
Shining summits of never ending suns in the infinite swath of time.
Nebulous mists churning out suns.
Giving their glows of reds and blues, purplish hues, and glimmering golden yellows.
Bending back blinding black points where times light is eternally consumed.
Nuetrons pulsing out glows like light house beacons on unending sandy shores.
Ever silent you drift through the black void.
Dying orbs giving birth to clouds of untold eons.
Stars as numberous as the sands.
The attraction bends.
I am of your essence.
You twinkle in my mind.
And I can not fathom your immensity.
Nor would I wish too.
Your splender lies in your mystery.
I refuse to undermind your awe.
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
Servants of enlightenment, do not confuse thy will of thine eyes. For upon you lies a deceptive malice. Fortitude of thine ears deafens your malicous tone. Longevity in thy words escapes thy logical conciseness. Delude thy dreams on spheres of flaxen gold. For my words lack meaning. Silvery beams of moonlit swirls crescent the mind of the weary guest, for indulgence is rampant. Questionable plees. Run beside me O foreign ground and plot your way of life. Distilled in my mind is the wine of your concepts. Treacherous words form from the froth of conscious indecision, though beautiful are their play. And I wonder is there any meaning to be found? Surely the pen entangels the soul. Delve deep into sheets of pulpified wood. Giving glory to thy hearts of the counseled grace. Spinning spirits of indignation before the helplessness of the blue eyed demon. Rot in your love of foolish scutiny. Foreshadow the absence of thine own meaning.
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
Crucibles of tattered thorns intrests silenece of feverish scorns. Watered down rivers of loosely washed words woven which wander for weakening tranquility. Cascading into the pantheon of precipitating poet promises never finding grounds of solidity. Promises broken. Eternally the immortal sand is sieved. Roots find no hold. Blushes exchanged for the loss of words sanity, comprehending not, that which is bearing no fruit. Sighs afloat on blooms of brushed breezes blowing through the mind with a feverish pitch. A change of key the notes deafen the heart. Disturbing thoughts portrayed in the eye of ones mind as hellish scapes of monotonous crimes fill the heart of the humbled head. There is no going back. Destroyed works of slumbered art wither to rushing waters of wounded love. I have lost hope. Isolated secrets swim in a lot of desturbed lies which wicked deeds do not appease. No Comfort for the diseased works belated in times gone past. She has lied. Folly her actions be, raping the indicitive spirit that once beheld my being. The mirror unjustly blames me. And it curses the sight of thine eyes. She belittles me in tongues of foreign descent. My mind is slipping. Shadows now light the difference uncertain. The world seems a shallow place and I reside in a plethora of painful pins poking at my prostituted passions. I draw ever near the cliff that quickens my arrival. Struck out is the marrow from my bones nothing of substance can reside within. Hollow is the vessel quandering it's own demise. Mind in a fog I sit at the window, staring at life that no longer contemplates meaning in the grand hall of the emptiness were I once dwelled. Searching for importance in my soul in nothing but darkness. If the reaper comes tonight I care not. Why must I reap what she has sown? No reason for questions, I no longer care. Forgive me all I wish is to be whole agin and remove the pins from my distraught impovereshed personality. Slowly life returns. But my mind remains broken.
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
A voice from a distance. From lands far away. Giving purpose to my day and hope to my dreams. She calls from hidden windows in a landscape unseen. Her words paint a tapestry of feelings thoughts reflected in thy memory. My conscious is swimming with the delight of her charm. A fair maiden this woman be. Giving compassion to those in need and kindness to the hardened. Her heart knows no bounds. She is the light of beauty. A phoenix to the one that is all. Rebirthing and instilling the love we forget. I rise from her ashes. A crowning ruby in a delirious kiss of gratitude for what can be. If only thy soul knew such a masterpiece. A word I have not heard but a message I hear. A lesson to listen to. Where did the gods devise such a plan as this. The tree gives way to the river and the stars burn out and fade but her wisdom is eternal. She is a queen. The moon cry's a crystaline sphere of rainbowed haze haloed about her head. And she shines with a billiance and envious is the sun. Bestill the heart of mother earth and listen to her plee. Serenity now and silence the ravenous mind. For she speaks. And time hangs on her every word. Her friendship is near despite the distance and for this I am truely thankful.
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
Whiten the ground O freaky freezing frost. Crunch under thy feet, in a feverishly flowing fountain of bristly bleak crystals. Boughs glimmering with water trapped in it's flow. Solidified in the hands of a angered sprites chillingly tough temprate touch. Leaves linger no more where green grew and glistened and shards now grow their jagged spikes. Icy dust blows from a sky engulfed in a gloom of grey. Cut me to marrow air of wonderfully wicked cold, crisp and lacking in fragrance for the flower blooms no more. Dark your days become O world as I seek warmth from the golden yellow sun. But the orb visits less each shortening day and his radiance does little. The brook flows under a sheet of frozen glass, and the birds find no song. The night comes forth ever sooner. And the screech of the owl breaks the silence of the lonely dim wood. Sounds of emptiness. The cricket sings no song. And the only scent on the wind is the pine sighing in destitute for the withered oak to join chorus but the oak finds no voice. The wolf howls seeking romance under the wide wildly waxing white moon.
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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Daniel Tate Poem
I lie her with nothing to say.
My mind is empy.
My bed gives no comfort.
I lack the energy to dream.
The poetry cannot flow.
My heart is dry
Where words dwelt confusion is now enthroned.
I know the words will come, but time finds no ground.
I hold on for imagination to take flight.
But blocked is my mind.
Surely the ravenous emptiness will give way to fruit.
What sense is there with no words?
I am all a blank.
Does not the muse aspire to grant an inspired kiss?
Art seems a foreign dialect.
I rip away one idea after another.
That was no good.
Articulate words articulate.
Do not squander your rhetoric meanings.
Maybe the dawns light will hold virtue.
Till then the stars glimmer in thy dreams.
Copyright © Daniel Tate | Year Posted 2012
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