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Nicholas Miller Poem
Tyrannosaurus!
Formerly an ancient King,
Now wooden sculpture...
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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Nicholas Miller Poem
Alas poor crows squawk
Folk seizing both town and streets
Beckoning summer
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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Nicholas Miller Poem
The egghead sipped his eggnog alongside his snack of eggplant and gazed upon the eglantines, it was not an ego-trip, just the basic adventure of living
enchanting in its essence he was delighted with his senses
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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Nicholas Miller Poem
Butterfly of night
Unavoidable is darkness
Destined to the light
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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Nicholas Miller Poem
His body is a palace; A beautiful palace,
With no woman to share it with on this lonely starry night.
Buried in unforeseen tragedy,
Sparkling deep ocean eyes only seen by the man in the mirror
The Greeks would praise such glorious proportion as his.
A God amongst men.
A gladiator in an everlasting battle with time,
For it is only time that will eventually defeat him.
Already the wrinkles upon his face show more and more each day.
He is not privileged with eternity.
Yet only when his mind clears and his spirit set free,
Will he find love again...
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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Nicholas Miller Poem
Spare time on an extra day
squirrel dung stinking up the lawn
eggs frying on the sidewalk
what is to be done of such strange things
finding such things
to be all around
in the air
on the ground
strange things everywhere!
must for a smile
for its been awhile
since a grin lit up a face in these parts
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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Nicholas Miller Poem
Robot rambling in foreign tongue
With bleeps and blips a hum and buzz
Intoxicated from coffee it shouldn’t have had
Sparks and fizzles, jerks to the ground.
A man exclaims and questions, “who gave that robot coffee!?”
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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Nicholas Miller Poem
Every die I wake up, feeling like I am going to die..
Waking up to die..
Or is it to live but is living really just dying, or visa versa..
For those who think too much.
Perhaps we should just consider it nothing…
And for all that mumbo jumbo that seems worthwhile,
It hardly means anything at all, cause that is not what makes people happy..
What is it.with all this money. And superficial dopamine in our brains. But nothing as much as a metaphysical god provides…
Or the gods what have you…whichever one you chose… and so really I am indeed supposed to do be doing something in which my mind means nothing..
After having left the gym with smelly shoes and sitting across from a girl in the library I find to be beautiful, as well as her name..
In a cubicle kind of like the cardboard boxes they give you in elementary to teach you not to cheat…
But really unless you are a true egg head how do you get ahead otherwise..
And not fall behind..
Always behind something like closed doors naked as Adam because in the reality of things it is, what is really what is comfortable as long as there is no one there to judge you for it..
Unless you are as narcissistic as myself and then you just may be the greatest critic of all…
But who cares God?
I have been asking him? But in truth I don’t know as I have really chosen the right one …and if in case I have; I find him/her to be very mysterious and so..I ask myself two very serious questions…
What is good from bad….???
And…am I living or dying?
----in all reality drunken angst...but shhhh.
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2015
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Nicholas Miller Poem
Below the stars and the sliver of a moon…
Sleeping with her would be like making love to a fine piece of art.
A piece of art in itself the performance would become,
A painting in continuous action made up of the finest subjects,
Like Adonis and Persephone upon the leaves of fall…
Decrepit Adonis now more human than before,
And benevolent Persephone who has betrayed her underground layer,
The two creatures morphing into something else for this moment and more
--For this beautiful piece of wondrous allure.
If one could hold this imaginative act of creation in an earth held still
--the hatred of the most loveless souls would crumble to pieces.
Yet these moments must be postponed,
For any man who traded lust for love, did not do it without regret.
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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Nicholas Miller Poem
Shall we fall like the leaves of autumn or have we fallen already?
Monotonous experiences leave one bored
Only excited/entertained/inspired
By the kaleidoscopic collage of leaves changing colors about the host of trees,
Surely the trees have something to say,
With no mouths to mutter, the friendly wind shakes out their speech and its coolness makes it crisp.
Feel comfortable in the fall…
Or rather late summer, as it was the season of my entrance into the world upon the earth
It is no wonder I am consoled as the trees communicate their ritual aging
As if to show how one dies in each year passing in the infinitely perishing years of yesterdays.
Though I share not my grave with another man(I have already shared my life), I shall share it with the dying leaves when dead.
-both dead the leaves and I
Has my spirit existed infinitely-without beginning or end?
Or shall it only last from birth to death?
Has it enjoyed the yesterdays without recollection and enjoy these days still yet unknown?
By and by into the future
For every fall of sort was I there?
For the fall of man, and be there to see him rise in the end (if perhaps he ever will)
Am I like the seasonally falling leaves?
There, and gone, and back again?
Woe is every man and talking tree
Alas the spirit alive for now though it may not feel as so.
Still yet neither should be depressed by the conformity of the world.
Instead we grow into our own existence
Nourished by the earth and loved by all it beholds.
In abundant beauty this lesson taught because something chose to give us fall.
Copyright © Nicholas Miller | Year Posted 2014
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