Here's some of my old poetry from when I was a sad 17 year old. You can juxtapose this to the crappy poetry I'm currently churning out, if you're that kind of person...
Enjoy!
Aurelio
Blanket creature’s silhouette
Dances ‘cross the glazed field.
Midnight stricken rivet bars block
The mirror’s wet reflection; yield.
Still flowers course through my veins
As I glance upon the shrouded blanche of night.
Manifold intent to grasp the reins
And collect mists dancing in hazed moonlight.
But what of thee?
You: traverse still
The boundaries of the mountain,
Whilst capacity limits your
(Ascetic) excesses.
In time you expand,
to fill yourself with flowers weeping
Interior tears of understanding and
Processes.
Serious demonstration ever necessary:
Peers cause the greatest woe.
But what of thee still?
Is the detonation of the maternal instinct worth
The calamitous repercussions?
Of rebellion and disdain?
Dark-haired onward streaked the muse of indifference
To the slow.
Descent.
Of his existence, in this plain.
And still of thee he asks: Why?
When? How long?
Chumping on the ashen foetus
In whose grip he now belongs:
Mutual,
Beneficial,
Perpetual;
The need.
Leonine his stature precedes him with each progress,
Yet no Adonis is he, the wilt of agrarian excess. Adam.
The question, of you, I ask is this:
Perhaps, sometimes, knowing what we do not know is best?
And yet still what, of thee? Aurelio.
Dances ‘cross the glazed field.
Midnight stricken rivet bars block
The mirror’s wet reflection; yield.
Still flowers course through my veins
As I glance upon the shrouded blanche of night.
Manifold intent to grasp the reins
And collect mists dancing in hazed moonlight.
But what of thee?
You: traverse still
The boundaries of the mountain,
Whilst capacity limits your
(Ascetic) excesses.
In time you expand,
to fill yourself with flowers weeping
Interior tears of understanding and
Processes.
Serious demonstration ever necessary:
Peers cause the greatest woe.
But what of thee still?
Is the detonation of the maternal instinct worth
The calamitous repercussions?
Of rebellion and disdain?
Dark-haired onward streaked the muse of indifference
To the slow.
Descent.
Of his existence, in this plain.
And still of thee he asks: Why?
When? How long?
Chumping on the ashen foetus
In whose grip he now belongs:
Mutual,
Beneficial,
Perpetual;
The need.
Leonine his stature precedes him with each progress,
Yet no Adonis is he, the wilt of agrarian excess. Adam.
The question, of you, I ask is this:
Perhaps, sometimes, knowing what we do not know is best?
And yet still what, of thee? Aurelio.
Wandering
Carved trails winding brought him
Through the green parks below a misty moon.
Only here on the coldest mornings of June
Can the heir be seen with weary eyes.
Glistening, each shade of grass blindly lies
Below the wanderer, whose gait supposes troubled thoughts.
The clarity of the morn sun, elated as ever,
He steps upon a broken field; damp as a river.
The park revetments stand tall above a man, in whom
The value of life stands taller than that before him.
Shots cry out in the blank distance between him,
Barren, the space he knew, before a venture inside.
The pull below the acclear moon ebbed him as the tide
Towards the great known of his unexplored mind.
Strange new leaves fell from dawn trees,
An autumnal summer he thought.
Chilled his breath, and walked onward.
No one knows the troubles. The depth unfathomable within.
Surfaced, he clenched his teeth as the green park swept him in.
The uncertainty of night blanketed him as he rose
To meet the mystery of the park. He froze
Upon sight, concentrated on him; mutual to his.
He walked closer as it stepped backwards with feral fizz
To catch a glimpse of the silhouette imp:
Towering states rise above him in defiance. A border.
And gone… for tonight.
Through the green parks below a misty moon.
Only here on the coldest mornings of June
Can the heir be seen with weary eyes.
Glistening, each shade of grass blindly lies
Below the wanderer, whose gait supposes troubled thoughts.
The clarity of the morn sun, elated as ever,
He steps upon a broken field; damp as a river.
The park revetments stand tall above a man, in whom
The value of life stands taller than that before him.
Shots cry out in the blank distance between him,
Barren, the space he knew, before a venture inside.
The pull below the acclear moon ebbed him as the tide
Towards the great known of his unexplored mind.
Strange new leaves fell from dawn trees,
An autumnal summer he thought.
Chilled his breath, and walked onward.
No one knows the troubles. The depth unfathomable within.
Surfaced, he clenched his teeth as the green park swept him in.
The uncertainty of night blanketed him as he rose
To meet the mystery of the park. He froze
Upon sight, concentrated on him; mutual to his.
He walked closer as it stepped backwards with feral fizz
To catch a glimpse of the silhouette imp:
Towering states rise above him in defiance. A border.
And gone… for tonight.
Waltzing Pipikin
Waltzing Pipikin
Dancing Merry
Heather Wisped
Zephyr Licked
Feet Locked
Lands Bounce
Under Blue
White Waters
Flowing Horizon
Towards the Sun.
Dancing Merry
Heather Wisped
Zephyr Licked
Feet Locked
Lands Bounce
Under Blue
White Waters
Flowing Horizon
Towards the Sun.
Indifference
Perhaps.
Although,
Maybe,
Who knows?
Probably…
Certain?
No way!
Cannot,
Will not.
Do not?
Don’t.
Why?
Because:
Emotion destroys the remnant:
I, thus, remain malignant.
Uncertain of anything much...
Casual to a loving touch.
"Why on earth do I not care?
Who's to say? My person is rare."
But maybe I care...?
We'll never know.
For now, suffice it to say:
...What were we talking about?
Although,
Maybe,
Who knows?
Probably…
Certain?
No way!
Cannot,
Will not.
Do not?
Don’t.
Why?
Because:
Emotion destroys the remnant:
I, thus, remain malignant.
Uncertain of anything much...
Casual to a loving touch.
"Why on earth do I not care?
Who's to say? My person is rare."
But maybe I care...?
We'll never know.
For now, suffice it to say:
...What were we talking about?
Old Rivers
To where and what do the rivers flow?
To where and what, I do not know.
I try to run, I try to know,
But where they run, I cannot go.
Past the woods, and glen and field
They saunter further, do not yield.
On into night, and past the day
The water whips, the pebbles play.
And deeper still, the running tears,
And deeper still becomes my stare.
Through city, village, heath and ridge,
Over mountain, under bridge.
Into lakes and out to sea,
Out of you, and into me.
Rivers bind our bones together,
Rivers touch the clouds and weather.
Off into horizons distant,
Rivers flow fast and persistent.
Unrelenting, what’s the drive?
To where and what do rivers strive?
The oldest force on God’s creation,
And here they touch all land and nation.
To understand their mission true,
Look to your heart, inside of you.
For there we find the missing piece
Of their desire ne’er to cease:
In every beat from heart to toe,
We share in every rivers flow.
The will to run - the will to fly.
The will to never, ever die…
So where do river flow, you see?
Off earth, into infinity.
To where and what, I do not know.
I try to run, I try to know,
But where they run, I cannot go.
Past the woods, and glen and field
They saunter further, do not yield.
On into night, and past the day
The water whips, the pebbles play.
And deeper still, the running tears,
And deeper still becomes my stare.
Through city, village, heath and ridge,
Over mountain, under bridge.
Into lakes and out to sea,
Out of you, and into me.
Rivers bind our bones together,
Rivers touch the clouds and weather.
Off into horizons distant,
Rivers flow fast and persistent.
Unrelenting, what’s the drive?
To where and what do rivers strive?
The oldest force on God’s creation,
And here they touch all land and nation.
To understand their mission true,
Look to your heart, inside of you.
For there we find the missing piece
Of their desire ne’er to cease:
In every beat from heart to toe,
We share in every rivers flow.
The will to run - the will to fly.
The will to never, ever die…
So where do river flow, you see?
Off earth, into infinity.
On Geography
Yes, I am a river, and I flow from A to B.
And, although my flow is finite,
Where I flow is up to me!
If a mountain on a fountain,
Were to stand upon my path:
- Well!
And, although my flow is finite,
Where I flow is up to me!
If a mountain on a fountain,
Were to stand upon my path:
- Well!
I’ll meander as I dander,
and his walls will feel my wrath!
And sometimes if I’m in the mood,
I carry men a little food.
Oh!
and his walls will feel my wrath!
And sometimes if I’m in the mood,
I carry men a little food.
Oh!
The silver, gold and stone, I carry
Makes him much richer, very happy!
---
And a river though he is; made of water, rock and sand.
He cooperates, and operates, in Mother Nature’s plan
To carry water from the sea, back down,
To town,
And you,
And me!
Makes him much richer, very happy!
---
And a river though he is; made of water, rock and sand.
He cooperates, and operates, in Mother Nature’s plan
To carry water from the sea, back down,
To town,
And you,
And me!
Self-Portrait
To persist,
To Exist.
- a small solution.
To Exist.
- a small solution.
Rootlessness.
Constant variance,
Migratory.
Hold oneself to no single cause,Constant variance,
Migratory.
Rather, permeate all movement.
Stasis is the enemy, full of flaws.
Security is always penetrable,
Break it.
Enjoy the moments -
Loom on the past, not;
anticipate the future, not;
breathe the present.
They say you only live once,
I live every day; am I immortal?
Sleep is finite.
Change for everyone,
Stay in one place.
Be of the flux, and universal.
“A day is a very long time to me.”
No comments:
Post a Comment