Black Out
Roaring sound ticks
thru the clock loud
thunder cloud
under-
neath the
bed my
head roars
rain pours
buzz buzz
drops hum
woman
sets things
right time by
clocks
locks the
hours tight-
Poems on the topic: time
Poems on the topic “time” on Poets.by.
The Wait
wait for the girl
lately loved with whom
fate has hungered
waiting
hastens
fate
for the or alternative awaits the ing T H I N G
the weights of
wait
the love of God
more surely assured
waiting to close
when in thewonder inside feeling thunders
follows white like lightning lithe as rain
as night roughly lonesome
litigation takes long
Grope-Poem
in a forever eternity
of now and no
instead of
later and yes
make me a green one
who will never be made
sad
for flowers
floating by dead seagulls,
of blue floating to france,
or purple in a green cathedral,
or....
just make me/
and they cried and giggled
with their arms
hanging out of tubs
* * *
Yield to the rhythms
of living
Lowell and I ate
fresh salad on my
porch
high enough to not
miss sundown
my next door neighbor
takes in sun
naked on the porch
we share
she asks does she
offend me
and Leslie sent me
shells and driftwood in a
little box from Chicago
* * *
attending to certain
forms of insistence
lovers become those forms
& enter the core time
in which the tribe is permitted
to muddle on
River Poem
senile river,
floor littered
with aeons of pointless garbage
slender frameworks of beast
granite leftovers from
a mountain eaten during the mesozoic,
in lusty banquet of your middle age.
let it be said you are less than the
Least silence
of any entranced youngster,
Who gulps a nascent universe
with each unlikely breath.
* * *
You were my 11:11
But I wasn't yours
* * *
I guess we all die sometime
some of us just a little earlier
than the rest.
Death
I wish
I wish death could talk
I wish that he would tell me
I wish I knew when it would be up
I wish I could ask him all my questions
over
One day, one day, just not today.
Agony In Bliss
I squandered my time and got myself lost in the light of bliss, now I'm lost in the midst of departing agony.
1,000,000 years
I only ask once.
Okay maybe twice.
Or five, six, seven eight
Hundred times.
Quite many times I admit.
and that's why
the moment I stop, I mean it.
Its not because I quit.
Its simply that I no longer want it.
Its quite controversial to me too
after wanting something for such a long time
After that moment, I never ever want it again.
Not in a million years.
THE END.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
Or try: