Some Poems I wrote

[Tr3n7]

I fell down the stairs when I was drunk.

Ankle hurts like
hell.

The sprained muscle
cells
captured by pain’s
spell.

Legs shaking like
gel.

Comfort says
"farewell."

Eyes glazed, can you
tell?

Foot starting to
swell,
on this, I shall
not dwell.

Am I doing
well?

Coat

My Father’s coat
hung always like a ghost, and hidden
in the hall closet, waiting
for the temperature to drop, drop, drop
till the world is covered in ice

The select times it was aware
it did not hang in solitude
for I was there, crouched and waiting
and wanting to be found, found, found
by anything that may be looking

You rarely looked for us at all
The coat and I remained confined
as seasons changed, we were left wanting
Hoping you might find, find, find
Us both...but now it is too late
and the coat has passed to me.

Ode to the Night

I live for you

As the dull afternoons pass me by

I await the time

I can discover your embrace



You seep into my veins

As I am engulfed, absorbed

Into your ongoing darkness

You penetrate the innermost depths of

My soul, taking the light from me

Releasing me from its grip.



Night, infinitely dark and endless

Take me to the place I yearn for

Where I may be consumed in blackness

Hide me from this painful world of day

Keep me in your cool embrace

I breathe you into my lungs

Seething with cool, smooth air



I beckon to you, O darkest of nights

In your blackness I find solace

Protect me from the harsh light of day

Take me into your shadow

So that I may find my own.




*Comments welcome*
*Feel free to post poetic response as well*

[Mental]

I liked them. Specifically I liked your Ode to the Night. It was well written, please continue to post

[Pharm Girl]

Ode to the Night

Gets my vote......~

[Tr3n7]

This one is unpolished, I'm looking for comments on improving/reviewing these few verses I wrote in my Transcendentalist Literature class last week in response to the final line in Thoreau's 'Walden, or Life in the Woods.' The book is a fascinating perspective on nature, if you ask me.
For a point of reference, the final line in the book is, "The sun is but a morning star."

The sun is but a morning star,
a simple beginning in time,
a sphere of light viewed from afar,
a perception of the sublime.

The self is found within the light,
a bastion of personal truth,
An ancient man sits at some bar,
a reflection of his youth.

"My life is wasted," the old man said,
with disdain on his face.
"Materialism left me for dead,
I could not match its pace."

"I should have sought a morning star,
fulfilled my potential,
Instead I hid within a jar,
a life completely provincial."

"Now my regrets are many,
and happy memories few,
and not a silver penny
would save me from this stew."

This man's life could be my own,
His path could be my fate.
But through his words, I have grown,
I hope it's not too late.

I literally just wrote that last verse there. I am up for suggestions on this one, and I don't have a title for it yet.


This one is different, written in response to my semester of Poetry Writing class.

Poetry Sweatshop

Confined by cream-colored cliffs
rising overhead to a speckled-freckled sky
wrought of cork, marked by metal
Shrouding sovereign senses in shadow
Revealing only the doorstop.
The first step to a new path
A path, locked away from youthful dreams
A path, blocked by the Penumbra Hand of Fate,
The Turnstile Operator of Destiny
Permitting only penguins to pass
Allowing brainwashed allies admittance,
While the thinkers,
The Key-Makers,
are left to ponder.

[Tr3n7]

Here are some more little random poems:

The Red Pen

Amazing wonder to behold
Office Depot's plastic mold
Created something, with which I write
Inspired by plastic, a pathetic sight.

Pigs Hate Fire

The little, flammable sow was on its path one day
When a tiny blue lighter crossed its path
and burnt that pig away.

[Tr3n7]

It's been awhile, friends and poets. Here's my update.

Untitled Short #1

The beautiful moments of my life

cannot be encompassed by time

for they are far too meaningful

to explain as such a meaningless thing.

To explain a moment

is to explain the whole of existence.

Existence is composed of moments,

short or long, but all with value.

Untitled Short #2

We are all conformists

conforming to our human sheathes.

Trapped within our bodies

unable to be freed.

The only freedom

is death.

Seek it not

For it will find you

Untitled Short #3

We are young, foolish

meandering through our

simple childhood.

Embrace the times

that you are free to roam.

Take advantage

of irresponsibility.

Room 522

I remember room 522, as synapses fire and flicker
You called me from inside your broken elevator,
Told me you could only go down.

But I was on the seventh floor, waiting...
for the sound of your high heels and jingling keys.
The smell of noodles in the air is distracting me,
as I remember that I am on the seventh floor,
waiting for you.

Hoping the janitors fixed your broken elevator,
Hoping you will float up to me,
So I don’t have to chase you down,
but, as usual, I hope for too much,
and the elevator
doesn’t come.

[Tr3n7]

The Complex Life of the Simple Sunflower

Take the simple sunflower, gaze into its soul

Find the beauty dispersed within

Collect it, make it whole.

See the face of life, woman’s beauty is the match.

A pristine, contoured face appears (5)

With eyes, ready to watch.


The face has eyes of milky white,

Staring into the sky,

Gazing towards majestic Heavens

to see the angels fly. (10)

"To be an Angel," the woman said,

"would be the life I choose.

But this Sunflower is my life,

the skies, I cannot cruise.

This simple flower is my soul (15)

it’s petals are my hair

throughout this garden my locks extend."

Behold, this maiden fair.


Her hair appears more clearly now,

It’s waves all intertwined (20)

Through every inch of her garden,

Around every leaf and vine.

These golden locks impeccable,

Are glistening in the sun,

The garden is quite pleased with them, (25)

This beauty leaves it stunned.


The soul of the simple sunflower

you cannot vilipend,

It’s the little things in life

that help your heart to mend. (30)

[tedkennedy]

thats pretty good.

[Tr3n7]

Glad you like it.
This is from just now:

What do you think of my ganja green?

Your ganja green jumps on my scene,
it's so obscene, we can't be seen.

It grew from a bean on a daily routine.

Should I have forseen we'd be burning this green?
Should I start the machine to brew coffee beans?
"Forget that caffeine, hit this to your spleen,"
so says the May Queen, "...green is the vaccine."

The smoke is so clean, it makes my soul serene,
the taste is cusine, with aroma so keen,
gives drymouth so mean, gotta chug my canteen,
Hairs all tangerine, one puff makes em' lean
like a lightweight teen caught in a smoke screen.

Higher than a jumping bean stuck on a trampoline,
inside a time machine, displayed on a widescreen.
Brain turns to gelatine, regressing towards the mean,
Eyes red like grenadine, time blown to smithereens.

That's how I've seen all your ganja green,
The buds you neatly preen, while you're wearing jeans,
Your smile may intervene in my favorite dream,
Light within will beam, all my mind will teem,
Holding you in high esteem, not a creepy stalker scheme.
Maybe you might stream a reply to my theme?

[Tr3n7]

This hasn't got a title yet:

Spending my time
on Michael's dime,
as I write this rhyme,
the corporate slime
controls the chime
that rolls my mind,
out of work and
into life, full of
strife unbearable, these
clothes no longer wearable,
but my strength leaves me untearable.

Strength toughens,
speed quickens,
life roughens,
skin thickens.

Feeling the force,
my hand is the source
strikes without remorse,
destroying discourse.
Protect the defenseless,
knock enemies senseless:
They won't understand this
because of my fist.
Power of stealth
Keeps me in health
never seen, never caught
no matter how hard they fought.

Strength empowers,
speed explodes,
life devours,
skin erodes.