New Poem

Not much to say.  Just finished a new poem yesterday.  Possibly unfinished, but here you go.

In the country, time is measured in silent display.

By the deep drumming of the grandfather clock,

Or the colored age of the great furrowed cardinal

Bustling on the feeder through the window pane.

A midday squall swoops down into the valley.

The wind knocks the wood pile with a hollowed sound,

Before it sleeks back into the forest swiftly

trembling with the silence of ocean waves.

Catch the clarity of the long forgotten thought,

That ripples in the still country house.

The hidden rooms and dust stained floors

can whisper farther than an echoing shout.

Ok, here you go

I may as well keep feeding this blog.  Who know, maybe I will run out of old poetry to post here and by necessity of keeping this blog alive, write new stuff.  This one's fun.

The audacity of me to create something free

Where no thing was found before.

To sit in my room and type until noon

And write what I like to call poetry.

But is it enough to write off the cuff

And rhyme as my mind sees fit.

And give no thought as to what I was taught

Or what others may think about it. 

No contest is won by this scribbling fun

Or book has been filled with the stuff.

But tired all day, I come home and say

What my mind can’t think properly of.

Well Howdy Do!

I am actually in a good mood, which is just terrible for writing.  Words of sad desperation seem to flow from the tongue, while happiness feels silly (as in, “no let’s not go to Camelot, tis a silly place”).  However, I don’t want this blog to become just a sadness depository, I will weather mirthful days such as these and post anyway.  How to bring my mind back to the shadows?!  Oh, here’s another old poem:  dark and lovely.    

A singing cricket in the black outside.

Sings alone unsatisfied.

How could life be worth the while

If no one heard his pleading cry. 

If no one felt the eternal song 

of the distance of he and his lonely heart.

in Panera

Yes, its come to this.  I travel 45 minutes to make it into town, just to sit among people and feel productive.  I liked it when the Mudd House was only a seven minute walk away in Springfield.  Still nothing new.  I think my attitude last night was in no small way affected by my just finishing an application at Walmart, and conceding to the fact that I just went to college the last five years to end up at my home town Walmart.  Its all come full circle.

Anyway, here's another poem for having to listen to my bitchin'.  Its not as bad as I used to feel about it, and its also not as depressing as my typical poems.

Today’s a misty morning and afternoon

That rolled from the valley cracks

To coat the fields with glassy dew

And hang there in their crystal sacks.

The pale skeleton of the sycamores

With the age of each suns crest

Flake the last of their gnarled shell

And bare their wintery breast.

The late autumn colors have begun to fade.

As a man’s beard turns faintly grey

The cedars aflame with burnt sienna

The pines a deep green and promise to stay.  

Here I am

In Cuba, MO.  What the fuck am I doing here?  Living with my parents of course.  I should just count my blessings and shut my trap, but I need an outlet for all this steeeeaaaammmm!  Oh, I also like poetry, so I'll throw some of that up here too.
I wrote this yesterday.  I thought the attempt at word choice showed some promise, but I couldn't go too far with it.

A cold and dark October moon

has riled the beast of summers rest

and awoken in winds and beating rain

that swept the birds into their nest.

Testing

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