Category Archives: poetry

Poetry of the Night

DSC_0352lines envelope spaces

spaces surrounded by lines

swift stiff shuffle

in this place

Worlds are estranged

dangers near of the mind

minds are forged

experience, foreign spite

eyes see

hands act

actions

are forever done

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An Evening of Poetry

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Here is some poetry to enjoy. I felt in the mood to write.

wires wrap around words
twisting and pulling
all to strangle in the light
We two share-

slam and fall into darkness
guttural slip and trip we must not fly tonight
for we cannot share

The warm radiant glow as
a click, clack, slam progress
forward might be true
but words twist backward

This light is slowly dying
fallen deep into a pit of wires
darker feels lighter and . . .

. . . .

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Cupid Strikes.

I thought tonight was the night for a long over do post. I’ve been here for a while and have experienced quite a bit of stuff. Tonight is Valentines Day in Japan. Of course, here the men do nothing and the women give chocolates. The men have their chance on White Day. It’s exactly 1 month later. Just a little bit of culture..

So tonight I decided to write a poem about Love… Here it goes.

————————————–
trinkets can’t hold you
in their eyes sparkles may shine;
benches, chairs for two
liquid-like, flowing; then demised
metamorphic, body explode

Fire is hot but cool
Strange how a material
can be bipolar.
Yet cannot be touched by hands.

Trinkets can hold you
in their eyes sparkles may thrive;
tables seat their moods.
a gaze, circuitously
finds it’s mate in many ways

it has shades unseen to you
but will change more than any knew.

————————————–
Well, It may not be perfect but…Happy Valentines Day!

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Poetry of the night

This seems to be my most creative time. Here is an impromptu haiku.

Spring time with Kyoto and the tanka

grasses of green there
are of a deep succulence
by the sakura
removing them and myself
yielding a great displeasure.


post note – edited in the day–I guess I’m not as productive at night.. . . oh well.

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Another poem for the night…

I wrote this in a British literature class with a prompt of “write me at least a 12 line poem about this room. I’ll be back.”


Discernment within

The bustle of bodies encapsulated
within the room, sit and
ponder what is within.
O’ muse what makes thee tick?
Clocks that hang mock thy
flow, but yet no more
than time does know.
white is drenched in sterile
essence, lacking inspiration
that could be present.
Steal away unsightly room;
my fever for thee is my tomb.

good night.

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