Oh, what a dusk, such a beautiful dusk, in the beginnings of December.
With the cold kissing roughly, enough to sting, ‘tis such an easy thing to remember.
The crimson fingers of the setting sun spear through the meadows of twilight
With colors of navy and teal and sky, the meadow with the sun will take flight.
The world halts and begins to settle into a long and relaxing slumber
The diamond studded skies of the winter night dazzle the green-edged timber
Not a crow makes a caw, not a sparrow sings high, not a single insect may lurch
The chill-eaten air is as dead as the stomach of a Monday-morning Church
A seducing aroma that none may match lingers and plays at the nose
It is a mixture of burnt hickory, frost, and cold ground, ah, ‘tis as sweet as a rose.
The brooks, insomniacs, for they do not sleep, speak so soft it is but a whisper
The water it makes is indeed very cold, but it couldn’t at all be much crisper
The dusk begins to fade, to darker blues and grays, and ‘tis time for dusk to rest
Its done its part, it has astonished the world, to its great and very best
Oh, what a dusk, such a beautiful dusk, in the beginnings of December
With the cold, kissing roughly, enough to sting, ‘tis such an easy thing to remember
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems. Show all posts
Friday, December 5, 2008
A Beautiful Dusk
Oh, what a dusk, such a beautiful dusk, in the beginnings of December.
With the cold kissing roughly, enough to sting, ‘tis such an easy thing to remember.
The crimson fingers of the setting sun spear through the meadows of twilight
With colors of navy and teal and sky, the meadow with the sun will take flight.
The world halts and begins to settle into a long and relaxing slumber
The diamond studded skies of the winter night dazzle the green-edged timber
Not a crow makes a caw, not a sparrow sings high, not a single insect may lurch
The chill-eaten air is as dead as the stomach of a Monday-morning Church
A seducing aroma that none may match lingers and plays at the nose
It is a mixture of burnt hickory, frost, and cold ground, ah, ‘tis as sweet as a rose.
The brooks, insomniacs, for they do not sleep, speak so soft it is but a whisper
The water it makes is indeed very cold, but it couldn’t at all be much crisper
The dusk begins to fade, to darker blues and grays, and ‘tis time for dusk to rest
Its done its part, it has astonished the world, to its great and very best
Oh, what a dusk, such a beautiful dusk, in the beginnings of December
With the cold, kissing roughly, enough to sting, ‘tis such an easy thing to remember
With the cold kissing roughly, enough to sting, ‘tis such an easy thing to remember.
The crimson fingers of the setting sun spear through the meadows of twilight
With colors of navy and teal and sky, the meadow with the sun will take flight.
The world halts and begins to settle into a long and relaxing slumber
The diamond studded skies of the winter night dazzle the green-edged timber
Not a crow makes a caw, not a sparrow sings high, not a single insect may lurch
The chill-eaten air is as dead as the stomach of a Monday-morning Church
A seducing aroma that none may match lingers and plays at the nose
It is a mixture of burnt hickory, frost, and cold ground, ah, ‘tis as sweet as a rose.
The brooks, insomniacs, for they do not sleep, speak so soft it is but a whisper
The water it makes is indeed very cold, but it couldn’t at all be much crisper
The dusk begins to fade, to darker blues and grays, and ‘tis time for dusk to rest
Its done its part, it has astonished the world, to its great and very best
Oh, what a dusk, such a beautiful dusk, in the beginnings of December
With the cold, kissing roughly, enough to sting, ‘tis such an easy thing to remember
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Winter in the Cemetery
by Brittany Noelle Adams
Set in rows, in many a number, under the ground a good many slumber
The slate and marble tend to quake underneath the snowy flakes
As I walk, I hear a crunch; my shoes are atop a freezing bunch
And the resting beings who lay below cease to thaw in their neat little rows
The angel perched on the marble tomb is wrapped within a sparkling white womb
I stop and feel the wind caress the many folds that consume my dress
And as I listen to the silence, the biting air resorts to violence
My fingers red, my fingers raw, out here they may never thaw
The willows cast a frightful shadow, the branches sulk like a tear-streaked widow
Beds are very neatly set for those the living cease to forget
The mourning doves survive the frost and sing a haunting tune of lust
And the paths that encircle the many graves could not from anyone be saved
A whippoorwill preaches to the wood, hoping he’ll be understood
Pine trees blend into a sea of green with a white topping that does not remain unseen
The cemetery hides to keep it’s mystery, it holds on to feelings of sadness and misery
Yet it holds a beauty that goes unexplained, a beauty quite intriguing and not at all plain
Now upon the world does darkness pry and laugh as the daylight begins to die
The blustery wind howls and whips at my face, as winter then puts me back into my place
I decide to now exit the peaceful abyss, after all superstition with me is not a miss
I’ll come back to the cemetery maybe in spring, so I can hear the Blue Birds as they sing
Set in rows, in many a number, under the ground a good many slumber
The slate and marble tend to quake underneath the snowy flakes
As I walk, I hear a crunch; my shoes are atop a freezing bunch
And the resting beings who lay below cease to thaw in their neat little rows
The angel perched on the marble tomb is wrapped within a sparkling white womb
I stop and feel the wind caress the many folds that consume my dress
And as I listen to the silence, the biting air resorts to violence
My fingers red, my fingers raw, out here they may never thaw
The willows cast a frightful shadow, the branches sulk like a tear-streaked widow
Beds are very neatly set for those the living cease to forget
The mourning doves survive the frost and sing a haunting tune of lust
And the paths that encircle the many graves could not from anyone be saved
A whippoorwill preaches to the wood, hoping he’ll be understood
Pine trees blend into a sea of green with a white topping that does not remain unseen
The cemetery hides to keep it’s mystery, it holds on to feelings of sadness and misery
Yet it holds a beauty that goes unexplained, a beauty quite intriguing and not at all plain
Now upon the world does darkness pry and laugh as the daylight begins to die
The blustery wind howls and whips at my face, as winter then puts me back into my place
I decide to now exit the peaceful abyss, after all superstition with me is not a miss
I’ll come back to the cemetery maybe in spring, so I can hear the Blue Birds as they sing
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Hello God
Hello God, how are You? Are we good? Well there's a few.
There's good-luck and happiness for the wealthy, the ones who are both fat and healthy
The ones who own those luxury cars, the ones who are able to travel far
The ones that have nothing to fear, around this merry time of year.
But why does it seem that suddenly ; You've turned your back on the poorer team
The ones that go through all the hardships; the ones whose luck constantly tips
What of those sick with a cancer; whos so sick they can barely answer
What of those without a family; who eat what little they have so sadly
Why is it that children cry; across the world where we don't pry
We take care of those who do not need; but ignore those that have mouths but can't feed
God, have You truly forgotten them? Is this a test, or are they soley forsaken?
Please God why can't You take heed, to all of those who are in need?
If I could do it by myself, I would not leave it on a shelf
But we all know that You're divine, and Your powers are beyond what I can define
Beloved, dear Heavenly Father, I know not what causes my mind to wander
I just believe that it is true, that the worst at life should have a Merry Christmas too.
There's good-luck and happiness for the wealthy, the ones who are both fat and healthy
The ones who own those luxury cars, the ones who are able to travel far
The ones that have nothing to fear, around this merry time of year.
But why does it seem that suddenly ; You've turned your back on the poorer team
The ones that go through all the hardships; the ones whose luck constantly tips
What of those sick with a cancer; whos so sick they can barely answer
What of those without a family; who eat what little they have so sadly
Why is it that children cry; across the world where we don't pry
We take care of those who do not need; but ignore those that have mouths but can't feed
God, have You truly forgotten them? Is this a test, or are they soley forsaken?
Please God why can't You take heed, to all of those who are in need?
If I could do it by myself, I would not leave it on a shelf
But we all know that You're divine, and Your powers are beyond what I can define
Beloved, dear Heavenly Father, I know not what causes my mind to wander
I just believe that it is true, that the worst at life should have a Merry Christmas too.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Give or Take
Give, give, give, take, take, take;
You try to give, and you’re branded a fake
If you take, you’re nothing more than a thief
In this world it’s either give or take.
You give without wanting anything back
Than you’re still a fool and you’re painted black
You take then you never can take it back
In this world it’s either give or take
Giving love, emotions or feelings
Helping out with a wound that is healing
And taking nothing is still considered stealing
In this world it’s either give or take
Why are people so suspicious,
Paranoid and superstitious?
Questioning and full-blown malicious
In this world it’s either give or take.
So to change the world you gotta live
To do so means you gotta give
Take very little and learn to forgive
So in this world it’s never give or take.
You try to give, and you’re branded a fake
If you take, you’re nothing more than a thief
In this world it’s either give or take.
You give without wanting anything back
Than you’re still a fool and you’re painted black
You take then you never can take it back
In this world it’s either give or take
Giving love, emotions or feelings
Helping out with a wound that is healing
And taking nothing is still considered stealing
In this world it’s either give or take
Why are people so suspicious,
Paranoid and superstitious?
Questioning and full-blown malicious
In this world it’s either give or take.
So to change the world you gotta live
To do so means you gotta give
Take very little and learn to forgive
So in this world it’s never give or take.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Life
Life is nothing if you feel it is nothing. Life is something if you feel it is something. Life is failure if you feel you're a failure. Life is a success if you feel you're successful.
Life is a rollercoaster, with twists and turns, ups and downs, and loop-de-loops. Life is rabid dog, which eats away at your heart and soul. Life is a leaf in autumn, alienation and death wait at the end of the long fall from the tree.
Life is a long narrow path, where it is easy to stumble off, however if set on getting to the end hard enough, one will find it easier to stay on. Life is an insect that can be pesky, yet helpful. Life is a single blade of grass, where depending on it's location, it may be mowed over or left alone.
Life is stealing the car when your parents say no. Life is learning to let people go. Life is loving with all your heart. Life is around us through the good and bad parts. Life is getting that new pair of shoes. Life is crying, for on them the dog chews.
Life is tolerating those that annoy us. Life is knowing you're the one who’s annoying. Life is putting up with your psychotic parents. Life is being that psychotic parent. Life is about joy, about passion, about love, about honor. Life is about dismay, about sadness, about hatred, about evilness.
Life is about losing those you've loved all your life. Life is about letting go of those bad relationships. Life is about tears, and hurt, and laughter and wonder. Life can be spiteful, and it roars like thunder.
Life is hungry children, crying for food. Life is the helping hand that gives that child bread. Life is an angry man who guns down a city. Life is the juror that eyes him with pity. Life is that poor little sickly animal. Life is the gun that puts it down, so that if may not suffer.
Life is weather, it is children, it is family, it is jobs, it is careers, it is death, it is mourning, it is greed, it is thoughtful. Life is everything we go through together. Life is the very thing we all possess. So let's make the best of what we have, seeing as though we all have to progress.
What Kind of World
What kind of world can this possibly be? My tears are bitter and sting as they slowly roll their way down. Have I not a heart, feelings, a soul? Why do people treat me as though I lack those things? I am not a mannequin, a doll who you can bend and torture, and it need not matter, for the object has no feelings. I am not a toy that one can play with and then put up on the shelf to gather dust.
What kind of world can this possibly be? People are awkward and ignorant. I wish I knew what they thought, and why. How can it be that to make a man happy is to demolish another man’s ego, spirits, and dreams? A smile can mean happiness, joy, hope; but it can also mean revenge, hatred, and anger. Is it possible that a symbol can mean a million different things?
What kind of world can this possibly be? How can I still be able to walk on Earth as though very much alive, yet I have been torn apart and practically dead? What can love possibly mean to anyone when there is none left in the world? Wouldn’t that deplete the value of love, or yet to make the feeling extinct?What kind of world can this possibly be; where thugs, murderers, and rapists roam the streets like innocent men, licking their lips as they eye their next victim, and nobody ever notices until it’s too late? But what can anyone do? Just like what can anyone do to stop impoverished families, with children, starving, crying, for but a bite to eat and a bit of water. I starve and cry, but not for food. I starve and cry for understanding, hope, and some sort of light at the end of my long, dark tunnel.
And finally, what kind of world can this possibly be? Can this truly be a world where very little support the idea of education for their children, where schools don’t matter, and where luxuries are far more important? Why do we take for granted what we have, when the rest of the world must go without? Ill, kill, die, cry, what a world, what a society. As the restless dogs on the streets fight for a scrap of meat, we watch, entertained. As the restless rodents in the gutters fight for survival, we watch, disgusted. As the restless people around us fight for a scrap of understanding, we watch, and sneer. Is this the world we live in? It is at least the world I live in; a world of malice, destruction, death. If there were a way to make the sun shine, to lighten heavy hearts, to at least offer a helping hand, then what kind of world could this possibly be?
What kind of world can this possibly be? People are awkward and ignorant. I wish I knew what they thought, and why. How can it be that to make a man happy is to demolish another man’s ego, spirits, and dreams? A smile can mean happiness, joy, hope; but it can also mean revenge, hatred, and anger. Is it possible that a symbol can mean a million different things?
What kind of world can this possibly be? How can I still be able to walk on Earth as though very much alive, yet I have been torn apart and practically dead? What can love possibly mean to anyone when there is none left in the world? Wouldn’t that deplete the value of love, or yet to make the feeling extinct?What kind of world can this possibly be; where thugs, murderers, and rapists roam the streets like innocent men, licking their lips as they eye their next victim, and nobody ever notices until it’s too late? But what can anyone do? Just like what can anyone do to stop impoverished families, with children, starving, crying, for but a bite to eat and a bit of water. I starve and cry, but not for food. I starve and cry for understanding, hope, and some sort of light at the end of my long, dark tunnel.
And finally, what kind of world can this possibly be? Can this truly be a world where very little support the idea of education for their children, where schools don’t matter, and where luxuries are far more important? Why do we take for granted what we have, when the rest of the world must go without? Ill, kill, die, cry, what a world, what a society. As the restless dogs on the streets fight for a scrap of meat, we watch, entertained. As the restless rodents in the gutters fight for survival, we watch, disgusted. As the restless people around us fight for a scrap of understanding, we watch, and sneer. Is this the world we live in? It is at least the world I live in; a world of malice, destruction, death. If there were a way to make the sun shine, to lighten heavy hearts, to at least offer a helping hand, then what kind of world could this possibly be?
The Harlequinn
Listen to me, all you men, women, and children. May I have your attention please? I understand that all the colors I bear make me look infectiously diseased.
But I stand as a mighty, mighty figure. A person so willful and strong.So please gather ‘round, so I may speak. I cannot stay around for long.
I must make myself truly known, for what I bear is not but disguise.For there is a much deeper meaning inside, I’m sure this will come as surprise.
My painted up face hides a withering man, a man with no future or past.A man who is beginning to decay and fester, a man who is tumbling fast.
I, the Harlequin, have no soul; my soul has been sold for laughter.I have absolutely no concept of time, I know no before and after.
I am broken into many small pieces, a jigsaw with many missing parts.A box that has been used and reused often, with the final image torn apart.
Please laugh, please stare, this is all I have left, for I know no other means. I depend on the malice of human hearts, for my heart has been wiped clear and clean.
I, the Harlequin, am strong and proud, but yet so weak and broken. However, my painted on smile may be real once my true inner self has awoken.
When I Needed You Most
I needed you when I was sad and lonely; to pat my shoulder to tell me I shouldn’t be.
I needed you when I was waking up in the morning. For it was you all along that I have been yearning.
I needed you when I went to bed at night, without you I’m afraid that I am a fright
I needed you when I was sitting at school; I needed you when others thought me a fool
I needed you when I was driving in my car; I needed to know you would help me go far.
I needed you when I fell off of my bike; I needed you when I got a flat from that spike
I needed you when my salty tears flooded the ground; I needed you when nobody else was around
I needed you when it was my birthday; I needed you yesterday, tomorrow, today
I needed you in my dreams, at the park, in my house. You are in every little child I see, playing, innocent as a mouse.
I feel that I don’t need these memories of you. These memories I hold that are so strong and true.
I constantly feel I have needed you so, I hope you can hear me, I need you to know.
I needed you when I was waking up in the morning. For it was you all along that I have been yearning.
I needed you when I went to bed at night, without you I’m afraid that I am a fright
I needed you when I was sitting at school; I needed you when others thought me a fool
I needed you when I was driving in my car; I needed to know you would help me go far.
I needed you when I fell off of my bike; I needed you when I got a flat from that spike
I needed you when my salty tears flooded the ground; I needed you when nobody else was around
I needed you when it was my birthday; I needed you yesterday, tomorrow, today
I needed you in my dreams, at the park, in my house. You are in every little child I see, playing, innocent as a mouse.
I feel that I don’t need these memories of you. These memories I hold that are so strong and true.
I constantly feel I have needed you so, I hope you can hear me, I need you to know.
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