5 minute poetry

[Mintaro]

In tired mind I often find,
sordid and painful the thoughts of thee,
then rummage through my brain anew,
yet from the thoughts I flee,

A winters night with cold delight,
bringing shivers to my skin,
the cold where once there was your touch,
with heated raptures sin,

thinking now the way I'd vow,
to hold you always near,
having you so far away,
makes me feel so insincere,

All the world to me unfurled,
their thoughts of me and you,
ever do I hate to hear,
the fact that it is true,

and ever more do I explore,
the reasons you gave to flee,
though the words may say something else,
I feel it was from me,

maybe I do speak words untrue,
full of fear and grief,
perhaps I truly do not understand,
why our time was so brief,

One thing I know is that although,
you say we'll never be,
my feelings shall burn ever strong,
hidden deep inside of me,

I will never forget when we met,
the impression you made on me,
a woman strong and beauty bold,
with whom I could agree,

our first kiss was unending bliss,
and lasted through the night,
the first woman in long an age,
to postpone our carnal delight,

such a crime so short a time,
could pass us by so fast,
and here I sit still missing you
eighteen long months past,


******* ******* *******

(I found a rather old poem of mine that is a little twisted. Enjoy)

What to say its the end of my time,
who will there be to morn me, when I die,
and I find so many reasons, to let the demons take me home,
but theres no way out, of this trap, save through the soul,

its a pity I lost a long long time ago...

Her eyes shine brightly in the soft, mirrored, candle light,
the same light shines, off the blood, pooling on the floor,
thats one more man, that she'll hear about, no more,
but theres never a solution, in the knife, on the life soaked floor...

Show me a bridge, over a river, in the pale moon glow,
please take me to that place, where she jumped, away that night,
one more bloated body won't mater, in this soulless fight,

who says theres no short cuts in my life....

[icythaco]

Slate gray cubicles
Splattered with manilla shells,
Line walls of pock-marked concrete.

The room--
If this unremarkable box
Could be called anything as assuming as a "room"--
Has become a sepulcher for forgotten memos and spreadsheets.

The stagnant, musty air
Slowly begins to caramelize,
Preserving disheveled layers of oaktag, carboard, and paper.

8.5 X 11 cadavers softly mummifying
In this cement tomb,
Epitaphs tattoed across their bodies.

[BlackMageGirl!]

With grey mist and grey minds
Splatter on rocks sidewalk
And this sound kept in waterseal

So turn from slate thoughts
And walk through water plots
That scatter rain-wise in our time

Why footstep on grey plains?
Green grass is more tempting
Alas, quaqmired drags you down

So grey mind and grey thoughts
Grey footsteps, grey plots
Grey skies and grey rain
With grey eyes, safe again.

[icythaco]

Slick slack, a rainbow on the pavement,
Rain bares down
The oily surface disrupted,
Fractured,
Reconciled.

Wary of water-logged treads
That might dampen the spirits,
If not the fabric.

Trudge through November drizzle
Focus fixed on dampish footsteps,

Roses pass you by
As does steel and brick
But rainbows catch the eye,
And feet stop at the oilslick.

[Melfice]

Calmly I look on
As a single blade of grass
Flows down the wild stream

Meh...

[Karenaide]

Chains will be splintered,
Bond will be broken,
Shackles will be shattered
and the will of one,
will again be free.

Why must the innocent suffer,
while the guilty run free?
They inflict harm upon God's creatures,
And don't learn or feel?
All they get is the grim satisfaction,
That they have hurt another being.

They continue their ways,
Causing endless suffering,
As the sky is blue,
And the clouds white.
From this day forth,
One will break free,
And show his worth in blood.

[icythaco]

good stuff, bludd streaks.

Apologies for the length on this thing, but I like to think that it comes together pretty well, and that the style/format is such that it doesn't seem as long when read:

Barstool Confessional
A Ballad

The dust motes stir
With a drunken slur
As I take up my post at the bar.
And the piano man plays
With a sticky malaise
As if the keyboard were slathered in tar.

I begin to take note
Of the usual folk
When I notice a man to my right;
His expression is grim,
His features gone thin,
In his teeth he clutches a knife.

‘A knife’ I concluded
Though my mind is colluded
By a haze of Tonic and Gin.
‘In his teeth, no less,’
But my thoughts now digress,
For the barkeep has just sauntered in.

His new name is John—
He changed it from Tom
After a nasty run-in with the cops.
But he’s a decent old chap,
Quick with a laugh,
And he pours drinks without spilling a drop.

The piano man sighs,
Rubs sleep from his eyes,
And asks John for a break at twelve.
John nods his ascent
But asks for the rent—
And is given the tip-box on the shelf.

As he returns to the bar
I ask for a jar
Of Bailey’s and Cream on the rocks.
He obligingly smiles
And pours me a vial
And makes a joke at the state of my socks.

As the man with the knife
Hits on another man’s wife
I look back on my life thus far…
As I think ‘What’s it all for?’
And glance out the door,
I realize someone has stolen my car.

[Funka Genocide]

serious, delerious
from taking all your shit
imperious, gregarious
so take another hit

you're stoned and wacked and insecure
and I'm your sugar pill
you wish you had another cure
but I'm the one who will

lying to an emptiness, can it hold me to
the vows we made in hesitance
even though we knew

life would get in the way

you're such a cliche
you're such a rogue
strong in the mirror
and dead

mention all your famous loves
mention how I missed the mark
tell me what I'm doing wrong
and curse the dreams I have

fuck this up so every time
you think of love or lust
you remember how I felt
and cry a little more

the tears will set you free

[RaiRai]

Nice to see you posting again, Funka. =)

When the honey drips

When the honey drips from the most gentle petal
the color changing from pink to gold
I'll cherish the image in my mind
until the dreams start to unfold
for such an image is sweet to me
but also holds such pain
a longing to be free and blessed
but washed away by rain
I sit watching the honey spill
into the lifeless ground it seeps
wasted on this bitch of an earth
no rewards will it reap
so I hold onto my memory
I won't let that nectar slip away
and hold with me that wilting flower
in hope it blooms again some day.

[Funka Genocide]

I always wind up back here, heh.

taken
were my tools
my ploys
the words of fools

a child
taken from
the things
which do him harm

and mother
oh sweet mother
right my wrongs
and don't be long

and lover
cherished lover
sing that song
and prove me wrong