Love hangs in the balance,
of an everlasting truce.
Love hangs in the balance,
of an everlasting truce.
There must be something in it
Some method – some madness
Some sacrificial ritual to evoke
To claim their eyes and ears
Sew them to my words
And raise my vision
From the grave of poet tears
In July I will write,
I shall carve out my heart
Paint only by the light
Of a weeping orange candle
I will relinquish all ink
To glean admiration
Soak parchment in hope
With this incantation
By the waxing fingernail
Of an August moon
I will pray to all Gods
For answers back soon
I will bake lots of cookies
Bare all of my secrets
Stitch buttons on poppets
Post each judge to keep it
I could stalk them on twitter
Devour their heroes
Smuggle a cheque
With several zeros
Bribe them with candy
Kidnap their cat
Sneak in some Semtex
And that would be that
Oh what am I thinking
Oh where has this led
I can’t share this poem
That’s stuck in my head!
It’s as if you make my fingers type somehow
Lure thoughts from my lips, staining the paper
– with inspiration
There are days when you tire me
Incessantly driving my mind forward
Creating strings of words ,that take form
Just a line or two at first
Then suddenly a whole cacophony
Of symphonies: the muse in triumph
And unbeknownst to most, you sit
Perched firmly in my chest
Your voice at the forefront of my mind
Go on, you say
Write it – write it all out
Write it for me
Quite possibly the largest number of singletons or loners found within one group at any one time. This quaint little coffee shop, a hive of activity for writers and readers alike. They swarm from trains and buses, tumble in from the street to find themselves a lone corner or quiet table from which to write their lives on the pages. Words conjoining to find meaning within inked lines, a master watching the beauty, as they swirl into being, taking form in their growth. Gnashing and gnarling, devouring everything in proximity before their inevitable death; then a refill of espresso to help the writer’s block.
It calls to me at night,
The beast shrouded in darkness.
Silent calls echoing in my mind,
Reverberate through my heart
And pierce my soul.
Each night he lays,
At the foot of my bed,
Waiting until my thoughts drift.
Only then will he pounce,
Tearing ideas, limb from limb
Allowing only tattered dreams.
Then in the morning, he sleeps.
Content in his role, fulfilled
Leaving me only with fragments.
Scorched cinders of denial.
Crushed bastions of brilliance,
Fallen around my feet.
Apparently today is the three year anniversary of my blog. I don’t have a special poem prepared or anything and it was a nice little surprise that it remembered at all.
Though, I would like to give out my thanks to everyone who has read, liked, commented on my posts over the years: it really does mean more than I can express. You guys are awesome, especially those who seem like dependable online friends, interaction with you all has been something I never expected.
I may not always be active or extra talkative but I do appreciate you and your blogs, and your wonderful prompts and inspiration. Long may they continue to keep me sane (ish) as I pour over your words and in turn leave you with mine.
Thank you all, and in the words of a great muse.
Shark infested waters
of hues once dared to swim
The beating of an iris
A deadly ink within
Salt and earth and coffee cups
Linger in these parts
Barnacles on memories
An urchin beating heart
He started Writing, The paper started speaking...
I CAN'T CONTROL EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE, BUT I CAN CONTROL WHAT I PUT IN MY BODY.😎🍓🍍🍇🍑🍐🍉🍈🍏🍊🍋🍅🍎🍌🍠🍢🍥
The blog is dedicated to the people which care about their goals, dreams , actions including the ones that have paused , slow down or even stopped moving forward.
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Welkom op de blog van Discobar Bizar. Druk gerust wat op de andere knoppen ook, of lees het aangrijpende verhaal van Hurricane Willem nu je hier bent. Welcome to the blog of Discobar Bizar, feel free to push some of the other buttons, or to read the gripping story of Hurricane Willem whilst you are here!
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