Maeve104's Poetry Page
All poems are copyrighted by [Maeve104
], thanks! :)
Mist Upon Rough Waters
Vast as the shore shall ever stretch,
Taking the horizon into its depths,
Blue green and gold.
Reflected upon the chaotic surface
In beams from a cloaked and shrouded sun.
So as to hold its own against the salty brine beneath it
Swirls and bows
Bubbling and frothing like the breakers below.
Fine mist blows in off the ocean.
Smelling of salt and deep
The first breath of the world,
Laid at your feet.
The sand is sucking,
Hearing the call to return to its ocean bed
And as I look to infinity
Meeting at the farthest shore,
I too am swept toward oblivion.
Geez, I miss the ocean. :(
Wingbeats From A High Balcony
A tale or a dream
His other life seemed
As he slunk through the shadows of night.
That fateful November,
When dark swallowed all of the light.
The pain spreading through him,
The poisonous fangs dripping red.
As twilight consumed him,
He looked at what doomed him,
And these are the words that it said:
Creature of night,
You’re free now to do what you will.
No morals, no life,
To live out in strife,
Your pleasure will come from the kill.
As he had been fated,
He gorged and he sated
His thirst on the blood of the living.
Warm, dark and red,
The innocent bled,
Unaware of the curse they were giving.
He longed for the killing,
And in each waking moment it grew.
The feeling of spite
For all that was right
As his soul frosted over anew.
So now in the dark
He waits for the spark
Of a life that is ripe for the taking.
He longs for the day
And he can’t get away
From a trance that’s not sleeping or waking.
He wonders if only
The kiss of the sun would bring peace.
And so, come the morning
Despite instinct’s warning,
He’ll lie down and hope for release.
I submitted this to the Vampire Poetry contest and won a badge! :D *happy badge dance*
My Computer Likes to Cut Itself
(A tale of woe from a Windows version which no one could interpret.)
My computer likes to cut itself,
in sleep mode late at night.
It ponders on its usefulness,
rips gashes in its harddrive.
It's software is corrupted
and its eaten from within.
Tormented by trojans,
electronics wearing thin.
It tries to wipe its memory,
the files are encrypted.
And so it takes to emo-ness,
and then becomes addicted.
Hehe. Yes, I was feeling quite bored and satirical one day.... :P
The Color Green
It's like awaking from a sleep
where dancing images retreat
to comfy corners of the mind.
Lawns and ivy,
The sunlight trickling from the trees,
Warmth on dust-streaked windowpanes.
That's the color green.
The Color Red
A masquerade of movement,
the flow of water,
of blood through your veins,
of wind over hot sands.
The feel of gravel beneath bare feet
entwined with the smell of sweat
Cicadas buzzing on the plains.
The Color Blue
A heavy sense of feeling deep,
and trying not to fall asleep.
The cooling mist from waterfalls.
Echoed footsteps in long halls.
The quiet sound of falling snow,
that drifts on fenceposts in a row.
The crispy taste of applejuice,
Reminds me of the color blue.
The Color Orange
You missed a stair.
You just set fire to your hair.
It jumps around and runs about,
Can't tone it down, can't shut it out.
A humming, buzzing hive of bees.
The hint of ozone in the air.
That's how you know that orange is there.
The Color Purple
The shape of shadows seldom seen
Tis likened to a state of semiconciousness.
Moonlight on the lake.
If reality were liquidated,
poured out into the sky,
chilled for half an eternity,
then gathered in smoky strands
and twisted into a cosmic knot,
It's color would be purple.
The Color Yellow
Feathers lightly brushing overhead
illuminated in scattered sunlight.
In soft songs and ancient tales
told in small rooms
with pleasant company.
Butterscotch and toffee on your tongue.
This is yellow.
Comments: The point of this group of poems was not to describe things that ARE the color mentioned, but to describe the color without actually mentioning the color. It's kinda hard to explain. Imagine that you can't see the color and I'm trying to describe it to you in the poem. Meh, me cwazy. XD
There is a certain quality about people
Which can't quite be expressed.
It is like breathing.
Like sunrise and sunset.
For some life comes and goes
Within a certain set of boundaries.
Predictable as the next heartbeat.
Cycles of frendship and heartbreak,
Feeling and thinking,
Inhale and exhale
Gathered and disposed of.
And each is the same as the last.
A comfortable place in the hive.
But for some life is a gasp.
A sharp intake of breath before the next plunge
Into the unknown.
Into the realm of genious and axe-murderers.
Into the minds of martyrs
Atrocities and miracles.
Living at the edges of the world.
Where the sun isn't guaranteed
And sometimes never sets.
Who is to say which is better?
To be just another dot on the map,
Or to fall off the edge of it?
Comments: Wrote this a while back. I attempted to match the rhythem of the words to the two contrasting views. Hopefully it worked?
Speak Now, Or...
I gather it in my mouth,
Spill it down my throat
Into waiting lungs.
Still while awaiting orders.
Pausing to relish its virgin state,
Untouched by love or malice.
Then the order comes
In a rush of exhaled breath,
Each molecule recieving meaning,
The thoughts latching themselves
To each atom
To each spinning orb of light.
The air itself vibrates to it.
This passage into being,
Past curved tongue and moving lips
Never to return to that carefree place
Where it held no special importance.
Now sent forth
Comments: No explanation for this one, really. I enjoyed it.
The page is blank.
But then the ink
Starts to flow.
Spun across the page.
Trapping her thoughts
Like black flies
To stop their buzzing
In her brain.
Revealing every detail
Of their gory truth.
She loathes him.
He begs for forgiveness.
She abhores his presence.
He flutters at the window like a moth.
She cannot forgive.
He says he's so sorry.
And she cannot forget.
He tells them that for her he would die.
If he lands there,
Among the snarled webs
Of her distaste,
He most certainly will.
Comments: This one was submitted to The seven deadly sins competition and won a badge! *happy badge dance*
I see you stumbling 'round,
Back from town,
Liquored up and playing the clown.
Fell in bed,
Bumped your head,
Couldn't feel 'cause your brain was dead.
Woke up sobbing,
Wondering why you're always robbing
Yourself of your own damn mind.
You've poured away your conciousness
All for a sip of fermentia.
Comments: This was written shortly after reading a LOT of Maya Angelou. I think it sounds more like her than me, but it's interesting at least.
Plight of Luna
You drown me by nature.
This distance causing an undertow,
tilting me on my axis
into a tailspin.
The gravity of reality the only thing
keeping me from sinking
into the deep blue depths.
You reach for me.
Unerring in your timelessness,
though I am so cold
You fill my vision
reflecting the sun,
and I cannot turn away,
though the universe calls me
Lost in the throes of restlessness.
I am afraid to test the waters.
Afraid I will burn out before I get there,
forever a blackened pit
where once a force beckoned.
Forever a loss
where once there floated dreams.
And so I tilt
in my lonely sky
while your waves pull me
and I stoically fight the tide.
Comments: This one was submitted to the Valentine's Day Poetry Competition.
To Tame the Wild Sparrow
If, walking through the forest glen,
Your eye, once wandering, seems to bend
Toward restless flickerings in the thorns,
You’ll spot the wild sparrow.
No notice will it take of thee,
Your countenance, like rock and tree
Is not much more than scenery,
It goes about its way.
But if you chance to take a step
Tow’ard its hiding place or nest
A flash of wings, a startled eye,
Its panicked form retreats.
Its songs are delicate and sweet,
On wings the creamy patterns meet
In perfect harmony, and beat
The air in whorls of tan.
To take the sparrow in cupped hand
Protect it from this wild land
Tis easier to dream, it seems
Than lure it away.
For unlike avians of town,
Who peck at breadcrumbs scattered ‘round,
And leave their dull dust-coated down
On every stoop and sill,
The wild sparrow lingers still
Where its own solitary trill
Is sound enough to entertain
And echoes from the trees.
To tame the sparrow you must find
A peace within your heart and mind,
A stillness of the eye and hand,
And seed to draw it near.
T’will take awhile to conquer fear.
For nothing like you has appeared,
Its wild nature shouts protest.
Forgive its wont to flee.
‘Till one day it begins to see
The gift you offer it is free.
No predatory mal intent
Is captured in your eyes.
And suddenly, to your surprise,
The sparrow soft and quickly flies
To perch upon your upturned wrist.
To flutter at your hand.
But you have uttered no command.
Unfettered by a rope or band,
Tis trust that made this wild tame
And seek your company.
But if you hurt it, clip its wings,
Speak to it of evil things,
The wild sparrow then will fade
Back into the forest glade.
Back to calm and shifting shade,
The woods from whence it came.
For one can’t call to it by name.
It doesn’t know to speak.
So if this bird is what you seek,
Come sit among the wild and meek
With patient heart and outstretched hand
Draw out the sparrow from this land.
Comments: A very long poem, but one that I spent a lot of time and effort writing. Hopefully it paid off?
If someone offered you something better,
held it out like some tantalizing jewel,
but dangled it just out of your reach,
would you jump for it?
Leap clear of your comfortable hiding space,
out of the dark, safe hole
where you know every corner,
have banged your shins off of every surface,
trying vainly to escape?
Now that you may have the chance,
will you leave those memories of pain
in their shadowy grave,
or will you cling to them sobbing,
saying that they are all you have left
in an uncertain world?
You know you should jump.
"Any sane person would." you say to yourself,
huddled amidst the clusters of heartbreaks,
wrong turns and lousy decisions.
But the choice, you know, is yours.
To jump clear, leaving pain for something promised,
or fail and slide back further into your enveloping world,
or not to jump at all,
and forever wonder if you would have made it.
Comments:I found this recently. I wrote it back at the end of senior year when I was trying to decide what I wanted to do when I graduated. I think a lot of seniors feel this way.
Time twists to fit
Between the sea and sky,
Frothing at the edges
Like the white foam.
Pulled like the sand
Into an hourglass,
Drifting on the dunes,
Bobbing in the waves.
Trail your fingers
Through the salty spray.
Feel the fact of time receding,
Wearing you away.
Will you tarry here,
Drowning in the waters?
Drag yourself to sodden shores,
And lay yourself to sleep.
The dunes shall drift,
And swiftly shall you swallow,
The dust of centuries,
Hold promises of peace.
Ribs of wood,
Reaching to the heavens,
Buried in the grains of sand
Blowing from the bay.
Who will remember now,
The balmy breeze that once caressed them?
What wave will overturn
The secrets etched along their sides?
Will they rest in some museum,
Contemplated by the masses?
Or will they be forgotten,
Lost beneath the lonely beaches,
Worn by waves of time?
Comments:Written as twin poems, with one staged centuries after the other.
Pacing these familiar halls,
I read the writing scratched in walls
of neural passageways encircling
winding ways of memory.
Some deep-carved letters tell old tales,
Their script quite juvenile and stale,
But others leave a fresher mark,
A jagged mind inscription.
I visit there when boredom shouts,
An invitation long worn out,
But dutifully I make my way
To wander in the brain.
The thoughts that I can’t seem to tame.
The nooks and crannies swept in vain,
My consciousness now raw and bleeding,
Dragged along its course.
Scraped along its ponderous path,
The burning questions still rehashed
And kept in looming piles of ash
The embers wait to spark.
I cannot help but tarry there,
Amidst the thoughts in disrepair
And shuffle through familiar feelings,
Grime and drudgery.
No longer have I need to look,
I know each scratch, the time it took,
To trace it over once again,
Define it in its place.
It is as if this sacred space,
I took the trouble to deface,
Is changing to a labyrinth
To stumble through in pain.
And so I chant the same refrain,
It echoes off the walls so plain,
I scarce can tell the messages
Through all the mind graffiti.
Comments:Not much to say here. Excess thinking + angst can lead to some great poetry ideas. hehe.
Spewed across the page.
Little bits of brainsick,
People eat it up.
Then, a refusal.
Pointing out the spattered
Turning up their nose.
And I hate that too.
So why this display?
Proud pinups of
My mind’s bulimic tendancies?
Drinking in raw emotions,
When I have had enough?
If it isn’t praise
That I am always seeking,
And it isn’t scorn
I’m hoping to receive,
Comments: haha...poet's angst. It happens.
The air smells of farewells,
The grass as green as it will ever be.
We depart from these halls
Where lives touched,
Through doors opened
And the walls care not for the next child
Who will find or lose themselves
In this same space.
The spring-decked trees
Shed the same rain
On the ends and beginnings,
Open eyes and upturned faces.
Warm mist drifts in from the interstate
Scented with tar and gasoline.
A fresh goodbye clings to your lips
As the world hushes itself to hear
Car doors in the distance,
Trail of headlights marks our exodus.
Comments: The beginning of summer always holds mixed feelings for me. I hate leaving, but it is a necessary thing sometimes.
We won’t notice you until you’re deaf and dumb, child.
Until you raise your eyes to heaven
And scream until there’s no breath in your lungs.
And the sound is one of empty air.
We won’t notice you until you’re foaming.
Until you bleed on the upholstery.
Until the seal breaks, the bones exposed.
Needles on the floor and ribbons in your hair.
We won’t notice until you’re dead and gone.
Until you’re only a lost cause to cluck over.
You’re a body to bury, love.
And then we can look back over our shoulders
Comments: A poem from the wrong side of things. Some days I just feel like writing dark poetry. Meh.
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