Dreams are Catching

They're rather contagious these days, don't you know? Creative Commons License

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Where?

(Another old one, but this time I want to share it.  Before Slenderman was quite as EXTREMELY POPULAR as it is now, I had made this as a contest entry with everyone’s favorite creepypasta guy as the subject.  More halloween coming, and a Sonnet at that.  In fact my nose is in the notebooks right now.  Sorry about not posting on Monday, I wasn’t available last night.)

Who knows where he comes from,
and who knows where he does go?

His realm no one returns to tell.
Some call him the Night King;
many dreamt, but never tell,
all are gone before they sing.

Stretched shadows so comforting,
binding like dark snakes.
Arms ever so kindly constricting,
unknown the lives he takes.

Silenced quick, all who knew.
Dashed away, all notion.
Cleansing fire stirring the stew
of confusion in motion.

So my children
take heed and care:
when fog rolls in
he awaits to snare.

Where does he come from,
                                            where does he go?

Filed under poem poetry halloween Slenderman

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Said the Janitor.

(Inspiration told me “No, you’re not doing a sonnet yet.  This is inspired by me applying for a janitor’s job at a church, even though I’m Agnostic.  No harm is meant to any religion here.  Also, I’ll be updating every Monday now, it feels easier.)

The waiting room is a full deck, 

gambling their afterlives away?

I pick up last decisions’ check,

cleaning up the mess as they play.

(….I could’ve sworn I posted this on monday.  Derp.  Well anyway, I guess that means two for this week.)

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Contacts

(Here’s another one of my old ones, one of my first attempts at a Sonnet.  Apologies but I’ve been a little on the sickly side most of the week.  I’ll have an honestly new Sonnet up sometime over the week, I’ve really been itching to do another one for quite a while.)

You are opposed to any reconciliation,

Dethroning this man’s opinion, that man’s query.

Forbidding any small continuation,

Of that which is your opinion’s contrary.

Blatantly standing, with nothing to defend your hide,

Quickly calling any facts completely untrue.

Even if they have truth, you laugh feeling so snide,

Pulling out a response without any contribute.

Remove your contacts, rose-colored to your stance,

You will soon find bias replaced by balance.

Maybe you will feel more confident in your prance,

Both sides of the story mixed into your chalice.

For sometimes happiness in all living,

Comes from getting as much as giving.

Filed under poetry poem sonnet argument stubborn

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Questions

(I have no clue what the last three lines actually were, but I found it sitting on my drafts.  Might as well finish it.  I’ll now be striving to make weekly updates.)

Friend asks me,

"Why are you never with this tune?"

It always says:

"Ain’t nobody got the blues like me."

Oh but I can’t sing these songs.

I know things could be worse;

Somebody has the blues like I.

Family asks me,

"Why haven’t you ‘grown up’ yet?"

Everytime follows,

"Why aren’t you more like us?"

As I only refine what I was about,

most change into the worst of our time.

I’m happy just being on this route.

Filed under poem poetry

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Uncertainty

(I took a line from an unfinished project I had, and grew a poem about it.  Time for a more timely basis with this stuff, for real this time.)

I think I see the truth ahead,

or am I the only one Incorrect?

I think I’m perfectly well attuned.

I see the wind at my backside.

At least I think the storm is blowing:

I see only what it leaves behind.

I believe my glasses hide my gaze,

like clouds cover the true sky from sight.

I believe I may be perceiving 

I hear the wind start to wail,

my ship spinning out of control.

I hear only with my vision weak.  

I have less sight than blind men.

Filed under poem poetry sail wind blind

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Styx

(This is comprised out of things I’ve written over this past month.  I tried a couple of half-rhymes and played around a bit.  Sorry if it’s more emo or of lesser quality than what I’ve posted up to now.  A lot more, and better coming up.  Promise!)

I’ve been watching death off and on;

sickness, strife, arguments no.

Yet I learn how to make mushrooms:

a little optimism from this situation.

The temperature is high as Mars,

and I’m waiting urgently,

for July cold to stop these wars.

Maybe things will turn swiftly?

What have I done to find this path?

I’m not even sure what to think now.

I just can’t do the illogical math.

Much less about where I’m headed.

I’m looking at a completely dead field,

yet I still attempt to grow mushrooms.

Looking for something bright in a cloud:

Who knows what can still happen?

Filed under poem poetry

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Apologies.

I promise, new things coming in tomorrow.  I’ve been gone for a while, I partially blame a small block I’ve been having, and partially blame this month being… well, you’ll read a little about it later.

Thanks for staying around, those who have been.

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The Village Hermit

(And this is what I’ve been working with all this time… well, around it.  I might recycle some parts I’ve thrown out soon, I experimented with quite a bit while I worked on this.  Enjoy!)

One bright and normal morning,
In a village of pious eyes.
In a valley must less than boring,
Lies a house most foreign.

Around his house is a wooden gate,
Hewn against the grain it appears.
Symbolic though in a shoddy state,
No one dares to ever walk past.

For fear of it falling, or for supposed fear beyond.

In the back yard fenced separate,
a busted cabinet, shattered window.
Look inside if you’re desperate.

A cracked photo of Jesus lies within.

Just inside the shack peers a warm gaze,
completely unlike the rest of the town.
A man so removed from their ways,
He can barely talk with them anymore.

One large Grandfather Clock lies inside,
Pace and warning to the life contained.
Next to a desk with no light even dithering,
a pile of papers always freshly disturbed.

Tapping with the pendulum’s sway.
all day inside with shades pulled,
the stories slowly melting away,
He’s making candles of poetic wax.

And he says through his paper,
“what a beautiful world.”

Filed under poem poetry symbolic experiment

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Invisible Fire Cult

(Sorry about being so inactive everyone.  I’ve been dealing with a few things and working with a couple new concepts, both of which are taking up some time.  Here’s an older piece of mine to pass the gap a little, and I promise something new will come up very soon.  Perhaps even tonight.)

This town is where I was born,
But I received only scorn.
My expression, under compression,
For all my life in every session.

I’m sittin in a careless state of affairs,
Given quotes of silence while everybody stares.
It’s so hard to leave a trace,
So I’ll leave this god forsaken place.

Home of The Invisible Fire Sanctum.
They’re so afraid of the unseeen,
Everyone’s got a steel cranium,
And no one’s really keen.

The pulpit is full of rage,
Against people outside their cage.
Humble bumble until the walls crumble.
Rumble tumble if someone even mumbles,
How maybe we’re doing something wrong,
That person, they end up on the wrong side of the gong.

Oh, glorious, glorious home…
Home of The Invisible Fire Sanctum.
They’re so afraid of the unseeen,
Everyone’s got a steel cranium,
And no one’s really keen.

If pigs can fly, then maybe I,
Can surely shoot high into the sky.
And if monkeys can yell then we can form,
A small group of people separate from the norm
But after I leave my friend,
I won’t be going back again…

Home of The Invisible Fire Sanctum.
They’re so afraid of the unseeen,
Everyone’s got a steel cranium,
And no one’s really keen.

Filed under Poem Poetry old

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Fleeting

It comes in like catching your favorite song,

and stays there on the radio, but not for long.

It’s as sudden as a notion this day might be your last,

but then it’s only a psychic who wants money fast.

It’s duration is that of a heartbeat on the EKG,

when it’s on your favorite medical TV showing.

It’s gone quicker than a unforgettable moment,

just like all other minutes on the Internet went.

Happiness. Catch it while you can.

Filed under poem poetry social Internet Television Doomsday Radio society happiness