Poetry Thursday #3

I actually had some time this week to work on some new poems – very happy with myself!  Yay productivity!  One is really sweet and simple, the other is…kind of disturbing.  I’m kind of bi-polar poetic this week perhaps?  A bit fucked up and a bit normal?  Yeah, sounds about right!  Well, hope you enjoy!  Feel free to comment and leave some constructive criticisms, I always enjoy learning how I can improve!     

Oh, wait – happy belated St. Patty’s Day!  Here’s another reason why I posted this so early – because last night I was actually getting drunk, so I set it up so this would post automatically (so I wouldn’t forget)!  Sweet!  I have a really shitty St. Patty’s day Poem posted, so gots three poems this week, awesome!.  Enjoy!     

The Law of St. Patty’s Day
I am falling down –
falling, falling
down the stairs.
Five minutes before:
I was falling off –
falling, falling
off my chair.
Ten minutes before:
I was picking fights –
picking, picking
fights with drunks.
One hour before:
I was drinking lots –
drinking, drinking
lots of  rye.
This morning:
I was thinking that –
thinking, thinking
that I would not drink.
Alas, it is St. Patty’s –
St. Patty’s, Patty’s
Day – the law says to drink
on St. Patty’s day.     

"To the Irish" by ominousseed on deviantart.com

 

Breeze
Time it passes
through our hands,
We cannot stop
the flow of sand.
The seasons come
and pass us by,
one day you live –
the next you die.
Life is uncertain,
like the weather.
Do not mourn, but
cherish time together.
It may hurt now,
but time will heal
all the sorrow
that you feel.
Time will come
and go with ease;
just let go and
move with the breeze.      

"Breeze" by Andrew Pearce aka andyp89 on deviantart.com

 

 Shadow Time
The moon and sun are out of sight.
By three (the darkest time of night),
dark things unknown make the room quake –
startled, out of slumber I wake.    

I am alone – but yet am not,
I see the things my mind forgot.
I close my eyes – but can’t ignore
the dreadful, fearful, things of gore.     

In the darkness, perhaps a face;
transformed, safety now an unknown place.
The shadows overwhelm my room,
the darkness now becomes my tomb.     

Perhaps my eyes they do deceive,
the ghosts, however, refuse to leave.
The watch, they wait – and I, their prey,
in the safety of my bed I lay.     

I lay in bed, and though I tire,
I find the strength to not retire
until the sun lights the skies –
I sleep until the shadows rise.     

"Bed" by Joshua Hoffine

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