Laebedah's Poetry
 

Inspired by Sun Sparkz's generosity, I've decided to share some poems I've written. I've lost a lot of the ones I've written in the past, unfortunately. Some are dark, most are simple, some are short, and some are off the wall.

Torn Again
 

I am torn
Torn between who I need to love
and between who I want to love
I am unable to win
Emotion trickles from my skin
dousing all those who stand in my way.
Turn the tap off, they might say!
Ha, as if it is easy!
The attempt is not measely.

But I must try
I must
to protect those I care for
even though I wish for more
even though I am so torn.
Again.

Pain?
 

Not knowing someone
yet becoming so attached
ruins my heart
my spirit.
The pain is foolish;
why does it hurt so?
I barely knew her
yet she showed earnest interest.

Will things ever change?
Will life get better?
Of course I know it will
but for now, this
the pain
is what I feel.

And for now,
that pain is eternity.

There She Goes
 

I only see her in passing
a small wave here
a half smile there
but I can tell she does not mean it.

She wants nothing between us
not a relationship, not a friendship
not even to know who I am.
I know I cannot have her in any way.

I try to forget her but she burns in my mind,
a candle refusing to be extinguished.
The tears from my eyes do not put out the fire
but simply cause it to burn brighter.

But still I dwell on what I could have done different
what went wrong, where I went wrong.
Why I am so wrong.

Cold and Broken
 

In the mind of one who suffers
a spec of life, a change of direction
can alter that who surely is bold.

Is it I who suffer? No, no…
It is a girl, a woman of love and desire,
with a mate who is not of the same qualites.
He is cold, lifeless, consumed by comfort and gluttony.

Will she vacate?
Will she walk from a life of uncertainy, pain, and unhappiness?
The one who loves her is not sure,
he is confused, worried.
Anger seeps from the wounds of anger,
trickling from a branched stream of a massive river.

But fear not!
Massive blocks of rock protude proudly,
fearless of their surroundings
to bar the unsought free flowing agony.

The mate is of ice within his veins,
the walls are in place.

What will happen now?

Burning Sky of Two Times
 

Bellowed, hear of the dark night
grasping the blinking might.
Go ahead and try a flight
or die among lonely the fight.

Burn the fire of the horror
horror of the sky.
There they be try as they might.
The fire golden burning bright.
Horror come not ’till night
when you die among the lonely, the fight.

Petaled rose, willowed trace
try the pose, shake the face.
Kill the night, live the day.
Horror no more till it’s torn of the night
death among the lonely, the fight.

Drawn back between the time
and they speak, “fine, just fine.”

Sunlit Night
 

Upon the sun
the moon has shown
a side never seen
Its wrath
Its hate
has blocked the light
a cast of its silhouette

Oh, yes, the sun, wait!
it can retaliate!
Its pride
Its warmth
has blocked the night
a glimpse of days to come.

And remained the water, untouched
the people, untouched
yet no more the moon will see.
For there has come and gone
this eclipse once again.

Yin and yang
 

On the willowed rose I pace
darkness fading, never haste.
Face the terror, scream the name.
Look and ponder, ne’er the same.

Darkness is grave
Terror banished.
The sun has won
And the moon, none.

But Wait!
Scream the name
Sun Sun Sun!
Fire the eyes of tonight
or stay the same.

Or stay insane
And burn the bright
darkness the sun
Moon Moon Moon!

Light nor dark exists
and still it is insane.
No haste, no terror
scream no more.
And Die.

The Holy Flies
 

The Holy Flies
they are a-speaking
tell me, “die die!”
“Get off this mortal coil!”

And me, I stop the leaking.

Remind me of the white fires
when they once danced across;
into the opening, the void of today,
I will travel ‘cross the white fires
And into the night.

My journey has come to an end
the life of free-flowing nature, undead
Break the cycle!
Sequence no more!
And Fade.

The Holy Flies are dead.
The leaking continues still.
I did not stop it.

And in my hand I hold their instrument of death:
A flyswatter.

yin and yang was brilliant, i read that one more than once. well done and keep it up, youv'e inspired me to post some more :)

Thanks Sun Sparkz. I think I wrote Yin and Yang when I was either 17 or 18. It didn't have a title back then. I later decided on "Yin and Yang" as the title because the sun and the moon must both exist, otherwise balance would not be.

That describes all good poetry. Yours is very, very good.
I like them all, but "There She Goes" and especially "Cold and Broken" blow my skirt way up. :thumb:


PS- I think there's a mistake in the 10th line of "Cold and Broken".

Corrected. Thanks Bruce.

"Blow your skirt up" - I don't understand the metaphor. Care to elaborate?

In 1955 there was a movie called "The Seven Year Itch", in which Marilyn Monroe enjoyed standing over a ventilation grate for the subway. When a subway train would pass through, it would cause a great rush of air to blow up her skirt and her skirt up. She loved it and the men loved to watch it. :love:
Hence the expression "Whatever blows your skirt up" meaning whatever you enjoy or makes you happy.

Wow I'll have to watch that.

Classic Scene. Sometimes parodied or imitated. Marilyn was The Babe of the 20th Century.

Eros magazine was a hard bound quarterly published by Ralf Ginzburg. For $25 a year you could get highbrow pornography delivered to your door by a uniformed employee of the federal government.
I have three of the four issues before they dared to publish pictures of an interracial couple and the feds pulled the plug on the magazine.
Autumn, 1962, Volume One, Number three, features the last Marilyn Monroe photo studio shoot taken just six weeks before<s> she was murdered with a poison suppository</s>,……er, I mean, uh…. her death.
She had gone through the transparencies and marked, with an orange magic marker, the photos she didn’t like but they printed them all in the magazine, complete with her markings. She’s a bit slimmer than she was earlier and absolutely stunning.
Babe of the 20th century, indeed. :drool:

June's Beginning
 

My heart bleeds for you
she who makes it skip
she who cares for me,
she, the one I care for.
Tears come to my eyes
as each day I pass without her.
The broken heart bleeds.

Can it be mended? Ah, yes
but someone has to tend it.
Someone has to care for it.
That someone could be her
Should be her
Might be her.
Will be her.
Hopefully, her.

Come summer’s break
a path will open
one of hope
my hope.

On this path she may tread
towards the arms
of the one who loves her.

Emotion Not Returned
 

I long to hold her in my arms
to brush my finger across her face
and stare her into eyes forever.
I wish to hold her closely
oh, to kiss those lips
to feel her warmth against mine
and run my fingers playfully through her hair
I know not what I would do with myself.
Would I die?
Would it just seem like it?

If she knew the way I felt
more than just knowing I like her
what I write
what I long to tell her
would she be afraid?
Or would she embrace?
Would she be with me?

If only that could be!
But I know
it may never be.

So many question I know may never be answered.
I know I should not get caught up
with what does not exist
but I cannot help myself.
Is it loneliness, despair, discontent?