coming out of a darkened sky;
oppressive gray that pressed on all sides-
the heart jumps at the sight of blue
as yellow warms the crystal air.
for the storm's pressure
is relieved
the hunched back now has straight shoulders
tired feet walk on soft grass and heather
and the weary soul is replenished
The twilight evening
Is splintered with shards of pink:
The last reminder of the ball of fire.
As the day slides across the globe
So the dreams dance their way to consciousness.
A violet ceases to be a flower
As the fairies claim it as their home.
A firefly is no more, instead,
A dash of pixie dust floats to the ground.
The sunlight clearing is a danceground
Where fauns and birds
Dance the dream through.
This is a sample of my spur-of-the-moment poetry writing, which I am not sure if it is really poetry at all. Nothing rhymes, there is no beat, no measure...
However, I know of someone else who write poems sort of like this (she is also a genius at art- literally, because she has been called the only living child prodigy of realistic art and poetry. She used to live here in Rolla!!!) http://www.artakiane.com/
Here is an interesting quote I read (still not sure what it is supposed to mean, but who cares? It makes you think!)
"If you look at a thing nine hundred and ninety-nine times, you are perfectly safe; if you look at it the thousandth time, you are in frightful danger of seeing it for the first time." -G.K. Chesterton
And another one, by the same guy:
"Truth, of course, must of necessity be stranger than fiction, for we have made fiction to suit ourselves."
No comments:
Post a Comment