A Limerick for Domhnall.
#4 of poetry another limerick i did. this time, for a friend. there once was a domhnall gawain who came to play in the rain he fell in a puddle and lost his best muddle and ran to that country named spain
lust (11/10/11)
My poetry what is lust, some say its a crutch, others say its to much, some say its a sin, others say its in, some think it a vice, others think it nice, some lust for life, i just live for lust,
The Journey
#10 of poetry . the journey lonely little leaf falls to the wild river then into the sea. overturned by wind, the oak tree caught in ice, roots grasping at air. petals push the earth away, shedding light on the heart of the lotus.
self perception - poem
#1 of poetry collection poem no. 1 if only i could show you if only you could see if only you knew i want you to believe you are better than whatyou know what you think and see better than the self you perceive to be
Red Rose , Black Rose
#2 of poetry one of my first poems they were beautiful, so full of life and happiness, red roses black roses a sad but true symbol of death, beautiful even after; the fall of something nice, black rose red rose both beautiful in there
pretty ribbons - poem
#5 of poetry collection poem no. 5 we weren't made of pretty ribbons we weren't a happy thing we were a tied up mess a relationship made of string loose buttons and badly sewn barley hanging by a thread though little had i known our relationship was
Feel good!
#2 of poetry good morning! feel content every once and a while, distract yourself from stress and sorrow, fake a smile, eventually it will get there, you think it's all going south but then something great happens, or it doesn't but c'mon!
Workings of the Mind
#1 of poetry ok, this one is really short, so i was debating not even giving it it's own page, but hey, why not? \*\* **workings of the mind** rushing through my mind; brush fueling the fire. ideas come unbidden; yet they match my desire.
Elevators by Alpha Wolfio
#10 of poetry a poem about elevatorcon. to ascend or descend?
Creative
#8 of poetry i have no name until you name me. i have no form until you shape me. i don't exist until you make me, i am creativity.
thoughts under a sea of blossoms
#3 of poetry sitting under the plumb trees blooming bright on a warm spring day the yearly dance of the finches begin singing sweet and beautiful as they suck the sweet nectar and knock the pink blooms to the ground where they
A wry Epiphany
#5 of poetry and scribblings when the hallowed grounds are breached, and the blood starts to stain the sacred earth, a waste starts to spread slowly, creeping underneath my skin, making me aware that the things i hold dear, are merely illusions, the