Poetry

An Introvert’s Revolution

The people are here
and they want to chant
for what they hold dear
and will not recant.

We are many & great,
with strength in numbers,
a force that will not abate
until corruption slumbers.

The revolution is here.
Your reign shall fall.
The skies will soon clear,
true freedom to all.

I agree with these views,
so I have nothing to fear,
except large crowds in small venues.
I’m getting the f**k out of here.

 


Image Credit:

“Ubu’s Dreams – Shadow Puppet Test”, by Fabrice Florin.
Released under a CC BY-SA 2.0 Generic license.
Image has not been changed.
This use does not imply endorsement of the above content.

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Poetry

A Poem to Keep You Going

Hey, listen, I’m sorry about being so late to post today. I’m still in college, and it’s the end of the semester, so things are really crunched for time right about now. And, unfortunately, because of how busy I’ve been, I haven’t gotten that long post completely ready yet, so it’ll have to wait for another week. I’m hoping to get it all finished by next week, but I don’t know. We’ll have to just wait and see.

In place of the long post I wanted to show you this week, I thought I’d post another poem of mine. As usual, I do hope you enjoy it.


“Freedom Rings”

The bells stop, so
I dash
across the courtyard.
Empty. Not good.

Too much
of that can be deadly,
too many have employed it.
Trapping their enemies…
Death upon an unwilling fly.

I will it off, too close to give.
Mere metres away from what I want…
I want that freedom. Everyone does.
But beliefs are expensive around here.

I reach for the gate. A bell rings
adjacent to my ear, a loud echo.
The Robe-wearers awaken, others give chase.
“Repent!”, they demand of me.

But one is holding a cross.
I cannot abide by their demands.


Image Credit: Dávid Kótai
Released under an Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-SA 2.0) license.
Image has not been changed.

Poetry

“Guardian”

The feline watches over the lazy heights,
a feeling of suspicion—
its eyes always pierce
the glass, bounded
and ever faithful toward persistence.

It is pristine ceramic. It is hectic
& driven, smoothed and crafted.
Its purpose is
a home: it gives a place safety.

All but its owner runs
from their perception,
its face with hexes
and vexes and
other glorified missiles of doom.

Hexes or none
The magic is the mortar:
its fangs kill brick
but of no nations’ walls.


Image Credit: Alexandre Dulaunoy
Released under an Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic (CC BY-SA 2.0) license.
Image has not been changed.

Poetry

“Crow’s Night”

The soft pillow cries to me,
as I wander across
the nightingale yard.

I look up just as
a crow flies to
my doorstep.

Its black wings,
fearful, and ageless,
gaze into my eyes.

And, as its beak
penetrates and my mind
begins to break

I reach for the pillow.
I fall awake.
I look up.

A crow sits,
my west-facing window
a tumbleweed of black feathers.


Image CreditKrystian Olszanski
Released under an Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0) license.
Image has not been changed.