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Literature Text
A morning golden beam kisses the ground
Dewdrops shine on blades of grass
Clock strikes seven, breaks the silence
The town awakes
New dawn, new day
Time to get back working
Carrying on sweet memories
Of the weeks gone by
Building new castles in the sky
Carried on by the damp scent of dawn
Fantasies, promises, and hopes
All of them will last as long as twenty-four hours
Before being drowned in dusk
An endless magic circle
New ones coming, old ones going
...And it's so beautiful
An ever renewing little wonderful miracle
So often it happens, and goes unnoticed
And we voyagers in dreamland never wish to wake up
And see
What's going on outside the window
People walking, waking, watching
While the skies keep on smiling
Such a bliss needs no thanksgiving
For true happiness really lies
In the beauty of everyday lives.
Dewdrops shine on blades of grass
Clock strikes seven, breaks the silence
The town awakes
New dawn, new day
Time to get back working
Carrying on sweet memories
Of the weeks gone by
Building new castles in the sky
Carried on by the damp scent of dawn
Fantasies, promises, and hopes
All of them will last as long as twenty-four hours
Before being drowned in dusk
An endless magic circle
New ones coming, old ones going
...And it's so beautiful
An ever renewing little wonderful miracle
So often it happens, and goes unnoticed
And we voyagers in dreamland never wish to wake up
And see
What's going on outside the window
People walking, waking, watching
While the skies keep on smiling
Such a bliss needs no thanksgiving
For true happiness really lies
In the beauty of everyday lives.
Literature
you -
i. refuse help.
we sit
on the edge
of pavements,
drawing circles
with crosses
and you tell me
this all
must end.
ii. are a cry
for attention. a crow
in a sky
of pidgeons. red marrs
skin,
footsteps
on a foreign
moon; a game
all along.
iii. lose the game.
iv. don't realize:
we have been paying
attention
all along; loving
your crashed
space ships,
your lost
advances. it
is you
that has not
cared.
Literature
What a Poem Should Be
A poem should be new,
New as "spring" is not.
It should be incandescent and alive,
Spinning and mad as a Hatter.
It should be chalkboard dreams
And tea cup wishes that
Contain tears that salt your Earl Gray.
It should be an umbrella smile
With glittering jump rope arms.
It should be groaning with delicious, sibilant words
Like decadence, luxurious, lucious.
It should roll and tumble
Like a silvery-moon-pulled tide
Foam whispering, breathing, breaking
Along a pebbled beach of words.
Literature
Skyblood.
Even though stars are fire, the bridges of their constellations are never burnt away.
[Unlike our love, which died with an 'outoutbriefcandle'.]
The moon changes but wolves never cease their loyal howling.
[Everlasting, they are.]
The stellar heavens are clear during the day but bloom diamonds in the night.
[You didn't stay to see me shine either.]
The sky bleeds harsh red and soft purple when loud sunrays pierce their gentle melodies.
[I bled too.]
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Entry for the Beauty in Life contest. A chant to life, just like many other works of mine.
I feel a bit awkward about this. Maybe it's because English isn't my primary language, but words just didn't want to come out. I don't know whether the outcome is good or not, but I hope so... at any rate, I'd like to get feedback about one thing: does this sound natural to you? Or does it look like "artificial", emotionless word play?
I feel a bit awkward about this. Maybe it's because English isn't my primary language, but words just didn't want to come out. I don't know whether the outcome is good or not, but I hope so... at any rate, I'd like to get feedback about one thing: does this sound natural to you? Or does it look like "artificial", emotionless word play?
© 2010 - 2024 heavenriver
Comments41
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no way! it sounds amazing! I love it. you really got it!.. its twelve hours from dawn to dusk though, unless you live way down south or up north.