13 Days...

[Dano]

Gliding over the pavement
In my haven
Looking out the window at the nothing
Black with grey mottling
Gravel and grass illuminated before me
The occassional fellow traveller
Passing without saying hello
Listening to an old man
Sing about his lost love
I feel it in my chest
His longing
Making it mine
I woke up and rolled over to wrap my arms around you
But you weren't there
So I got up and dressed
Igniting the engine and moving
I've exited my city and entered the wilds
Grass and trees
The occassional sign
But no you

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Raise Love
Om Namaha Shivaya
All Stories Are True

Another shameless attempt to boost my post count.

[dwim]

Dano,
It shows great promise but it didn't really hit it on the spot for me. I say, put it somewhere and look it over later then work on it. Some of the best poetry in history did not come in the moment but over time of laying around. If that makes sense which it probably didn't. Just work on it after it been laying around awhile. I wrote this poem yesterday, something like "I love you/ because I got nothing better to do." I knew at the moment that it didn't hit it for me so... I'll work on that later. And oh yeah, I hide my bad poetry. Don't tell anybody. Shhh now ok?

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There's loneliness in the radios...

[Chilimuffin]

I think this is good in a lot of respects. Although I usuall object to the word "mottling," I think you put it to good use. I think, if anything, I'd expand it - give it more flesh... maybe make yourself more a part of the old man's lament? change places with him? but I think you strike at something about distance - that feeling of knowing what someone feels like physically, and leaning over, and hitting air hollowly.... and that's it, you go about your day. you make that point really well .

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"carpe jugulum" - terry pratchett

"but truth is just like time, it catches up and it just keeps going."
-dar williams

"I will always be me; I will always be new."
-delmore schwartz

[erisesoteric]

I feel the game descending on me.
I feel that I am pushing you
I'm pushing you
To see if you fall back
You don't fall back...
You are still standing, and you smile at me.
I tire of the game, and turn away to find
That you are holding me
And won't let go.
You won't let go of me.

I feel I should retract, retreat
Instead, I hear myself repeat
The promises.

I hate looking
With suspicion
At each face
Within this place
To find the trace
Distrusted
But I've heard
So many stories
And I have my own
That I don't want to tell you.
But I tell you.
I look up from burying the dead
Just one more time
To find you holding me.
You won't let go.

But I am quiet, still and waiting.
I hold the part of me, anticipating
Hide the piece of me...
I wonder what you want of me.
I want to give you all of me
But that one last piece
I can't surrender.
The piece I can't
Barter, trade, exchange.
And so I give you
All of me but that.
You brush a hand across me
Take the pain away and
Tell me that the piece you
Love of me the most is what
I keep restrained, away from you.

And how do I respond to that?

You tell me that
I'm beautiful and
I wonder what
You see that
You would say that
You say you love me
And all that I
Can say to answer that
Is why?
And so I don't reply,
Except to promise you
That I will let you hold me
Till you want to let me go.

You don't let go.
You won't let go.

I feel I should retract, retreat
Instead, I hear myself repeat
My promises to you because
I don't know how to say
I need you.