Category: Poetry-Thing Thursday

Anything rhythmically or structurally varied from general fiction.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Now Uncouth

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

I will not always,
say things that you like,
but make no mistake
that is my right,
to hold in my heart,
for that which I’ll fight.

I have opinions,
as do you, too,
but do suspect,
that far too few do,
disagree with effect.

Bear that in mind,
with whomever you like.
But remember,
they too have a right,
to believe and hold dear,
for that which they’ll fight.

You may be wrong.
You may be right.
You may find joy,
in silence respite,
But recall;
no hatred is might.

It is formed by a mind,
fearing to accept,
disagreements and pleads,
to be better, correct.

But humanity’s needs,
must turn off our hatred.
Our anger and spite.
So we together, embrace,
for that which we’ll fight.

So drink from the cup,
of wisdom and truth,
denying the rituals,
formed in man’s youth.

It may be there that we found them,
now they’re uncouth.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Best When Lived Right

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Characteristic souls suffer in silence,
while effete tools eke out unimaginable existences,
that cause collateral casualties via circular causality,
from hatred that homes its hammers on honesty and honor.

Seek not the darkness,
it will find you soon enough.
And weep not for heartless,
your wounds will need you tough.
And if the light should find you too,
rejoice in the reprieve from doom,
for it is eternal,
and you are not.

Eyeing eggs of eternity from eons beyond an eager era,
is the province of science’s promise, prophets, and principle,
whom no matter their name find the game lame,
so meddle with neurons of nits whom know nothing.

For the darkness recedes,
but a few moments–
a flash of light and breath,
we call life.
It is short and sweet.
Delicious between sheets.
A flickering torch,
ever haunted by darkness.

So make the most of your time,
your light,
your life,
for there’s one and one alone,
and it’s best when lived right.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Scars

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Scars run deep,
in tissues that seep,
with blood and pus,
and memoried wounds that weep.

Steel sings sharp,
begs played harp,
from creatures with wings,
hanging o’er the body-covered tarp.

Words whispered from tongue,
in a madman that’s hung,
the sound knows no end,
bellows ever his lung.

Let snow blow and fall,
‘pon mountaintops tall,
and follow their slopes,
‘til warmth comes to call.

For in giant’s steps,
comes sadness that slept,
for the soul once ablaze,
knows not what it kept.

So remember each scar,
they’re important by far,
and no matter where you go,
each one sets a bar.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Dead Seasons

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Ice and snow.
Bitter cold.
What better time than winter,
to die alone and old?

Would you rather it were rains,
in a spring that breeds new life?
Or perhaps the cool breeze,
of a warm summer’s night.

If not, make it through autumn,
for it is the least of best times,
and let winter come take you;
Aged. Gray. Alone.

For those whom come and go too soon,
envy the choices you decry.
And those that find spring anew again,
wish they hadn’t; still had a friend.

But they don’t.
And they won’t.

So live life ’til it takes you.
Don’t hasten it unduly.
And in time,
do not, its ending, delay;
for there is but one.
And though at times,
both seem too much,
too few,
they aren’t.

For dead is gone.
Alive, is you.