Tag: rhymes

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Don’t Go

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Don’t Go

 

Don’t go.

I’ll tell you the path to choose,

Tomorrow.

 

No, don’t go,

the river is cold,

the water is old,

And the path your bound on-borrow.

 

Listen,

don’t speak.

The water is rising,

reaching the peak.

 

Don’t go.

A warning,

from a siren callin’.

An upended moon,

from a sky that’s fallen.

 

No, don’t go,

ne’er to return home.

There will come a day,

for wild oats to be sown.

 

For the moon can’t be owned,

and the seeds won’t have grown,

and the fires will have shown,

that you were meant for home.

 

Don’t go,

I’ll tell you the path to choose,

tomorrow.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Mother, Mother Earth

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Mother, Mother Earth

 

Gusts of wind grip you by the eyes,

tear out your heart, rest in her thighs.

Man or woman, “no matter,” she sighs.

 

She’s unlike the mother, the daughter, or lover.

With kindly old cheeks to make up our borders.

An old, quiet widow, of the grandest order.

 

From extinctions of night,

to meteors beyond sight,

In fire, her heart’s delight.

While stones and bones rise as her might.

 

In depth-less dark seas scream dead-sailors pleas,

but upon her surface? An unaltered breeze.

She sings and cries, whistles with wind,

while her tears evaporate into ocean.

 

She is the mother of mothers,

The Earth’s never a bore.

 

Mother, Mother Earth,

We sing to thee.

Forgive us our trespasses,

reign o’er we.

 

Mother, Mother Earth,

is there nothing you choose?

No sorrow, no sadness, no musical blues?

For you are our Mother, and we owe you your dues.

Out in plain sight, or imperceptible hues,

How about a few, nice new pairs of shoes?

 

But no response will we get,

forever mute is she, at least as of yet

Unless for some reason, we begin to forget,

To harm her’s a thing, we’ll forever regret.

 

To her wisdom we’re ever-dimwit

A candle that dies, only just lit.

To us she’ll be nigh-on eternal,

Our Mother, Mother Earth in her vernal.

A youth in the millions and billions perhaps,

but ever-susceptible to collapse.

Coddle and love her, and treat her so kind,

if only to give us sound peace of mind.

 

Our Mother, Mother Earth and her skirt,

of death and decay, and fertilized dirt.

Gives us our food and our love, and our heat,

mother and lover of every creature we meet.

 

We may fair seas as a species, the sky and the stars,

but sometimes we need to look a little less far.

Trains and planes and big semi-trucks,

we leave only her to wipe up the muck.

I’ve no wish to ridicule, criticize, or upset,

but give her a hand for all the love that you get.

In time you will see just what it is worth,

to us and our lovely Mother Earth.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Madness

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Madness

 

Sixes and Sevens,

I cry from the heavens!

No more of these set-ins,

My poor mind it maddens!

 

Hope’s a cyanide,

for a tearful abide.

I’ve known the wild ride,

Alice and madness, and badness aside.

 

Righteous indignation?

My capitulation.

What’s your situation?

I’ve no destination.

 

Madness ‘n numbers, mathematical formul-i

Tones ‘n notes ‘n out of tune, I die.

Seeking the seeker, whom seeks the sky?

I rhyme, and I rhyme– or at least try.

 

Oh King and Oh Queen,

Your relation’s obscene!

Incest is best when done in a dream,

stark raving mad or naked and clean,

Oh King and Oh Queen of soiled latrine!

 

The sheets! The sheets! What more repeats,

Of all those that preach, and little altar-boys eat?

Bloody madness, and bleached-cotton in heat,

woe to you, delectable treat!

 

War mines, star shines,

the Moon climes

all in desperate time,

to a beat, a tempo, a forgone sign.

 

Oh the madness we touch,

atop the hutch,

of reality’s crutch,

That’s silent? No such.

 

Thing in the dream, of a queen made a scene.

Appalling, appealing, and reeling in ‘tween,

Is it us or our madness that which I’ve seen,

Recall the fall of the madness and ream,

But who is the whom with untruly lean?

 

Is it you or the madness that you’ve desired?

The thunder of cannons yet to be fired?

Perhaps in the middle, something yet to be sired?

 

My final questions are these which I’ve asked,

of the moral majority and madness unmasked.

In the sun’s warm glow now shall we’ve basked,

with madness and numbers and Alice, up-classed.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Imagination

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Imagination

 

Limitless possibilities,

Lore and myth, religion,

Ever-expanding realities,

All imagination.

 

Have you dreamed colors that do not exist?

And are you uncertain of that lunar eclipse?

Can you think of a good, midnight twist?

Does your mind ever draw a single ellipse?

 

Is there a creature, a character or little miss priss?

Are they raving or looting or feeling love’s first kiss?

And what of your dashing protagonist?

Does he cry out in pain, or march through the mist?

 

Battles and Wars, science-fiction,

these are the fruits of imagination.

Terror and horrors, and grotesque lim-er-icks,

all at the mercy of unkind critics.

 

Is it their mother or father’s mishap

that led your M-C into all that claptrap?

Or is it a quick emanation of craft,

something you cooked up, to bore or to shaft?

 

A dream, and a screen, and a few words obscene

A satirical note for life’s lamentation,

Women preen with white cream in a deadly latrine

The signs of life in imagination.

 

A clock, and a tower, or a friendly courtyard

a tock without power, sent by a bard,

a Cock ne’er cower, when stripped of its lard,

and will not hock nor sour a stolen key-card.

 

And if you should find yourself at a wall,

a book from the shelf to you will call.

With open mind, read the page and stand tall,

for imagination will no longer stall.

 

Worlds and worlds on paper you’ll write,

this I have mentioned, it’s one way to fight,

the stagnation of a man, whom has no part,

but to play to the crowd through his only art.

 

Be it pictures, of photo or ink in your sight,

or something more, it shall be your right,

to poke and to prod ’til a new creation

spews from the well-spring of imagination.

 

Belabored or bred or trained through the night

All you need do is keep your aim tight,

sights on the sun or the sea, or mountains

imagine them all, and a few thousand more tons.

 

When hope springs eternal just look to the trees,

submerse yourself in determination.

To keep yourself afloat in rough seas,

keep your mind on imagination.

 

For hours and hours one could go on,

‘specially ’bout the prodigal fawn

but for now I believe we’re on the same page,

our hearts and brains, imagination? No cage.