Tag: rhymes

Poetry-Thing Thursday: A Terrible Thing to Waste

~ S.M. Nolan ~ 3 Comments

An open mind,
is a terrible thing to waste.
So provide it wings,
and let it soar upward,
beyond infinity.

Suckle wisdom,
from the leaves of its trees,
wet from fresh rain of dreams,
and cupped with hopeful pleas.

Take heed warnings,
from those you trust have learned,
and be certain to always,
trust in your instincts when spurned.

Do not withdraw,
in fear or hesitation.
Instead press forward,
with immovable determination.

For life is short,
and merely is–
and an open mind,
is a terrible thing to waste.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: LCD Calamity

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

LED.
Technology.
When you’re in,
think of me.

Virtual Insanity.
LCD Calamity.
When you’re out again,
forget how to be.

For the ‘net is quite large,
and has a lean to take charge.

Electricity.
Bit currency.
Arcs in light we see,
to throttle us with ferocity.

When corruptibility,
is formatted glee,
we’ll be forced to take knee,
risk our lives or flee.

Then will float a barge,
with our corpses as its only charge.

Corporatocracy.
High-Velocity.
Suicide-society,
burning to ashes around me.

Cyberpunk scene.
Streets unclean.
Veins of pink and blue and green,
striate what little Humanity can glean.

Web 2.0 turned to dust,
in favor of corporate lust.

Insanity.
Corporate manatee.
Greed vanity,
ruling iron-fistedly.

Where poverty,
becomes artistry,
only to utterly,
destroy equality.

Beware of the creature,
of man-made feature,
and hydra-headed preacher,
for it is no teacher.

Instead,
listen to your head,
or you’ll find dead,
those liberty bred,
from the LCD,
Calamity,
and Cyberpunk dread.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Colors

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

On a warm summer’s morning,
cool dew clings to grass.
Sunrise kisses the milk-white skin,
of her bare-naked breasts.

Cool pale meets hard pink.
It stiffens against the breeze.
She sits, leaned back,
arms propping her up.
to gaze at the awakened hues.

Bluish-green taints milk-white,
in lightning strike patterns,
from veins pumping crimson blood,
compelled by a red heart beneath.

Her head tilts back.
Sandy hair cascading.
The first rays of sun engulf it,
warm it with their soft yellow light,
and reveal the gentleness,
of motive in her ice-blue eyes.

To know her is to love her,
orange and daring,
but so very few do,
for the gray and the white of shyness,
make her humbling privilege gold,
atop her palette of affections.

Still she sits, until satisfied,
atop a verdant, dewy hill,
waiting for something,
no matter the color,
to move her back to life.

When it does not come,
she instead lies backward,
baring her self to blue skies,
and hoping, even dreaming,
for the Sun’s color-filled goodbye.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Mind-Grease

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

I seek release,
for a load of mind-grease,
that’s honking like geese,
being chased by police,
for their opulent fleece,
while their alpha does cease,
and book pages do crease.

But I find nothing fun,
in staring at one,
whom glows like the sun,
and forgiving the pun,
is as pure as a nun,
who’s lifting a gun,
to be on the run.

So I’ll do what I can–
I’m only a man,
and she’s a big fan.
No matter our plan
we’re into the pan,
with a sun-cancer tan,
and toeing a ban.

Bodies entwine,
a perverted sign,
that crosses a line,
and incurs a fine,
but it’s 4th and nine,
while I’m in decline,
and she wants to be mine.

Emotions never read,
by the living dead,
we fall into bed,
and our bodies are wed.
Should have cleaned them instead,
but we’re dirtied in head,
by a loneliness dread.

So with a whimper and moan,
our fates we have sown,
innocence lost, the departed’s postpone,
while we claim one another as own,
and take turns revealing the news through the phone,
that she and I, together can hone,
melted mind-grease into razor-sharp bone.