Tag: rhymes

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Harsh Reality

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Neon lights.
Bright Eyes.
Light pollution,
of a million varied hues.

Neo-Tokyo.
New Chicago.
Sprawl names,
for sprawl lives.

Cold chrome and carbon fiber,
replacing skin and bone.
Neuronal wiring,
for optical replacements and HUDs.

Political corruption,
a dime a dozen,
and all but a few,
live in poverty,
or beneath corporate thumbs.

But is that,
really so different,
than what we have now?
Mortgages, debt, and private utilities,
what do we really own?

Civil asset forfeiture,
or search and seizure–
What’s the difference,
between police and Gestapo,
cop and stasi?

Fascism or communism?
Take your pick.
But of the latter,
we’re free,
to be equally poor.

And to the former?
We have only ourselves to blame,
for sitting when we should stand,
and covering our ears and eyes.

Is this our future,
still far off?
Dystopian terror,
and corporate slavery?
Or is it upon us now,
cold and calculating,
with harsh reality,
making our lives gray?

Poetry-Thing Thursday: A Neutral Hue

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Overrate.
Impregnate.
This soil you hate,
can’t relate,
to the tedious fate,
that you berate.

Incense.
Commence.
My sixth sense,
your offense.
Pitching tents,
or paying rents?

It’s not for us,
this world of green and blue.
If not for us,
you’d know what to do.
Fighting in a fuss,
you and your eponymous crew.
We all just turn to dust,
all become one neutral hue.

Infinity.
Obscenity.
a holy trinity,
no divinity.
Closing off my affinity,
for a dose of your virginity.

Morphine.
Caffeine.
My Queen,
in a summer scene.
Sit and preen,
in your blue-jeans.

It’s not for us,
this world that I’ve left you.
If not for us,
I’d never be on cue.
Fighting in a fuss,
the little ones know more’n we do.
We’ll just turn to dust,
all become a neutral hue.

Transistor.
Tongue twister.
A step-sister,
could’a missed ‘er,
but gotta’ blister
from her glister.

Survival.
Denial.
Darwin’s rival.
They hid a bible,
with a tribal,
she raged at Cybele.

I wish I could say,
what more you should take away,
from life and love, it’ll be okay,
but only if you stay,
wait awhile, let come what may.

Gray-matter.
Mad hatter.
A blood splatter,
in your batter.
I’ll come to shatter,
your love-latter.

Upstaged.
Uncaged.
Sickened rage,
at my blank page.
Backstage,
a space-age.

It’s not for us,
this time and place won’t do.
If not for us,
you wouldn’t need the glue.
Fighting in a fuss,
with a heart that knew,
we’d just turn to dust
all become a neutral hue.
You and me and the stars too.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Let Go

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Close your eyes.
Hear my voice.
No, not that one.
Yes, the other one.

Imagine you and me,
side by side,
atop damp sand,
before an endless sea.

This is a moment,
we may never experience,
except in words and images,
conveyed through ink or text.

Still we must admit,
that this is sacred,
hearts open, giving, receiving,
as we walk or stand or sit.

So here in this moment,
I feel obligated to tell,
that we have no need for gods,
or hate, or greed,
that beauty is all we need.

These words are not,
meant to stir anger nor spite,
but rather to show that wisdom,
is what has been forgot.

So here in this moment,
as the tides kiss our feet,
accept my wisdom-plea,
and let go of what you do not need.

When the heart is free,
its burdens relieved,
clarity will set in.
And here by the sea,
you and I will feed,
on the most atrocious “sin”–
open minds and hearts,
and wisdom, the key.

Poetry-Thing Thursday: The All Knowing

~ S.M. Nolan ~ 2 Comments

Sex and sweat;
the stench of love,
the price of life,
and human progress.

Were it not for these,
we would not exist.
Trust in evolution,
and adaptation to hone our wits.

What do we get in return?
Silk skin, blonde hair,
colored eyes, warm thighs,
supple curves, hard angles.

Were it not for sex,
and love at that,
we would know no beauty,
nor grief or pain.

Think of this,
the next time you scheme:
whether man and woman,
man and man,
or woman and woman,
it’s all obscene.

But that’s the point.
It’s as it should be.
Love is love.

Hot, wet, reeking of shame–
or cold, fast,
naked, unclean.

But it keeps the world turning
The species going.
It is the beginning, the end,
and the all knowing.