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- 10/31/2015
- 500 Words
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- 10 Comments
Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Timmy's Journal - 9. Thief of Love - Gone - The Walk - Lovers
Hi, since I'm still, yes still struggling with meter (oh boy) I decided to write some other poems this week. I was just frustrated at my inability to get meter! I understand it, but I can't seem to write it. No clue why. But I live in hope that one day.. it'll work in my little brain.
So here are my little offerings.
The first one, Thief of Love, is based on a sad story I heard of a love lost. I just had to write it.
Thief of Love
I said my vows to you.
Lived them, breathed them, and believed them.
Believed you.
But you forgot them didn’t you? Broke them,
smashed them, did you laugh while you did?
Trusted you.
You stole part of me I will never get back.
Forgive you? How can you forgive yourself?
This one, Gone, is a poem I woke up with one day ... very strange. I mentioned it a few weeks ago and said I'd post it once I'd sorted it out. I'm not sure I like it but here it is. I have no clue where this came from, it was there and I wrote it down.
Gone
There’d been peace in the valley,
before the ore men came.
Green had been flowering meadows
The river was never the same.
One day they’d come to look
at how the land did lie
Before we knew they’d come back too
Without any hue and cry
Machines they brought, that broke the ground
and dug a shaft so deep
Rivers were dammed; they tore up the land
Destruction ‘cross the valley- did creep
The hills are covered with slag
and the town’s people moved away.
Abandoned now – is the mine,
the ore men left the fray.
Behind them they left their dross
and they took the rest away.
They ruined our homes and land
- only, to our own, dismay.
Walk is an experiment. Like making crystals in the lab, rather than letting nature do it. I planted a seed in my thoughts and decided I would write about a walk. I think this is the first poem I decided I would write before it came to me.
The Walk
Shadows land on the lane, while leaves about us dance.
Like Michelangelo’s God and Adam - oaks and maples touch,
Under this bower made by trees,
We walk hand-in-hand.
Leaves of green and gold tumble and chase.
We scuff our shoes on the country road,
The dust kicked by our footsteps settles,
As we walk on hand-in-hand.
Chipmunks skitter and scratch, seeking food to store.
You look at me, pull me close and hold me tenderly,
I nod when you ask, love me?
Then we walk on hand-in-hand.
And finally this little one here. I think I was just in the mood, if you get me.
Lovers
Bodies touch, sweat slickens
Touches gentle, trace my jaw
Lips kiss, nibble, tongues explore
Softness, hardens as lovers meet
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Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are based on the authors' lives and experiences and may be changed to protect personal information. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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