Not Good Poetry Day
Hey everyone, as stated above, its Not Good Poetry Day, so without further ado, lets have us some poetry, which may or may not be bad, but is certainly not professional by any definition.
Song to the earth
Mother hold me,
hold me in your earth.
In the cool soil,
one with the stone.
Away from eyes that see,
away from ears that hear.
Away from throats that cry,
away from hands that kill.
Let my deeds be unsung,
let memories fade.
Let the ages pass,
let the world forget.
Mother hold me,
hold me in your silence.
In the weighted stillness,
one with the root.
Give me surcease,
give me nothingness.
Give me rest,
give me peace.
No man shall I hate,
no blood shall I spill.
No war shall I wage,
no tears shall I shed.
Mother hold me,
hold me in your dark.
In the dreamless sleep,
one with your heart.
And there you have it folks. This Not Good Poetry Day was brought to you by the letters w t and f, and the number 42. Hope you all had fun. Really though, I know I don’t post much, ‘specially comparatively, and there are quite a few things needing to be put up, not the least of which is something a bit more insightful regarding Gathering. Honestly though, aside from practical things like email conversing and whatnot, the printed word seems to be beyond the capabilities of this brain right now. Not much has worked it’s way forth, to tell the truth, so instead of anything approaching cogent and considered, you get the spewing of what passes for my inner poet. Keep in mind, I know so little about poetry that I couldn’t even begin to tell you the specifics about why the above piece is Not Good. Also, this is not a plea for help or a sign of mental instability, though gods know I have plenty of that. All this is, is me trying to put words to a mental image that’s been in my head for some years and at least roughed out in one of my sketchbooks. So…there. I guess.
Song to the earth
Mother hold me,
hold me in your earth.
In the cool soil,
one with the stone.
Away from eyes that see,
away from ears that hear.
Away from throats that cry,
away from hands that kill.
Let my deeds be unsung,
let memories fade.
Let the ages pass,
let the world forget.
Mother hold me,
hold me in your silence.
In the weighted stillness,
one with the root.
Give me surcease,
give me nothingness.
Give me rest,
give me peace.
No man shall I hate,
no blood shall I spill.
No war shall I wage,
no tears shall I shed.
Mother hold me,
hold me in your dark.
In the dreamless sleep,
one with your heart.
And there you have it folks. This Not Good Poetry Day was brought to you by the letters w t and f, and the number 42. Hope you all had fun. Really though, I know I don’t post much, ‘specially comparatively, and there are quite a few things needing to be put up, not the least of which is something a bit more insightful regarding Gathering. Honestly though, aside from practical things like email conversing and whatnot, the printed word seems to be beyond the capabilities of this brain right now. Not much has worked it’s way forth, to tell the truth, so instead of anything approaching cogent and considered, you get the spewing of what passes for my inner poet. Keep in mind, I know so little about poetry that I couldn’t even begin to tell you the specifics about why the above piece is Not Good. Also, this is not a plea for help or a sign of mental instability, though gods know I have plenty of that. All this is, is me trying to put words to a mental image that’s been in my head for some years and at least roughed out in one of my sketchbooks. So…there. I guess.