Storm-Breaker sits
amidst changing lands
Cold gray hands
of Sea-wind and sands
Pass through his hair
and Tear over his fair
Dense, stoic face
In changing Landscape
he remains in place
Mountains fall around him
and dungeons of icy water
seal Shut,
never to be reopened
lost in
Swimming emotions and
the gray of the Ocean’s
perpetual motion
The Storm-Breaker sits
Atop foam-crested throne
He goes alone
in His Ocean home
To meet with Fate
Titanic
Atlantic
hills
rolls, crests, spills
and his head fills
with the notion
that within this Ocean
there is no Law
and there is no God
But the waves and the wind
and he thinks with a grin,
This
is my
Kingdom.
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Leave a comment | tags: dark, dark storm, god, gray, kingdom, Law, man, ocean, sea, storm cloud, Storm-Breaker, wind | posted in Uncategorized
Ain’t life free
for the ice cream man?
Ain’t life sweet
for the ice cream man?
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3 Comments | tags: ain't, cream, cream man, dessert, food, free, ice, ice cream, ice cream man, ice man, life, man, original poetry, originalpoetry.org, Poem, poetry, sweet | posted in Uncategorized
With strength and courge
and a furrowed brow,
the old man picked up his rusty plow.
He walked out to the field
bent down, kneeled,
and prayed before begining.
He prayed for past days,
the ones withered away.
He prayed he was far from his dying day.
But once in the field,
he never did yield
to the task he was set to do.
Once he was done
in the blistering sun
and his shadow was long and thin,
he took back to his house
where he sat with a bottle of gin.
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The Elegant Eaglet flies far far above the horizon
So young so bold yet so naive
I stand with my menacing German Mauser firearm on a small cliff, crouched to avoid detection
So Stealthy so powerful yet so vulnerable
The Eaglet swoops, her beautiful movement like that of an exotic dancer in a dimlit club on a friday night
So sensual so entrancing yet so innocent
I sit in a prone position in my camoflauge with my merchant of death weapon in hand
So cladestine so strong yet so weak
The Eaglet slows up and passes me at an angle of elevation of 30 degrees
So slow so smooth yet so fast
I pull the trigger of my rifle and the bird falls out of the air to the ground
So dead so dead yet never more so alive.
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Original Poetry 