[x]

AstrologicalI have lost myself to
Venus & Mars,
tangled in their mismatched limbs.

Just dream dust & shattered prayers
begging for a new set of skin
(she can't remember where she orbits).

Pluck these fractured wings;
the Sun & Moon no longer ache
to see me fly in their luster.

lies, she wrotei. just a mimicry, really;
uncompromisingly
desperate to shine.

ii. counterfeit & clockwise,
tasting words on her
unworthy tongue.

iii. with a dysfunctional mind
& apocryphal dictionary,
she cannot clone it all.

iv. "say anything," the pen
whispers as she trembles
among ink-scented fraudulence.

v. but she just laughs & plays the part,
forgetting what the pages told her:
"truth is stranger than fiction."

Death of the PoetDear poetry,
This is your challenge,
my eternal chore,
to restate the truth
like never before-
but I’m imperfect
at my very core
and hypocrisy
is what I abhor
so you may expect
my work to be poor
enough for me to
be crushed into gore
with failed attempts
to take wing and soar
when all I wanted
was something much more
than emptiness and
inherited war
and pointless details
of imagined lore
which most of us tend
to simply ignore
at the piercing sound
of a lion’s roar
or the convenience
of a nearby store…
what am I truly
writing these words for?
Let’s merely pretend
that this isn’t me
but the voice of God
or L. Ron Hubbard
or whoever you
wish for it to be
since facts remain facts
no matter the source,
no matter the cause,
since the trustworthy
are also humans
prone to failure;
so prone to a fault
that we hold dearly-
the sum of our faith
measured in dollars-
rewarded by credit
and paper money…
for some odd reason
I find this funny!
So I conclude

False EternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.
Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!
Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for the moon
then sought the horizon, again and again warned my father that doom
would befall him if he didn't seek a better way to live and be
I wasn't willing to follow the dark and deadly rules,
trying to bring some light into the lives of these fools.
Guilds of anti-gods were formed, wars rose higher, nothing to atone!
They all represen

ArrheniusThe birds are
keeping to themselves
this evening
as the earth shifts
slightly-
ever so calmly
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have
to move).

Here and there, I
witness these
beautiful strangers
with perfect bodies
and long hair
walking down the road
in tightly knitted packs.
They are animals
like we are animals-
like we are
animals without
claws and fur,
with scratches on our
skin that yields to
fragile and
familiar hands.

The winds respond
as quiet birds rush
from telephone wires
in panic and
in beauty; she
tries to brush the hair
dancing circles in her eyes
(for when you are
this powerful
you only have to move).

The Pen, The SwordJust lovely
I was happy to fall asleep
in the welcoming arms of your words and
you were unaware that you held me
so close, and so carefully
from the moment I didn't hear you speak
to the taste of every sentence you spoke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been seeking all along
Just barely
I was loathe to fall so deep
in the sharpened edges of your words and
you were too aware that you had me
so close, and so carelessly
from the second I heard you break
to the taste of every sentence you broke
I knew you were the very truth that I'd
been avoiding all along

Chasing Butterflies

I believe in starry nights writing timeless songs
of all the yesterdays and tomorrows yet to come.

I believe in hearing the voice of love in rhyme;
I heard it as a child in my mother's lullabies.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

I believe in playing, absorbing life's full sun,
dancing through the day until the night is done.

I believe in wishing wells never running dry,
granting us the time for a tender, slow goodbye.

Let's go down to the river now
and chase the butterflies.

Should I cross to the other side,
don't you worry; don't you cry.

There you'll see where tomorrow I'll be,
forever chasing butterflies...

False ProphetsPoems and love songs breed dead dreams,
strangled by weeds, face down in the ground
with no roses to mourn them.

Singers are poets that croon
(if you happen to lose your little heart to their tune)
and poets are false prophets -
true love will last forever
if they care to write it,
but not if you swallow the lines...

yet, they always do.

We all have a place
set for us in the shade
in our own private garden of weeds.

Evolution of life

child, we dream
teenager, we have ideas
adult, we have a bar code encrusted in the nape

we evolve to finish in the matrix

False eternityDisillusioned youth was less common in those days,
I assure you, the people even more set in their ways,
murderous and unforgiving, yet unaware of the lie they were living
convinced that faith is stone, they cut faces into gods, they thought
ignorant of the fact that being made rendered useless the very gods they wrought.

Shiny carvings into stone, faces, figures, blessed unknown,
Murders, slaughters, sacrifices of the weak, preaching sins and what they seek.
Forgiveness is not for all, all who do not have will now fall!
Greed consumes the mortal mind, rage is all that's left behind!

Amidst it all I rose and found the sun, disowned him for

VoicesDo you hear the moan of morning rhymes
By the people in their endless time
As the morning dew breaks the day
Back to where the city-lights once laid

The lamp-posts are filled with black starlight
As the children run in their flight
With cries of sorrow, cries of pain
The old houses creaking with disdain

Acidic puddles of blood-wet tears
Remain on the street through all these years
As the cracks have hid the crumbled dust
Within these roads of bone and rust

The melody of the birds is lost
To the screeches and screaming loss
There are people cowering in the dark
Murmuring, whispering their tortured remarks

Flames ignite the world in fire

On The Collapse Of Modern Society"I've never seen so many folks
putting their hopes
in packaged air,
as far as I'm concerned,
and from what I've observed
misplacing material worth while
rushing back and forth
to get nowhere."
my Grandma said,
shaking her head.

Within A BoxIt's a prison for the minds of haunted souls
an odd prison, not large enough to contain its prisoners
and yet it encompasses every fiber of their being
in silent, silent spaces.
Haunted souls are searching for the key
there is no key, but they don't know any better
and what harm could it do? Hope is better than nothing
here's an unlocked open door for you.
Little trinkets haunt souls with their questions
and we want answers, but they won't give
anything away. Very smart,
you know the world is ending soon.
(The best of which are only
crude descriptions of the magic
they are looking for.)

HumanDear Hypocrite,

What do you do?
Throwing insults when you're insulted.

Dear Coward,

Where went you?
To your "peaceful" sanctuary you have bolted.

Dear Liar,

What say you?
Your poison corrupts innocent ears.

Dear Human,

What are you?
A sinner trapped in endless tears.

Lovers and assassinsNight
walk

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 1.3 KB more ▶

More from ~EwaGladka

Black MadonnaYou shall not put
A smile on Her face,
Since She has to be serious -
Like a step-mother
Wanting to bring you up properly
Into the averagely affluent adulthood,
Or like a distant mother,
Who wasn't even signing
The lullabies to make you
Fall into Morpheus's calm embrace.

You shall sing to Her
Hymns full of piety,
Since She has to be pleased -
Like a major advisor
Wanting to lead you by hand
To the island of a master's degree,
Or like your elementary school teacher
Demanding everything from everyone:
The burliness from weaker pupils
And the vault over a high-horse from them.

You shall pray to Her
With a plea heared in the e

Teeny-Tiny ThingsA tiny figurine
Of two Christmas symbols,
Made out of the cousin
Of plasticine,
Can give you a stalkie
Of joy, especially when
You are a soul-relative
Of Rousseau and Sterne
(Or at least when you
Think so, basing only
On stereotypes).

You can bring it
To your flat
And show it to
Yur family members
And close friends,
And later - when they
Will look at you,
Wondering what
Do you want them to
Tell, you will be able
To make your speech:

"Have you ever seen, my dears,
Such charming sign of artistic
Commitment, especially when it
Comes to such things, about
Which you can say they are just
Trivial and nothing else?
P

Humanity UnleashedPeople are much less shocked
Than after Uncle Joe's death,
When Delta was writing laments
Above him descending to Hell.
Nobody is crying with semi-tears,
No matter, if for showing up
Or out of their fear.

One man with a briefcase
And in a made-to-measure suit
Seems to be disturbed,
So I ask him in the tide
Of sympathy - silly for some -
Why is he so nervous?
"I'm not irritated, funny girl.
I'm calm like the Pacific Ocean
During Magellan's voyage.
If I start to panic,
The others will trample me down.
I have three daughters,
And a wife, and a hamster
Living in a golden cage;
I can't afford leaving them
All alone before

Every-Day Reality Triptych. Part III. KettlesAnother element of human environment
Which isn't noticed by him
Till it start to whistle

Kettles so then in better situation than coffeemakers
In the end you can acknowledge whistling as something similar to yodeling
And an attempt of contact

Kettles are also more useful and functional
But less romantic

Kettles don't care about eternal fame
Five seconds of whistling few times a day is enough for them
To have something to recall by the rest of the time
Then people thanks to their whistling can chat about something

Kettles always solve the issues anyhow
In the end mental water corruption is their practice
People quietly despise th

Every-Day Reality Triptych. Part I. CoffeemakersJanusz Grzywacz
Has created a cult song about a coffee grinder
Poets are silent, when it comes to coffeemakers
They lack of an olde-worlde charm
Of sentiment
They're just useful and overly functional
Nobody imbeds into their spiritual life
In the end they're not cucumber soup
They become attached so quickly to our habits
That we ignore them
And we remind about them only when we have to make coffee

But it will come the time
When the coffeemakers will make the quickest decision in their history
About noticing them
Just like small beings discovered by a good-hearted elephant
They will quietly clamor
We are here
We are
But they

ZitsPolish landed gentry
postpones itself
in order not to make a place for unfamiliarity
squandering the whole conservative possessions
of my father in a jacket made of newspapers
of my mother in an apron wiper
of myself with a blackstarish pen, which I use for writing
about grassy greenyed zits with redly made up lips
or of my former brother
when he was still walking around in suspender trousers

Kuba Wojewódzki and Szymon Majewski
are forthright even to the golden teeth growing from the holes carved out in the gingivas
They move on to me via road containing stoneimbrued questions
Ad I draw a hattifattenery zit, about which there wil

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#written-from-within
Written From the Soul

#writeaway
Find Your Inner Voice

#ThePoetryofDA
DA Poetry Club

#poetry-book

#Authors-Club
Where We Live to Write

#Unseen-Authors

#write-to-live
Literature is Emotions

#writers-central
Pens are mightier than swords.

Show all (46)

Details

Submitted: December 9, 2012
File Size: 1.3 KB

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 3
Favourites: 5 [who?]
Views: 101 (0 today)
Downloads: 1 (0 today)

[x]

Every-Day Reality Triptych. Part II. The Fridge

by ~EwaGladka, Dec 9, 2012, 2:14:07 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

People look at it and they see
That's an ordinary fridge
But after opening it you can see
Viands contained in it ready to served
Fridge looks at the peopletaking them out
And it laughs inwardly
That they'll be eating frozen food

Stupid fridge
It doesn't have any idea about rules which it has to obey
And it's astonished that people can't become sick

The fridge starts then to chill the food with singing
It brings on dissonances unpredicted by its design engineer
It changes chilled dishes into icy cold ones
The engineer seeing it decides to let it for experiments
In order to make people realize this and start avoid it
They do so
Unwise fridge
Still ices

Then there happens a situation that the fridge becomes fully frigid
They take out the rest of food able for consumption
It is transported away to the refuse dump

Mindless fridge
Still chills its inside
And in the end it becomes the being of coolness
And after killing itself it will lead its spirit out the dump
To still ices everything what it will touch

Every-Day Reality Triptych. Part II. The Fridgeby ~EwaGladka

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

Translation of this poem [link] .

~DESTRUCTION-BUNNY Dec 11, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

I will never look at my fridge the same way ever again! xD
You did an excellent job at portraing a fridges life and perspective, and I admire that.
I also like that this is quite original, something you don't read everyday, and something that changes your view on your everyday life. Again, you have a great ability to express emotion, and very good narrative skills!
The only point I don't like again is the lack of flow, but I think that'll go away and seem less forced when you write more and more. And maybe it's just me, so...we'll see.

~EwaGladka Dec 11, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

Thank you so much - both for the comment and the fave

Well, at the beginning I'll have to learn how to write with the flow in Polish, and later I'll try to do so in English. It will may also help me in my language skills.

~DESTRUCTION-BUNNY Dec 11, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

You're welcome

I am quite sure it'll help you, it helped me with my English skills at least, now I can write almost like a native speaker.
And I have no doupt that you'll get really good.

More from ~EwaGladka

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

Every-Day Reality Triptych. Part II. The Fridge

Every-Day Reality Triptych. Part II. The Fridgeby ~EwaGladka

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style