I look out on blue ocean waves
And think upon little fish graves.
I think about all the slaves
On ships sailing far, far away.
I say these must be better days
As plastic floats down to the cray.
Author: alexis
Blessedness in Politics
Black or white (or progressiveness)
but equally, a nebulous.
Conservative or liberalness
just not a mix of “middleness”,
or I shall make an emphasis
on that, your ledge of precipice.
Guest of Honour
Honoured guest, do you come to me to seek a life beyond the tree?
Grain of Sand
Eventually the bridge will collapse and the car will break down. The child will grow and live and then die. The seas will wash away the land and the fish will bloat and float to the surface and the sun will burn their scales. Their bones will sink to the sand below and some day the water will brea
Each Dawn
Live each dawn as if first morn,
for every day anew, reborn.
And seek a light to spark each hour…
Warrior
Is it red I seek to deal upon a blade of sharpened steel? Is it death I wish to touch then back a step, avoid death’s rush? Or do I wish to dig up soil to fill with body, let not spoil? Or have I hopes to feel a rain cold and wet and numb of pain? In war I fight and war I die, for if not die, then who am I?
Between Adventures
Listen well to tales we tell between adventures and heroes felled, for in the stories between the lines is where we live our normal lives. And those, dear reader are best untold for in monotony our hearts are bold but not heroic as with epics, they love as old enduring, Hold. We speak of sword, grand word and crown, and forget the meals, the unshaken down where all is steady content and well, and that’s where heroes prefer to dwell.
You’ve the Starlight
You’ve the starlight in your eyes. When violins play in perfect harmony it is the sound I hear when our hearts brush like breaths and play in tune. You’re the night sky I look upon that makes me see infinite and ask where I’ve been. My soul navigates by your point and when I’m lost, tossed upon grey waves and siren’s wake, I look up. There you are. I see you through the clouds. You’re the one person I’ll never stop for, never cease for, and I hope it is my life first that fades to dust. I refuse
Puppet Master
A short poem by the puppet master themselves.
Dust the Fog
Dust the fog from window sill,
stare out at grey and meet the still
and quiet morning, no sun can offer
light and waking need no stopper,