summer poems

siren song

they say that sailors are beckoned by you
by the sea, you made our skin crawl
when the sky wails, and our bubble breaks through
and the pirates answer your call
i was only so small

somewhere to my right, they make art of you
ive never been so east
the earth flashes red, i try to bury you again
you sing to scare beasts
you sing to scare priests

somewhere to my left, you have a new chorus
but they dont know the lyric
i dont speak the language you spoke for us
but i know what you were saying
with my memory, so pyrrhic

i never remember your pitch or your rhyme
but my body remembers the sound of your pillars
youll be there when my family dies
you sing for the killers

you poor, dirty cur

__________________

gods gift

if you were a king, would you be buried in the same grave as a poet?
would your coffin be a velvet envelope?
would the flowers drink deep of your amber blood?

you wouldn't be buried at all, i dont think
you wouldn't be cremated, you wouldn't be embalmed
i think one day, youll turn to paper

Byzantium coloured flowers will rise where you fell
the orange sun will never set where we met
youre a gift just like me, but you have no recipient

__________________

townname

this town is foggy even in the summer
even in the dead, dry heat of june, a cloud hangs in the air every which way you turn
the sky is like a crown of powder snow, the sun a pale red gasp
and everything beneath it is covered with dust

with dust, with dust, with dust

this town is like an unsigned painting
the people cherish the memory of the war heroes that called it home
but not one artist, not one poet
an artless town, where no one ages as quickly as their wrinkles show

__________________

There is no hope, no dream; nor promise, nor desire; nor virtue, nor sin; nor sinner nor saint.

There is no perfect, nor terrible; nor is there evil or divine.

There is only here and now; there is only continuance and consequence.

As soon as I realized that, the horizon became perfectly clear; my vision widened; my perception sharpened; my mind stood still and steadfast.

The colours of the sky are more dull than I imagined; the grass yellower than I remembered; the barns outside of town were more dim than I had noticed; the houses in my neighborhood more alike than I had any idea.

But in this realization I find a feeling I have sought for many years; a state of mind I've missed since I was still pure.

Now I no longer care about the unfairness of things; I no longer daydream about the beauty of things; I no longer pretend the unbeautiful parts of my life don't exist. Now I exist. Now I see the world for what it is, for I no longer mourn what it isn't.

10 Kudos

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ivpiter

1749230324

ill update this with whatever else i write through the summer, until fall

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