Poems Of Any Length

[orbsycli]

Full moon passes over.
new strings I set in place
above thy rosewood.
Citrus juices have been
extracted for this moment, which is absorbed
by thine fretted neck for tones which are mathematically aligned
and bent rythmically by mind.

I've grown up . .
and like a Banyan
I find my ways back down
into windless dirt.

The soft groan of planetary resonance . .
and I can still feel the moon as she passes over
every slow ritual ever performed

[Moontanman]

IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT, A TOP A CACTUS TOWER
GROWS A BUD, SWELLING LARGER, SOON TO BE A FLOWER

NO ONE BUT ME SEES THE BEAUTY, OF THE DESERT TREE
IN THE BLISTERING SUN, ONLY I, FORESEE THE FANTASY

IN THE UNFORGIVING HEAT, THUNDER HEADS SPREAD AND GROW
DRIVING RAIN FALLS, A RARE EVENT, IN THIS LAND I KNOW

THE TOWER OF SPINES DRINKS, WATER STORES HAVE BEEN LOW
UNTIL IT IS HEAVY WITH LIQUID, SHOULD IT DARE TO GROW?

LATER, WHEN THE SUN HAS SLID OVER THE LOW DESERT HILLS
ONLY THEN DOES THIS GIANT SHOW IT'S BEAUTIFUL FRILLS

THE BUDS OPEN, SLOWLY ONE BY ONE, FRAGRANT AND SWEET
GROWING HEAVY WITH NECTAR, CALLING NIGHT FLIERS TO MEET

THEIR LEATHERY WINGS, FLUTTER IN THE ICY STAR LIGHT
THEIR TONGUES PROBE THE BLOSSOMS SWEET INNER DELIGHT

AGAIN AND AGAIN, THEY VISIT, TONGUES LAPPING NECTARS SWEET FIRE
THE CACTUS STANDS IMMOBILE, UNABLE TO SHOW ITS SATED DESIRE

WHEN THE SUN RISES ON ANOTHER DAY HOT AND MUCH DRYER
THE CACTUS BLOOMS ENCLOSE THE GIFT, BROUGHT BY THE NIGHT FLIER

THE FLIERS HAVE DELIVERED LIFE, BEGUN ANEW IN THE FLOWER
THE CACTUS HAS GIVEN ITS JUICES, PURE AND SWEET, ATOP IT'S TOWER

BOTH HAVE BENEFITED FROM THIS EXCHANGE, MINDLESS PASSIONS SATED
CAN ANYONE EXPECT AS MUCH, FROM FRIENDS OR LOVERS, WE HAVE MATED?
Michael Hissom

[orbsycli]

and then orbsycli comes up with a hatchet it's a clean swipe.
I'm going to despine you...
Tear off your xylum.
After wilting in days of intense sunshine,
I will pulverize you. All with love.
My mesa awaits your gaian breath.

[Tarantism]

i decided to take a shot a a Tolkien style poem...and this is what i got...

i came across the misty mountains
to came into the dwarrowdelf
and there i saw within the pool
golden phials glittering
with the light of sun and moon
-
i went then towards imladris
for my soul did tire
and in the bright halls i took my rest
and listened to the songs of ancient ones
and with heavy heart i moved on
-
further then to bree i went
and towards the sparkling sea
where at the sight of its silver i stopped
and drank in the fresh air
at the silver gates that stood there
-
i came across the misty mountains
and then back towards my home
for now i walk on weary feet
and my tired soul longs for home.

[Tarantism]

here is a tolkien poem for comparison. its my favorite by him. enjoy!

Roads Go Ever On

Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon.

Roads go ever ever on,
Under cloud and under star.
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen,
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green,
And trees and hills they long have known.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.

The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with weary feet,
Until it joins some larger way,
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.

The Road goes ever on and on
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone.
Let others follow, if they can!
Let them a journety new begin.
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.

Still 'round the corner there may wait
A new road or secret gate;
And though I oft have passed them by,
A day will come at last when I
Shall take the hidden paths that run
West of the Moon, East of the Sun.

JRR Tolkien

[Moontanman]

Butterfly surfers

Shy little butterflies, moving flecks of yellow green
Why do you play among the breaking waves? What could this mean?
Mostly you just taste the ground where the ocean meets the land
But when the wind and the waves are just right you do something grand

The first time I saw you flying just ahead of the waves
I thought the wind had caught you and the ocean would be your grave
But the wind was calm and the waves smooth and sleek
Dancing in the air just ahead of the waves, what is it that you seek?

Gathering in a small group just above a rolling wave
Riding down the cushion of air, could it be a thrill that you crave?
Fluttering down the curl of a forming tube that shoots out butterflies in a clap
Why would you take that risk, just in time escaping from the trap?

Could it be you seek the same thrill of the blond tan boys bobbing in the sea?
Could an insect play the same games as me?
Do they take a few minutes out of the hustle of their life, one summer long?
In his place would you take some time to play before your summer was gone?

Michael Hissom
(all rights reserved)

[orbsycli]

THE WOUNDED DEER

I've been drinking black mirror again
the closer we part
i needed to touch your lips
with the nail in my heart
the night that you caught me
my coffin did walk
i fell at your mercy
i fell in your grave
meccamputechture
that stands in my way
the younger i stay
an elderly child
the longer the mirror gives birth
to the death i file

if you consume me i will not let you go
if you walk right through me
my voice will taint your throat
blessed be
blessed be
the wrong i've done

someone is watching us
someone has found
fluorescent ligaments
on a black white tile
why do you call them
if your kingdom won't come
the younger i stay
forever i rot

if you consume me i will not let you go
if you walk right through me
my voice will taint your throat
blessed be
blessed be
the wrong i've done

because the flies my mouth spill
bare the children at play

[Moontanman]

Seventeen

To be seventeen again was once my fondest wish
To know what I know now and be so young but not so foolish
To feel the fire in my veins and no fear in my chest
To ride my motorcycle like I was destined to the be the best

To be able to watch the young girls through eyes not filtered by guilt
Majorettes marching at a half time show and not feel I should not notice how they are built
To walk the halls of my old high school and know how important the classes
To know how going to college would have changed my life, my choices, forever

To have the nerve to ask the prettiest girl to the prom, knowing what to say at every turn.
To be serious when it was necessary and to have fun when I could and not try to act so stern
To savor every moment as if it were the last because as I know now each moment was
To know that cool was just being who you were and not doing what everyone else does

But now at fifty I look back and I would settle for reliving those days as ignorant as I was then
To live wild and free and be not be burdened by what was to be in the future when
Maybe just a touch of self confidence would be nice, less introverted, less afraid
I could ride my motorcycle and not worry about what was yet to be, or the life I had made

Yet, in my heart I can relive all the joys and sorrows of that time, even as they fade from my mind
All I have to do is think of the special things and it all becomes clear, the memories easy to find
At fifty on the outside in my heart I am still seventeen, still wanting to party with songs unsung
However, my outside marks me as old, not to be trusted, I was guilty of the same when I was young

Michael

[Loricybin]

voice of a mermaid.


the words of a mermaid.

this is the saint.
she will deliver us
from our own problems
by creating them.

the face of a mermaid.

she is she most sought,
but having not forgot,
we retain that we remain
what we must, as we must.

the waist-up mermaid.

my god,
by which i mean the infinite itself,
woman woven of pure dream.
oceans of wonder.

the legs of an angel.

[Michaelangelica]

When my love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.