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Literature Text
I drink to the sound of bells,
lifting the glass to my lips
just as fall maple
surrounds itself in a rain of falling
leaf.
The redness of the sky
matches the redness in my cheeks,
the flushed lines of my face,
and the old porch
abandoned by all
but
the seasonal flood
of crimson leaves.
Soft wind scatters
the brown dust off the shelves.
A page falls before the breeze
and the red cover
seems split with age.
All the room is dust,
maple leaf,
and haze.
What my mind does not perceive
I still hear
as if in a dream.
Red leaf scatters.
The maple tree breathes.
I lift my lids to the sound of bells
and let loose
to leaves
and the red, red dream.
lifting the glass to my lips
just as fall maple
surrounds itself in a rain of falling
leaf.
The redness of the sky
matches the redness in my cheeks,
the flushed lines of my face,
and the old porch
abandoned by all
but
the seasonal flood
of crimson leaves.
Soft wind scatters
the brown dust off the shelves.
A page falls before the breeze
and the red cover
seems split with age.
All the room is dust,
maple leaf,
and haze.
What my mind does not perceive
I still hear
as if in a dream.
Red leaf scatters.
The maple tree breathes.
I lift my lids to the sound of bells
and let loose
to leaves
and the red, red dream.
Literature
Home.
The night is pitch-black all around, save for the uncountable mass of stars winking benevolently at me from the tarp of deepest indigo that hangs overhead. Everything feels suspended in that moment—the stars, the crescent moon, the sparse, gray-black clouds, this little island called Earth, and even myself. It feels as if my feet don't even touch the ground.
I feel as if I'm falling into them, the stars. There are so many of them, filling my field of vision, that I am taken by a sudden bout of dizziness and fall back into the Earth's gentle embrace. In response she twirls me around playfully, pulling me into a slow-motion
Literature
the ghost
I don't know what I'm waiting for,
because I am a ghost and yet
I sit on my hands and wonder
where you've been -
I walk the forest in circles,
the methodical crunch
of leaves beneath my feet
and I remember
that you made me feel small,
and alone. here I am, facing
this brilliant hue that is me and myself
and I am the ghost but somehow
you are haunting me.
Literature
Never Forgotten
You are pushing...
Trying to erase...
But you refuse to wipe away those words that rest gentle on the lines.
You can't do it.
They are written in pen.
You won't rip the well designed paper either.
You will have to paint over those honest words.
You will always know that underneath those vibrant colours lies a hidden script.
A secret code that whispers in your sleep.
You have become a spy.
Undercover, in your own world.
What are you searching for?
Is it your treasure which you have tucked away?
Hopefully you will find that which you have intentionally lost,
And at its appearance,
You will forget the tears you shed,
And once again remember
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Trying on a more concise and "Japanese" style of poetry that uses just scenes and non-intrusive imagery to suggest and invoke rather than to present brashly or shove into the spotlight.
© 2012 - 2024 TheGlassIris
Comments3
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I really like the recurring splashes of red, personally I think it really helped with the style you were going for. 
I love the line: 'All the room is dust,/ maple leaf,/ and haze.' I imagined a really old room, and I loved the idea that autumn has aged all around it as the year grows older. Lovely work.
I love the line: 'All the room is dust,/ maple leaf,/ and haze.' I imagined a really old room, and I loved the idea that autumn has aged all around it as the year grows older. Lovely work.