[x]

I Am a WriterI am a writer.
Yes, it’s easy for me to fall into a dream.
But there is nothing wrong with being tighter
With a story’s theme.

I am a writer.
That is all I will ever want to be
In the end, my story will be lighter,
And my characters will finally be free.

I am a writer.
There is nothing easier to say than that.
I will never let a story wither
Nor let a story fall flat

I am a soon to be author.
With several books ready to be read,
I want them to have great honor
And wish there will be tears shed.

To HooverHoover state: waking up to sleep
because that’s all I’m good for;
out of work, out of time again
and my brother won’t spare a dime.

Blanket sweat reminds me of this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in depressions of this planet;
the moon weeps for me in daytime.

I yank my pockets out, like it's
my country's flag; punch-line of the
Hoover state: waking up to sleep
in my sagging skin on decline.

I've no penny to my name,
jumping out the window (one
last time) makes me worth more in this
Hoover state: waking up to sleep.

Twinkle StarTwinkle twinkle little star
Noone cares just who you are
When you fall the fall is far
Twinkle twinkle superstar.

Through an Angel's Eye

Some see the world through their rose-colored glasses,
some see it only as bad.
Some see man split into one of three classes,
some see it only as sad.

They say the eye to the soul is a window,
some find such introspect lame.
Still others prefer to focus on shadow,
some look for fortune and fame.

To see the world softly through colors sublime,
requires a heart that is pure.
Yes, to see the world as an angelic rhyme,
the eye must be steady and sure.

Through the eyes of an angel she captures our world,
the wonder of God in her lens.
By virtue of her work beauty is unfurled,
earning her many a friend.

The Soldier's Letter To HomeI write this from my death bed
My eyes fading in the light
Drowned in crimson red,
Drowned in shaking fright.
The enemy has won
The war now has ended
And though killed by my son
May his sins be ammended.
For this is Civil War
I cannot change the tide
So from you I implore
Do what is right.

Bury me somewhere nice
Near, and fair to look at
And forgive my son his sins;
For in war, no one wins.

Aur si plumbUn gând de aur, dar se simte
mai greu ca un pumnal de plumb
ce intră-n coaste, se învârte,
și caută să iasă prin minte...
Stilou de aur, scrie versuri,
dar lasă urme ca de plumb,
pe foi mânjite de cerneală,
și de cafea, și alte resturi...

Un glonţ de aur, dar se simte
mai tandru ca o zi de plumb,
îl pun aici, închid capacul,
și ca un gând, îl scot prin minte.

ContrariwiseSilly little Alice,
Forget all you thought you knew,
For deep inside your head,
Everything is all askew.

If they tell you that one plus one,
Equals twelve and half, my dear,
Don't worry yourself about it,
For two is so last year.

Don't even try to be different,
Or it'll be "Off with her head!",
And you'll find it's better to live a lie,
Than it is to end up dead.

So heed this socially accepted advice,
Ditch any scraps of your insanity,
To cavort with the Hare in March,
Join the Hatter for a cup of tea.

Fritter your days away,
Dancing under a Cheshire moon,
Don't mind the surrounding chaos,
Ignore impending doom.

But even as you join in

Continuous VoicesIt all began when I was ten
I found what lingered in my head disturbing
And it wasn’t until I grabbed a pen
And saw what truly lingered when I began writing.

There were continuous voices within my head
I was not one to favor them dead
Although, they had violet images attached
The way I wrote them matched.

Since then, the voices have changed
Octaves have risen and lowered
Their words have exchanged
And eventually became uncensored.

These continuous voices have brought war
Ones with an uprising roar
And at moments I want to kill the sound
For they are so profound.

Yet, they continue to crescendo
And welcome me to a hidden story
And so

EndlingHere am I, the captive thylacine
Treading my tiger-striped, ungainly way
Around the metal-mesh confinement of my cage
Here am I, exhibited, exhumed
Brought from the brink to pace another day
A living testament, a final thumbmarked page
Here am I, the only specimen
Bereft of mate, of pups, of kin, of kind
Watching the claws of history extending
Here am I, the final thylacine
The only one, the last, the lost, the endling.

Stand StrongI stand in awe at the strong winds blowing
Hurricanes rising and tornadoes growing
Housing blown away and long hair flowing
Killing the crops of this year's sowing.
Stay strong, dear brothers; Strong in disaster
Stout in the winds that blow ever faster
Stay strong for your children, strong for your wives,
To get to the morning you must first traverse the night.

Who Was HeHe stood at the average height for men.
His built was quite average.
His eyes were that of cyan.
Nonetheless, he was average.

His hair was that of blonde,
Nearly, white.
His walk and personality had a great bond.
He was a confident sight.

His skin was a delicate peach.
His muscles were quite firm.
So irresistible, a teasing reach.
His appearance had its own term.

One that the dictionary cannot confirm.

Who was he?
That man with his own sea?
He was one without a name.
His appearance was a taunting game.
He was one without a number for an age.
Forget it, he’s fake on this page.

SuicideThere's no blood on her hands
Bullet holes in the door
Nothing but colored pills
And her lying on the floor

You look at her face
There's despair in her eyes
And you wonder what she thought
As she fell and died

And maybe you're begging her to come back
And maybe you're asking why she let go
The hurt in your chest feels like a heart attack
And now you finally know

Maybe you could've helped her
If you'd looked past your own nose
Maybe she'd be alive now
You had a chance, this is what you chose
Now maybe you'll learn from things
That you didn't see
Maybe you'll open your eyes
And rescue him, or her, or me
Maybe she cried a prayer
For the oth

A man such as meHow do you think it would be,
to be like a man such as me?

Copper mane unkempt, unruly, distort,
from showers too long and sleep too short.
Eyes darting erratically, vibrant and blue,
sunken in purple pits, looking blackened and bruised.
A nose, big and red, once hit with a bat,
a maw full of teeth, yellowed, crooked and that.
A beard full and lush, fit for a king,
(one I should trim one evening...)

Betwixt my shoulders lies a beating heart
one which stirs for music, words and art,
one which constantly yearns for intimate love,
but is under command by the grey matter above.
A pair of lungs, tightly restricted by my bulk,
only shallow breath

What may be a dream?Oh, what may be a dream but wishes mute?
Those thoughts that dance and prance a time or two?
The silent longings of the heart set free
To lift the spirit from chambers dark and cold.
A dream is as a morning mist of spring;
Refreshing, light, and gently promising
To all who sleep and wake in time to catch
The welcome peace and glory they behold.
But woe to waking hours; the bitterness they bring
When dreams escape the loving hold of thought!
The plaintive heart starts longing once again
To sink into the realms of possibility.

WarWhen stories of battle are shared,
They are full of fame and glory.
No one knows what war really holds,
That is, until they hear this story.
At first there is much excitement,
Your chance to be a hero.
Then homesickness begins to set in,
The sorrow makes you feel like zero.
Then the supplies get cut off,
Your stomach cries out for food.
It rains then it droughts, and then you want out,
You'd laugh at your situation but you're not in the mood.
No sanitation, no garbage cans,
You are living in human waste.
The tents are torn up, the beds full of lice,
You wish you were in a different place.
Then you finally go to fight,
This is your chance to prove yourself.
All your comrades are shot down,
So much for fame and wealth...
Cleaning up the bodies,
Of those who used to be your friends.
Not even time for a proper burial,
Too many injuries to attend.
Then there's the sneak attack,
You are all caught by surprise.
A brutal, bloody, massacre,
A bullet between your eyes.
In this little game o

Browse More Like This

Download File
HTML, 946 bytes more ▶

More from ~Bobibillius

Step not Lightlyi

If ever there shall come a time for us,
A time when you and I must rise and fall
and take on, like the others, hills of dust-
And enter into that which might appall,

Then I would find my being lost and base
For in that muddy realm of life and death
Divided by what's land or sea or race
How could I find you, ere my final breath?

I could not have in time the journey scaled
To find the mirrors to your lovely soul.
And if your light the rotting dust had veiled?
How could I be? -a half, and not a whole?

Hold what you have, loose not for what may be,
And step not lightly from eternity.

ii

My love, but there shall come a time for u

Shades of Iowai

My life is like the rows of corn:
I breath the air where I was born
In whispered silence, multiplies
The noiseless noise that are my sighs.
They wisp throughout the ears I've wrought
Without a care, without a thought.

ii

My life is like the great above:
Which holds no hate and knows no love
The blue expanse, the empty sky,
To which men vainly question, "why"
My silence keeps the answer sought
Without a care, without a thought.

iii

My life is like a shallow pool:
Though all shall seek my soothing cool,
There is no being who could bear
The things that are reflected there.
I only know what only ought,
Without a care, witho

Desert LightsThe desert sky is faded now to gray.
The eastern wake would freeze before the dawn.
Two lights are there, not knowing what to say;
Their silence fills the evening with a song.

He wears the past and future on his hands,
Forsaking one, the other now to make,
And time, which once was worn in all his plans
Is cast aside now, for a timeless sake.

She wears a crimson crown and starry sky,
The beauty of a truth within her gaze,
One subtle glance would stop up every why
And melt the stone into a flowery haze.

The deadly day is past, and night begun-
Where once had sparked in two, now glows in one.

The Table of ContentmentA dap of butter, smothered over strong,
Come wheat or rye - a slice of warming bread,
A dozen cups filled over, shadows long,
A toast: to every good thing done and said.

Therefore strike chord you merry fiddles, play!
And spread with golden sound your merry cheer,
Just so, that by and by each man may say
In graceful bow, "Pray, have this dance m'dear?"

Pass round the wine, and laugh for laughters sake;
The treasures that you share were sought by kings.
Fear not the howling winds of winters ache,
But for the things you have, raise glass and sing:

"Come wheat or rye - a slice of warming bread,
A toast: to every good thing done and

The Golden WoodNow stand I rooted in this golden wood,
Not very sure how came I here at all,
And furthermore, unsure what ways are good
To travel on, the trees are oh so tall!

And evermore they stretch up to the sky,
I scarce can see the tops, or where they bend,
And naught but golden bark would fill my eye,
I've lost the sight of all familiar ends,

And round and round I turn, and all I see
Is all this golden wood, and nothing more
There are no paths I know are sure for me,
No easy way, nor end, or lock, or door,

But still, the trees are gold, and so I smile,
I think I'll stop, and maybe, rest awhile.

A youth in age and heartA youth in age and heart once makes his mind
To travel far in search of golden truth,
For such a quest he vows his soul, and pines
For gold as that as beauty pines for youth.

He searches far and wide, and high and low,
And in and out, as far as man can see,
And just before the end, he finds below
A cave, just where he knows it ought to be.

But ah - alas! His quest is all in vain,
For all within the cave is junk, and since
In searching all his life his vow has slain
Ability to judge, and commonsense,

He vows to guard the cave, until he dies,
A prisoner of life's little golden lies.

View Gallery

Featured in Groups:

#Rhyme-and-Reason
Creating new classics

Details

Submitted: May 22, 2011
File Size: 946 bytes

Link

Thumb

Statistics

Comments: 13
Favourites: 4 [who?]
Views: 77 (0 today)
Downloads: 0 (0 today)

[x]

The Apple Trees

by ~Bobibillius, May 22, 2011, 2:27:21 PM
Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

The apple trees, in pearly sighs
Are blooming 'neath the late may skies.
I know there's time this afternoon,
And storms are brewing in the gloom

So with a pen and greatest care
I'll gather all the blossoms there
And place them down upon the page,
For some young mind and distant age.

I know, that many years from now,
When winds have rent those petals down;
When bitter fruits will bend them low
Whose branches once were laid with snow,

This gnarled and old crabapple tree,
With fruits a sourful sight to see,
Will lack in sweeter public taste,
And plummet to the ground in waste.

But then, as so things are, my friend,
Recall that once, when near your end,
This crooked bow held softer things,
And bloomed beneath an angels wings.

The Apple Treesby ~Bobibillius

Literature / Poetry / General Poetry / Traditional Fixed Forms

It was raining, and my mother in law noticed that the crab apples were all in bloom, and commented that it wouldn't last very long with all this rain coming this weekend... and honestly, the invitations don't get better than that.

Speaking of which, it's my wife's birthday on the 23rd, "Eefera," on DA - so everyone wish her a happy one!

~lydia-wyverne Sep 11, 2011 Hobbyist General Artist

I came back to read this and now it jerks a little when I notice typos, and I'm only doing this to be nice, not picky but:

"And storms |and| brewing in the gloom"

but beyond that picky-ness, I do love this. <3

~Bobibillius Sep 27, 2011

And just when I've gone over it for the thousandth time before posting...
Thank you though, and don't worry about it. I'm just glad you enjoyed the piece in spite of it.
I can't stand that that got past me. It's so terribly obvious.
There. That should be better.

*Parsat May 29, 2011 Student Writer

Sourful sight to see...what a sweet line. Very well controlled.

~Bobibillius May 30, 2011

Thank you; I'm glad you caught it. Sometimes I worry things like that go unnoticed.
Oh, and thank you for the favorite as well

~CountChristoph May 26, 2011 Writer

In the second line, "'neath" is misspelled, and I believe "crabapple" is normally written as one word.

Otherwise, well done!

~Bobibillius May 27, 2011

Thank you; edits made. And thank you for the fav as well

~CountChristoph May 27, 2011 Writer

You're welcome!

*rlkirkland May 23, 2011 Hobbyist Writer

A pleasant lilt to it.

~Bobibillius May 24, 2011

Thank you

~CountChristoph May 22, 2011 Writer

Very nice, but in the second line of the fourth stanza, I think you may mean "sight" rather than "site".

More from ~Bobibillius

Featured in Groups:

Details

Statistics

The Apple Trees

The Apple Treesby ~Bobibillius

The Journal Portal

Polls

What is your preferred drawing software?

deviantART [dee·vee·un'nt·ART]

Keep in Touch!

Deviousness

Add Media

Style