night

Tonight

Sheltering a full covering; starlights
Are on, the rocks are bright
Beauties. The night, a king
Him darker still a-crowding
All on those hours, late.
Shadow's heavy weight
Lulls us deep to dream,
Hell or heavenly streams
Upon them, we sleep
Quietly as they seep
Between the open hands,
Of Glass, the sand,
Between the cross-ways,
We walk always.

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Flying across London at night

Flying across London at night

By jfarrell

 

Look up, and use the stars, the constellations to navigate;

Looking down on London, at night, is the same.

The lights, of landmarks, vehicles….

 

When I first flew with my dragon, I was so lost.

 

But, look down…

The perfect ring of red light,

With a bulge of multicoloured madness below it…

That’s the London Eye (big wheel) and the Southbank area.

 

The elusive, silvery eel that borders that is the Thames;

Look left, look right, follow the silvery trails and the boats…

You’ll find bridges…

And once you’ve identified one bridge…

 

You know where you are, flying over London at night.

 

But I would not recommend flying a dragon over London;

I know they’re cars, boats and trains…

But Karla thinks they’re little bugs

All with with fantastic flavours….

 

We crashed, that first time, opposite Waterloo Station…

Taxi cab had been converted into a fresh coffee bar…

Covered in coffee beans and grounds…

Karla stood up and gave a flaming belch….

 

Even the cab owner agreed, coffee never tasted so good,

Roasted at about a billion degrees…

By a 15 foot chocolate bar…

I really should ask Karla to put some clothes on…

 

Author's Notes/Comments: 

anyone know where i can buy a London-wide safety net? my dragon wont wear a saddle or harness....

and i must have been off sick when my school had horse and dragon riding lessons...

;-)

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night swimming

Folder: 
2017

there is something

so revealing about the dark.

 

the water twists around my ankles,

your name twists around my heart.

 

there is something

so freeing about a sleeping sun.

 

I shiver on these awake summer nights,

dripping and frozen and I would still do it again.

 

there is something

so dangerous about the letters night pulls from my lips.

 

 

I don’t know if I would say this tomorrow.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 6/24/17

Day and Night at GCNP

In the light
We wander
Into the
Rocky chasm.

 

In the night

We wonder
About the
Starry abyss.

 

In the light
We clamber
Around the
Daunting edges.

 

In the night
We amble
About the
Haunted ridges.

 

In the light
We are humbled
By the grandeur
Of what lays
Before our feet.

 

In the night
We are crumpled
By the expanse
Of what lays
Beyond our reach.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Reflections on day and night at Grand Canyon National Park.

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Glances

Folder: 
2017

Stealing glances, picking little fights

when you’re the only one I would never push down-

you are already too sunk with your ship,

rooted in lonely chaos.

 

We are tangled because they told us to

and when I reach past you

I could swear you almost take my hand,

there is no shame in this

unless I want there to be.

 

Scribbling secrets, spring midnights

when we paint the sky open with laughter…

we will regret breaking dawn

but we can never regret as much as we will miss.

And when you’re across the table

I could wake the whole world

with these deafening glances.

 

I want to tell you how you talk,

how it builds this sun around us and

I see it like a comfort that could break any moment

but somehow you still manage to hold it up.

 

I want to tell you how you sound,

tired and happier than you’ve ever been in daylight,

like no matter how late it gets you’d rather be here,

like you’ll never hold it over me if I trip.

I want to tell you how you sound,

hands that can’t hold you up at this hour,

a voice stumbling over itself,

a voice tired and messy but I love it that way.

 

I want to tell you how you look,

not even trying to stay awake,

you don’t need to when these bonds are unspoken and

so I keep glancing over at you,

seconds then minutes at a time,

hoping you might catch me,

wishing you won’t.

 

I want to tell you how you love,

tired and you’re still better at human than me,

if we are marbles or minutes or just what someone needs

you give so so so much more than you take.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 3/16/17

Drunk on Time (day 150)

Is it possible to be drunk on time?

6am and I can’t even rhyme

Decisions that sound like a shooting star

I wish I could always know where you are

 

Counting dreams like hopscotch memories

I gasp as I wake up, tears like energy

I run on saltwater, it tangles the air

and makes it look like you could care

 

Is it possible to be drunk on time?

6am and I can’t even rhyme

Decisions that sound like a shooting star

I wish I could always know where you are

 

I’m a liar but I don’t want to be this kind

Pendulum, pendulum, I could stumble blind

Years flicker by wrapped in your eyes

I’d rather be grounded than stuck in the skies

 

Is it possible to be drunk on time?

6am and I want to call you mine

Decisions that sound like a shooting star

I wish I could always know where you are

 

Pendulum, pendulum, can we stay right here

I don’t want this magic to disappear

Pendulum, pendulum, where do you keep

the parallel worlds where we never fall asleep

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Written 12/25/16

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Selene

Folder: 
Personal/Private

The world is alive at midnight all basked in tender glow

I walk along the quiet road watching the fireflies play and unfold

The stars above glitter and shine while the rest of the world starts to unravel, unwind

 

I'm mystified by the silvery white beam surrounding me the moon and I embrace and dance the night away

I'm charmed at the night's symphony, here at midnight

midnight is magical and mysterious,

spellbinding to the lone stranger in this sphere.

 

Yin-yang and paradise

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Watching the world come alive at midnight

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​Song Of The Stable Boy

On the far away empty island
In that ancient cottage
Veil of the night covers the face of the land.
 
As you keep looking out of the window
At the moon and clouds making the shape,
like an arrow of foam with a silver bow.
Surrounded by the trance of nostalgia.
And behind the worn curtain,
I secretly am filling all the jars with,
sweet wishes and pinkish desires.
Now it’s time to change the climate of your heart.
It's time for you to turn around.
And make some loud amazement's sound.
As I open the jars,
filled with fireflies.
As they fly spread inside the dark room.
And fill your face with surprise.
So you could fill lightning bugs,
into the lake of your eyes.
Smelling the petrichor after rain of sparkles,
I take your hand and we keep couple dancing.
So I could look into the world,
behind the curtain of your eyes.
 
All these dreams and fantasies are no ordinary,
but sometimes stable-boy find's his Cinderella.
Because sometimes, "Dreams do come true." 

Other Life

Folder: 
Hand Written

"First, he says, 

 

first and foremost,

the cub has it's roar, 

or did I mean Lion? 

 

He tells me, 

performs for me, 

the vivid imagery

of the courage and strength, 

 

trying to give unto another.

No script, no paper, 

off memory, his poetry

is in his heart, 

 

and apart from my written word, 

wow, can i perforn like

the one singing bump and grind? 

Well, I most definitely have 

 

not the voice. 

But, 

the artist has instead

his art in his soul, 

 

and no pen or pad

or book in hand, man, 

this man has it. 

So does She

 

giving me sweet epiphany, 

alliteration and onomatopoeia, 

hyperbole, dreams of red velvet, 

a memory of perhaps

 

succulent treat, 

and after a beat, 

another artist approaches,

such powerful words. 

 

All of them, 

potential no longer blocked, 

mind unlocked,

her voice giving me thoughts. 

 

I am home, 

I am surrounded by poets, 

artists, lovers, dreamers, 

those who have suffered

 

more than I, 

hearing some of the pleas. 

It would indeed be

enriching, more imbued positivity. 

 

And perhaps comical

as I watch one poet

almost run over another

on trip to couch.

 

I grin, laughed, 

laughed more when asked

to rurn to page 24. 

Hands, the color red, 

 

subjects being poured about

by all these great writers. 

Such emotion, 

they read,

 

I listen.

Tonight isn't about me, 

this is about them, 

and I am humbled again. 

 

Tonight is about you,

and you, and all of you 

who pour their soul, 

so vulnerable. 

 

Lessons, being preached to me, 

wise words, being brushed 

across my canvas,

their paint so vibrant.

 

Their pain so real, 

like my own. 

What I strive to do, 

being done unto me. 

 

They want to write, 

they make me want to 

write, right now. 

Never stop writing, 

 

requesting got returned keys, 

being alive. 

Poetry has kept me alive. 

You, artists, breathe into me...

 

life."

Author's Notes/Comments: 

A poem I wrote while observing a poetry reading of other poets. I read this piece during the 'Open Mic' portion, each poet smiling at my own nod to each of their own pieces. A good night of art.