singing

Holding My Pillows Close.

 

You know this story is far from over

It's not finished.. By long shot, my love 

Don't tell me you can't do this anymore 

I hope your happy.. And so much lovely 

Your still apart of me.. And still I'm 

nothing but a memory 

                                                         

You know I want you to hold this cold hand

I know that you can't,Because you have someone else to come and hold you.. 

So I'll keep sleeping sideways in my bed so I, can fill this open space.. 

Because I can't, go on without you..       

 

I know that I'm by myself I can make it  and don't need you for something that couldn't be.. And fade away in the sun light..                                           

There's nothing special.. About the way you did things.. 

 

Never coming back.. 

You can't come back..

 

You know I want you to hold this hand..

I know that you can't Because you have someone else to come and hold you.. 

So I'll keep sleeping sideways in my bed so I, can fill this lonely space.. 

Because I can't, go on without you..

Author's Notes/Comments: 

I'm quite obvious it's more of a song then a poem so.. This is it I'll be posting more but was made me Gabriel Treadwell and all copyrighted. Thank you

My Everything

Folder: 
2013

You are my everything

You are the light from the sun

And you are the air that I breathe

My heart has already been won

 

All because of you

You are the reason

For the thoughts in my head

I am a maiden

 

And you are the King

That has stolen my heart

And now that you have it

I wont, from you, part

 

Not if I can help it

When you give me a ring

Then both our hearts will sing

 

~Chrystal

Written on

 

October 14, 2013

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was all I wanted. Guess he couldnt hold his end up.

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My Dream

Once I had a dream
that i was a famous singer
I would sing my heart out
thousands of people would
listen to me
but I was alone

Another night, I had 
another dream
that I was a famous musician
playing and playing around
the world
thousands of people would 
listen to me
but my music had no
meaning

Then, one night, I had
my final dream
that I was an unknown
poet
writing freely to my heart's 
content
no one heard me as I 
read them
now my life has purpose

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was a little poem I wrote when I realized that I didnt care what other people didnt like about how I write poetry. Writing makes me happy. Right now, in my life, being happy is rare. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. Please leave comments and critique my work. Thanks and God Bless.

Singing Bum

Singing Bum

“Leremy rings the bell!”

He calls the dinner in! He calls… to all his kin!”

Ohh, Leremy riiings the bells… for we!”

The bum sang, off-tune and with a slur, and joyfully swung his bagged bottle to and fro as he did. He filled the chilly night air in front of him with a putrid white cloud that smelled of liquor and found food. His wide grin showed few teeth left, and his face was dirty and blemished by both age and the road he traveled on. He frequented this area, beneath an old gaslight, one of the few left in the entire city. It sat on a small, tight corner, which itself housed a quaint little bar with an apartment set above it. Few people passed through at the hour, but whomever had, would be accosted and politely, amusingly harassed by the always-singing-hobo. He would never lay hands upon anyone, nor threaten nor insult. He would simply pause in the midst of a song, blurt out an affectionate introductory nickname and begin asking for change. This would continue, regardless of the person’s answer, until they had left his corner.

“And you and I climb over the sea… to the valley,

And you and I reached out for reasons to… ” He stopped suddenly, spotting an older gentlemen with graying hair and a thick, layered jacket. He stepped forward and bent forward slightly, eyes downcast and shaggy bangs dangling in front of his eyes. He wrung his hands in front of his chest nervously.

“My good friend, my comrade… May you, or could you, and will you… Spare a few cents this way? For me? I… I’m very thirsty.” The bum admitted, not daring to make eye contact with the man. He fiddled with the fabric of his gloves, aggravating the already frayed bits of thread. The man approached and stopped just in front of the bum, looking down at him; his stern expression did not change when he spoke,

“We are not friends, nor do we share anything beyond this one moment, where you are soliciting me for change. As for your request, I must say that I believe you must earn your wages just like anyone else, don’t you think?” He asked, with strange sincerity in his voice. The bum looked up at him and said nothing, unsure of how to proceed. Most people either said yes or no, and then moved on quickly. He shrugged.

“Well, what are your capabilities? What you can do. Do you have any skills that you could utilize, right this very second, to earn this meager handful of coin that I have in my right pocket?” He continued. His curiosity seemed genuine, and he waited patiently for the bum to respond. The bum considered this, and squinted to himself. He came to realize that he only really knew how to do one thing besides begging, drinking and scavenging - so he started to sing.

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I'm Singing and Consciousness is on the Drums

Bump and bop and knock then stop.
It’s a rhythmic beat to reap the sleep
and see what’s been shown, not meet what’s
been known over and over again,
just changing how it flows from pen to pen
or mind to mind.
Just mind the edges and don’t fall off,
but conquer those hedges secluding Truth,
hung aloft up above for all to see,
and perceive Love,
shoved beneath and stomped
under feet, but breathing
and needing our attention,
undivided and whole—
a beckoning to our eternal soul.

-Ryan K. Fuller

Author's Notes/Comments: 

No comment

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Angel of the Light

Folder: 
Yestderday's News

She is an angel of the light,
flying through the twilight night.

Dark ones know her name,
searching like hungry ones the same.

They are not like her,
of this fact we are sure.

Easily pointed out,
for this reason they do not shout.

She is an angel of mercy,
her act takes no rehearsing.

You can see her by the side of the moon,
singing a happy-go-lucky tune.

She is an angel of the light,
strong and courageous with all her might.

The dark ones were not born this way,
she stays the same and never sways.

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"Alyson's Galaxy"

by Jeph Johnson 


Her lips, a painted-heart-Valentine

echoing with smiles
parting for her voice to dance

up and down the aisles.

We make-believe our stardom

but music can't pretend,
it demonstrates the beauty of song

by way of Alyson.

With passionate precision

she makes the song her own,
enunciating word for word

into the microphone.

Perfume floats through smoky air,

her eyes close to the crowd
while she transforms the Galaxy

into a single sound.

Astonished awes of silence,

suspending bar room noise...
the single sound of elegance

that is known as her voice.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

2001, for Alyson who sings karaoke in a smoky bar called the Galaxy

(published in 2004 as "Alison's Galaxy") 

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