excerpts
Poets Media isolates the most poignant, powerful, and exquisitely composed verses and quotes in the universal poetry canon.
Lycanthrope moon musings and more
A lycanthropic dirge of hunger and forest hunts Almost nine years ago now the spirit of my journey was changed forever......I felt love when the words echoed from her tongue but I either didn't hear the hollowness in the timbre of her sound or chose to ignore it...either way in the end..it was the same...I was just so excited...so unbelievably happy...we had just found out that the heart of the soul in her womb had it's own beat....in my imagination..it would be a thumpin blues rock staccato....a groovin litany of poetical ramblings of love and joyous futures.....so in the next week when she told me she was going to visit her family in Canada I thought nothing of it...continued doing back flips off the wall of paradise....then a week passed...time strange in a translucent slowing of pavement and dream....and when her voice spit the words that would crumble my world...it seemed unreal....a horror...a movie ready to be given thumbs down bad moved to the back shelf of dust ridden cobweb obscurity..."Talking to my parents I have decided something. They want me to continue in their footsteps to a political future and they don't think you have a path that coincides with that...I mean your brilliantly talented but they think and I would have to agree that your never going to make it and you will probably be poor for the rest of your life. ANd... I...I deserve more.....better...so well...what I am trying to say....is..well...I aborted our child.....have a good life..." My spirit did a running sprint for a hole to climb itself into.....a vacant episode of reruns and repeats doing a pirrouette in the silver screen of my eyes, .....the phone fell.....creating a tap tap of plastic striking formica....my limbs leadened and flesh grew cold......arctic breath in the shade of my heart...spent night after night, month after month wrapped in sweat soaked covers...feverish skin, my sleep haunted by a child drifting...unwanted and vibrating shuddering wails to the cosmos....always out of my reach...always just out of a father's love.....A lone wolf I walk in guise since that day......keep a veritable fortress in the haven of my hovel......watch corners for ghosts of liars....count the amount of ticks of sand crawling across my flesh...and keep an eye on people's hands...where they are in proximity to my pockets....Howling my lupine moon strung along my striding hips I lope through the woods of cement.....fangs bared and ready.....forests of untrustworthy puppets trailing humanistic visage....I will not be the victim to another siren's haunt.....I will hunt.......I will survive....I will chew the bones of my dream and take down the meat of my aspirations....I will find myself in the accolades so callously called frivolous and unattainable.....and when my teeth have closed onto the flesh of my prey.....I will scream lycanthropic dirges into the deep recesses of night's dark ballad......and I shall fall to knees shedding the salt I have held in rememberence for my child drifting among the stars of could of beens...
By JD Glasscock5 years ago in Poets
CAN YOU WALK WITH HER?
Come to me and tell me that you want to walk the shoes I have been in. Come to me and tell me that you could go through the fights that didn’t agree to your welcome and won. Tell what is it you been through…cause to me it looks like everything has been handed to you. Break it down to me what you had to fight for. Tell me if you had to hang on to dear life, tell me if you’re here in this life all alone, facing with the cruel people that is suppose to be there for you_ how many of them left you? How many of them turned around and gave you their ass to kiss when you need them most? Tell me who left you here…to wonder what’s your purpose…and why do you remain?
By Jasmine Wilder5 years ago in Poets
6 Poems from some of my books
Light is the ever birthed truth Poem by JD Glasscock Interwoven tilt of lips into upturned horizons, the hip man flips a coin while gypsy girls do thigh thrust shakes to the moon and an infant in the forest wails for nurturing....small men in rotting suits count green bills in the aftermath of self indulged boredom......she said in the wee hours of morning wisps, to hope and dream are the only steps to laughter......the hip man winks, the gypsy girls ethos mirth within the dance, the child gurgles bubbles in the turning of wails to twinkles finding eyes and the small men sneer as they continue counting, their world closing truth on their deteriorating frames.......all around the globe, wings are unfurling, spreading against the burgeoning dawn......laughter and hope are spinning threads forever renewing..
By JD Glasscock5 years ago in Poets
4 Poems and a song from some of my books
The Hunt to the Haunt of my Forever Song Poem by JD Glasscock Frisky in the bare full moon journey of eve's dark semblence....howls building up in the caverns of chests....My limbs lope the forest of black pitched ballads.....sunlight kept in coins, hidden in pockets seamless and secreted, held for moments where treachery and abandonment walk a fine line between delusional self immolation and the laziness of underachievement, when hope is a fading melody in a strong coursing wind...and I crawl and skip and wail into the heavy night....freedom....a jaundice joint of prayer in the echos of oblivion....and in the shadows of my shade women dance to the rhythms of fables, fairytales long ago forgotten and thrown away, tossed to the broken down railways of ghosts and failing priorities, moralities....to the worship of their own divinity, hunger, wants and bottomless aching of a love that was shifted to strange shapeless dreams in the hour of their desperate need.....their breasts shaking their hips and grace etched legs to the down beat of lute struck tonal haunts of immemorial conquest, their silhouettes a remembrence to the martyred acclimation of mothers and sisters and daughters.....to the tributes of forever divided statuesque sculptures carved in the visage of fathers and brothers and sons....these are my mates pen runed in fate....their choreographed sorrow to the hunt of my spiritual assassination....their strength my salvation.....their tireless chasing of perfection the reminder to my dereliction......to the cave drawn annals of my listless lollygagging of lollipop blues......who we choose a choice chosen by very few.......
By JD Glasscock5 years ago in Poets
Thoughts of a troubled mind
Author's note: We all struggle from time to time, no matter if its financial, spiritual, emotional, or physical. One that we barely talk about is mental health struggles. In this is a collection of short stories to enlighten everyone what might go on in someone's mind when they are struggling with mental health. I am no stranger to these struggles and hope that it might help others in the future. Please never be afraid to reach out for help if you feel you might be going through some of the same. You are not alone!
By Rebecca Schoenfeld5 years ago in Poets
These Dreams
A dream, it can be so many things. So much more than what you can think. A dream is a wish, or a surprise. It could be something so meaningful like the sun rising in the sky. They might be stories of the future, or the past. Like a stolen kiss during a long forgotten dance. A gift, and sometimes a present. Dreams are also not always pleasant. A monster hiding under your bed, or a cold chill that starts at the top of your head. An unpleasant tingling straight to your bones. Dreams can be so many things. Like poetry, they are so much more than the feeling. They can leave so timid, afraid for your toes. Or make the hero, the star of the show. Just close your eyes, you will see. As you sleep you dream up your very own stories.
By Tabbietabs5 years ago in Poets
Dirty Keys N' Pure Praise
Battered and beaten keys still sang and rang with war cries through the damp night air. Sludging through trenches to the beat of melodious, bombing warfare. Husky voices singing loud for Heaven's hand to extend to their own. Muscular black and white men, standing shoulder to shoulder, humming in unifying tone. "Pull me up from mucky mire. Soon before, I surely expire." Keys bouncing up and down. Shaking, trembling, exploding ground. Duck and weave. Notes shrewdly perceive. Sliding into fermata furrows. Stuck fast, in clay-covered sorrows. Praising never once ceased. Though souls were finally released.
By Rowan Finley 5 years ago in Poets
