Comitatu

A friend of mine bought me a book a while ago called The Writers Block which is literally a little block book with ideas and one word prompts for writers suffering from writers block. This poem that I wrote was a product of my "sudden decline of work D:" and although it's not perfect, and needs a lot of work - I thought I would upload it anyway - IT'S SOMETHING.

Here is Comitatu:



Comitatu

My imagination is currently at the station. 
I’m sat down on benches,
Hands stuck to gum
I gaze at the tracks
Smile, breath and sit back
Examining the grooves
and the patterns of my thumb

Individualistic tendencies
I’m constantly thinking of conspiracies
Knitting up ideas in a cardboard box
Then I look down and see the stitches
Drop, and it’s hard
to keep out of my mind
But when I open the lock
I can’t seem to find, the reason
As to why
I can’t seem to write

I’m losing inspiration
Still here at the station
Then suddenly I see a train fly by
Its shot like a catapult
Running, racing, catch it
STOP!
is it my fault if I can’t see it?

All the ideas are at the next junction
My mind is jammed
It simply won’t function

This picture belongs to Google Images

Further Clarification

This was a poem I wrote about a year ago. There used to be a place where I would go when I just needed to sit and think - and this poem is about that. Feel free to comment :) criticism is what I need!

Further clarification

 Out I bound

To this occasional

 Loquacious spring wonderland

A garden so serene in the dawn of frost

Yet others would see as none

I see so much more

Than the Simple

Sepia of that sky

I will deny the primary colours

They are not the sky

The greens and blues

Begin to fuse

Creating something more

On my tongue, catching the warmth in my eyes

I taste the nature of my place

In the black shadow of my hair

This escape for my emotions

Thus is cardinal

And as I gaze through my

Sealed lids that picture only reality

I look at the dancing figure that is me

A spinning little filigree

Once my questions are answered

I’ll thank the sun that sets

In the west

Winking at my grin

Laughing with the soft wind

Then, as it gives me one last soft kiss

I’ll turn my back

To the old oak tree

 Gone,

 skipping back in my crisp white blouse

~ misshapenskies

I do not own the picture.

Cloud Nine

This poem is one I wrote a while ago, I'm not sure what brought it on...
Anyway, critical comments are appreciated and I would love to hear what people think!
So without further ado, here is Cloud Nine

Cloud Nine

Haze

 stroke withdrawn cheeks

I wish to feel your depth,

suppleness of your nonentity in my

Clammed, sticky palms

Oh and how you look tonight

You knew it was an occasion to be remembered

To be hallowed

Heads will roll, to undergo

that essence of baptism

Once upon the hours of owls

 Held out a dove

And gave me a slice of

Cloud nine,

Which is what was, and now is mine.

Nightfall has a frayed black halo,

these echoes shall ring through horns

With remembrance, bound upon spite

In Twilight - I shall mourn.