graham-geiger
Mostly Me
Well, I made an account, that's a start isn't it?
I find entertainment in writing things down so if you were expecting the Pablo Picasso of photo shop then go attack a brilliant landscape, or close-up professional...I can guarantee you'll find them a whole lot more interesting than me.
I like to write (as I just said) primarily poetry. I write a lot of it, but I'm just trying to have fun...at this point I haven't posted a single other thing, so there's no poems yet. (well there wasn't when I wrote this)
I'll write a short, likely terrible one right now!
Ice Breaker
Cracking the ice, as snow dogs mush
To push me into the enormous puddle of arctic frigid
and as my legs crack together in the water,
and as my numb body submerges,
I can't help but wish I lived in a warmer climate.
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Maybe I'm a fish
I wonder what it's like To have a deeper reflection-- Looking to the water's depth And seeing past the picture On its surface.
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Alive inside a question
To be alive inside a question Is a curious thing As the words trickle out But you can't say a thing With a certainty that lasts And the last thing you want Is to find that you're lost In the ellipsis before a question mark.
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Toy Sword
Sharpened a stick And called it a sword But never once used it To slash at another An ornament only To feather the wind And feel the wonderment Of a journey played out Inside ones own head
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Yearning
They stood (jittering in place)
their hands waving circles together
loose through the air
watching intently
as if something delicate
were resting in their palms,
and if they stopped
it might fall and break--
shattered to pieces
like a glass ball.
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When You Look Away
It seems to me that we
at times
are just a simple greetings card
with words that’s meaning’s
just to please
but silent so you hear us breathe--
that we are there
although unsure
if quietly
we’re being judged,
but when you look away from us
you’ll hear the sound of dancing.
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Unattached (The Motions)
My hair is tangled
(little care to what I wear)
walking with nothing in particular
that moves me.
The pavement is solid
and the cars use low beams
during the day.
I can’t say I feel it’s interesting
but exhaust and fresh air
both feel the same
running across my skin
and a world if not a bit delusional
would scare me to no end.
It’s fair to be ignorant
for who wants to dwell
on a beating from 3 years ago
or the obituaries on the radio.
I’m not afraid of the world;
I’m not afraid of tragedy;
I’m not conceited enough
to know what justice is.
And perhaps that’s why
I’m unattached:
I wont pretend when I understand.
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I’ve heard that awareness of being unaware is the first step to awakening, and that may well be true, but eventually you must be fearless enough to take that second step if you would be free.
That Second Step (via mikefrawley)
I’ve had a strong first step for a long time now. I think I’m better suited to helping other people than myself. It’s a strange predicament to be in.
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A More Courageous Me
If I were a more courageous me
perhaps my words would shine with strength
like no-one ever knew the like
and smite the troubles souls will drink
when they have no will to fight.
If I were a more courageous me
perhaps I’d know eternity
and leave the time to pass me by
like so many false clocks drawn
then spin my finger and tick and tock
as I am not a pawn.
If I were a more courageous me
perhaps my heart would choose a path
to follow like many branching veins
and hop from one onto the next
as frantic men might jump on trains.
If I were a more courageous me
I think i’d struggle that much more
and I would still be vincible
within this quaking hapless world
but still I’d like to see the day
I wear a flag as if a cape
and say that I’m a conqueror:
a more courageous me.
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A Man Now Made of Stone
A chisel to a stone face
It never seemed so cold as then
as if never to frown and never to grin
without the slightest move from brow
it seemed a piece of art had left it's personality
somewhere under the oceans lapping waves
and now a golem was walking instead
with clods of mud at the edge
and no feeling in its toes.
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A Smile is Real
A smile is therapeutic
a smile is gentle truth
of love and great affection
abstained from feeling blue.
A smile gives you a face
that makes you feel at home
a place to be your best
where you are not alone.
A smile is more than magic
a smile will exceed fate
a smile lives deep inside you
a smile is never fake,
but often times it’s faked
but that is not a smile
If it doesn’t lift with heart
it collapses and it dies.
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Private (But not really)
Sometimes I’m afraid of talking
wrapped in a robe of words
with nothing underneath
and if life is a stage
I showed up in a cloud of dust
without any underwear on.
It’s okay, I’ve got tinted shades for most of you.
You don’t need to see anything
that censorship should have its way with
but if you don’t mind
could you put down the binoculars?
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This account is pretty much dead. I apologize for that I’ve found in recent date my humble poetic hobby gives me writers block whenever I come to this page but I felt like writing something here again. It probably wont be reoccurring though.
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If The Wind Turns Pages
Perhaps I’m not without the wind
as natural in a forest as a leaflet
written on thin paper I descend and
I can’t be certain if the trees can read
or the chipmunks perceive what I happen to be
but I’m here
and I wonder what to make of the other leaves.
They float delicately in the breeze and pile on me
and make me wish that I could be that free
but the journey hasn’t written me
I’ve stained with far more over-laying ink
than any would care to read.
It’s funny that I really don’t mind
If they don’t read me then that’s just fine
but maybe I’ll read them for awhile;
maybe there’s another leaflet in this pile
and all the while they’ve been reading me.
Perhaps that’s happening even now.
It’s quite a pleasant fantasy
to be a book they can’t put down.
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How a Thinker Juggles
The mind is not where you escape
it's the only place you're free
to think of things most dastardly
and people who will never be
and worlds divided only by
coherent thoughts there-lacking
stacked with old pieces of chalk
with art from chalk-brush smacking.
Inside your head the rules are only partially intact
you may in-fact think of things you would never dare enact
or ideas so impossible the world would ridicule
since you leave your mind to wander you must be an utter fool
but it couldn't be much further from the truth I am afraid
if no-one would ever think like this progress would fade away.
It's the application you see.
it's the way a thinker juggles.
If they never learn to think
how will they overcome their struggles?
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Boards and Siding
It's hot
it's dingy
it's boring
it's bland
this life
feels as tasteless
as wind through my hands
and I breath it all in
and I sigh
and I wait
and I don't understand
what I'm trying to make.
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I'd like to smell your face
I find faces quite quizzical.
A map of lined wrinkles
if you know where to look;
A peculiar twitch riding along them,
and a distant stare watching each:
taking in the reflection.
How much can I really see?
What is there that divides
those lips from those eye brows,
those cheeks from that mind?
Even the bleakest expression
buckles somewhere--
falling apart into a beautiful vagueness
that inspires a future engagement
just to know what it means.
Oh, the freedom expressed
in those unknown mannerisms.
It's like telling the different flowers
in a bouquet by smell alone.
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Step away from the light
Spread like ashes cast astray
you'll never see the light of day
for you burn too brightly
and quickly you find
to the rays of the sun
you have been blind.
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