Tag: writing

What to write?

On By adamcallahan117In Short PoemsLeave a comment

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What to write, what to write, what to write?
My upstairs is missing a light
I feel I am blocked
Like I’m locked in a box
Can’t concoct nor conceive, what to write?

When your head’s in a cloud, what to write?
Do I give in, give up, should I fight?
Do I stick it to blocks
Though my brain feels like rocks
Should I run to the docks
Or hide like a fox?
Maybe breathe noxious toxins, make words like “fomboxins”, catch pox, latch the locks, till I barf in my mocc’sins?

Oh Lord, what to do? I can’t write!

 

Sonnet 5

On By adamcallahan117In Short Poems, SonnetsLeave a comment

With fevered dream, my lost and weary mind
Does toss and turn in interrupted sleep
Stones fly, birds speak, and in a fright I weep
For ‘magined evils I can’t leave behind

My mind plays tricks on quickly-beating heart
Makes it believe the world is being rent
Asunder, that at last the dark’s ascent
Will cover all the earth with hellish art

Covered in sweat, my aching body cries
For hot, for cold, for drink, for food, for rest
It little knows the real, not east from west
Without the mind, it knows not truth from lies

But fin’lly I awake and noises cease
I find some modicum of waking peace

Sonnet 4

On By adamcallahan117In Short Poems, SonnetsLeave a comment

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What if I were to steal you for a day?
I’d bring you off adventuring with me
We’d find some treasure; frightened, I would say,
‘What dark magicks await explorers we?’

What if we went advent’ring for a day?
You’d lead me down some gods-forsaken route
Finding some creature, I would, timid, say,
‘We ought turn back; I fear danger’s afoot!’

What if we went off-road one fateful day?
And finding some contraption, I began
To stammer uncontrollably, and say,
‘What devilry is this, I am but man!’

And you would turn and say to me, plainly:
‘You’re safe, my love, don’t fret; you are with me.’

Write you

On By adamcallahan117In Free Verse, Short PoemsLeave a comment

pexels-photo-211291.jpegI will write you
A song
As long
As your heartbeat
From its first to its last

I will write you
A verse
One for every moment
Every time I’ve looked into
Your eyes
Said
“I love you”

I will write you
An epic
A tale of strife and woe
A tale of love and faith
Something that rings true
Something that reminds me
Of you
Our adventures and
Our hurts and
Our love

I will write you
A note
And stick it on your desk
And you’ll find it
And you’ll know it

I will write you
Into my heart
In every moment
You’ll be
In my soul

We

On By adamcallahan117In Short PoemsLeave a comment

Why did we meet, lost, hurt, unknown?
Perhaps ’twas Fate, that e’er sly trickster;
Oft she plays, plots plans betwixt
Her list’ning ears; her eyes are fixed
On unsuspecting mortals, ‘lone.

Why did we meet, lost, hurt, unknown?
Maybe ’twas He who made the earth;
Seems likely He would find some mirth
In leading us from very birth
To find each other once we’d grown.

Why did we meet, lost, hurt, unknown?
Mayhaps ’twas naught, no fleeting thought
No meaning, tale, nor story wrought
A chance encounter, one unsought;
And to your arms I’ve blindly flown.

I know not why we met that night;
But glad am I for ev’ry day
And ev’ry hour and ev’ry ray
Of Sun that shines as if to say:
“O, lovers, ask not why today
No longer ye are off, away
One from the other; now allay
This doubt, no heed need you it pay.”
Such love we keep, it must be right.

Some Forgotten Night

On By adamcallahan117In Short PoemsLeave a comment

~This is an old one, but I thought it worth sharing~

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Darkness falls around me
Shadows mock and jeer
I cannot sleep too soundly
With all the noises here

I question what I’m doing
And where I’m meant to go
Which dames I should be wooing
Which seeds to caref’lly sow

And so t’the stars I gaze
With wonder, awe, and spite
In an imbibéd haze
On some forgotten night

Sonnet 2

On By adamcallahan117In Short Poems, SonnetsLeave a comment

When music through my head begins to walk
I stumble for a moment, frozen there
I hesitate to move or start to talk
For fear the sounds will shortly leave the air.

I scramble for a pen, put ink to pad,
And furiously write the melody;
The passersby do surely find me mad—
I hear them not; only music I see.

And scribbling on the page I’m loath to find
The notes are ambling, drunken, to and fro;
The melody, that temptress, leaves my mind;
Leaving naught but a shadow she doth go.

And so I struggle, hoping, day by day,
For song’s return, this time not to go ‘way.