Submissions by MalcolmG (Malcolm Gladwin)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I'm certainly complex filled with layers , introverted extrovert or whichever way pleases , I like authentic and original thoughts , don't care how messy it is as Iong as provokes me to consider things I wouldn't usually, somewhat of spontaneous writer
Majesty of the Eagle
Through dense green webs of ancient forest's breath,
The eagle glides, a shadow marked by death,
Its talons strike, a silent end to life’s caress.
Above the plains where golden grasses sweep,
Its wings command the winds, vast skies they reap,
A sovereign hunter, boundless strength, and ceaseless quest.
From Andes' heights where harpy eagles reign,
To open skies where crowned kings stake their claim,
Their gaze, a spear, pierces time's eternal crest.
No backward glance betrays their calculated strike,
Their flight an arc,...
The eagle glides, a shadow marked by death,
Its talons strike, a silent end to life’s caress.
Above the plains where golden grasses sweep,
Its wings command the winds, vast skies they reap,
A sovereign hunter, boundless strength, and ceaseless quest.
From Andes' heights where harpy eagles reign,
To open skies where crowned kings stake their claim,
Their gaze, a spear, pierces time's eternal crest.
No backward glance betrays their calculated strike,
Their flight an arc,...
#birds
#nature
16 reads
0 Comments
Echoes of the Iron Beast
Oh, the machines,
those glorious beasts of iron and steam,
their roar echoing in the hollowed-out caves of cities,
once forests, now factories
a relentless, ceaseless hymn to progress.
What is it you fear?
Not starvation, surely.
No, it’s the collapse of profit margins,
the death knell of dividends.
Oh he fools sitting between the great paradox:
to have too much, yet too little.
You called forth these creations oh these metal monstrosities,
summoned them from fire and ore,
their birth pangs soot and ash.
They...
those glorious beasts of iron and steam,
their roar echoing in the hollowed-out caves of cities,
once forests, now factories
a relentless, ceaseless hymn to progress.
What is it you fear?
Not starvation, surely.
No, it’s the collapse of profit margins,
the death knell of dividends.
Oh he fools sitting between the great paradox:
to have too much, yet too little.
You called forth these creations oh these metal monstrosities,
summoned them from fire and ore,
their birth pangs soot and ash.
They...
#LifeChangingMoment
29 reads
0 Comments
Real Poetry ...
Verse ineffable,
Exsanguinating whispers,
Profundity burns.
Exsanguinating whispers,
Profundity burns.
#WritingPoetry
30 reads
0 Comments
Mirror of Thought ...
Beneath an ancient, gnarled oak I sit,
Reflection caught where waters flit.
Solitude cradles thoughts that weave,
A dance of dark and light to cleave.
“What is virtue?” I beseech the breeze,
“And what is vice that tempts and teases?”
Mortal laws seem brittle, vain,
Molded by the hands of gain.
Eyes close to conjure a shadowed man,
Stealing for love, a desperate plan.
To nourish kin, he breaks decree
Where lies the wickedness in need?
Does virtue wear a crown of thorns?
Is sin the harvest justice...
Reflection caught where waters flit.
Solitude cradles thoughts that weave,
A dance of dark and light to cleave.
“What is virtue?” I beseech the breeze,
“And what is vice that tempts and teases?”
Mortal laws seem brittle, vain,
Molded by the hands of gain.
Eyes close to conjure a shadowed man,
Stealing for love, a desperate plan.
To nourish kin, he breaks decree
Where lies the wickedness in need?
Does virtue wear a crown of thorns?
Is sin the harvest justice...
#morality
40 reads
2 Comments
150 reads
0 Comments
46 reads
0 Comments
62 reads
2 Comments
70 reads
1 Comment
The Woken Grey's...
I woke up dead this morning. The sky was grey, the birds' song didn’t fetch my ear. The sun was there, but I ignored it. The grass was green, but would it have mattered if it were blue? The air was crisp, yet it still smelled of shattered dreams and broken promises.
I looked out onto the wondrous cities nestled between mountains and sky, and all I could see were ants moving to the beat of their own drum—a beat heard by one, though sung by many. I knew it was Sunday, the beginning of another week and the end of the last.
Is this not what life is? A series of short stops...
I looked out onto the wondrous cities nestled between mountains and sky, and all I could see were ants moving to the beat of their own drum—a beat heard by one, though sung by many. I knew it was Sunday, the beginning of another week and the end of the last.
Is this not what life is? A series of short stops...
#LifeStruggles
#love
41 reads
0 Comments
78 reads
1 Comment
68 reads
0 Comments
87 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by MalcolmG (Malcolm Gladwin)