Submissions by prestonGibson (NomadsPath)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write about what my heart breaks and beats for. My work is rough, raw, flawed and imperfect; a work of self embodiment. I can't promise perfection, but I can promise authentic.
LOVE POEM
Published
28th Oct 2015 1:41pm
28th Oct 2015 1:41pm
Rear View
I'm sorry for the things I said,
and didn't mean.
I'm sorry for the things left unsaid,
a treasure chest of things you never got to see.
It was real.
The sun did rise and set with you.
The weightless animation of two.
The fall we fell was true.
Looking back now,
through a narrow rear view,
I can clearly see how the butterflies flew, and met their demise too.
It took two.
Two of us made it,
and two of us took too much for granted.
I'm sorry for the things I said,
and didn't mean.
I'm sorry for the things left unsaid,
a...
and didn't mean.
I'm sorry for the things left unsaid,
a treasure chest of things you never got to see.
It was real.
The sun did rise and set with you.
The weightless animation of two.
The fall we fell was true.
Looking back now,
through a narrow rear view,
I can clearly see how the butterflies flew, and met their demise too.
It took two.
Two of us made it,
and two of us took too much for granted.
I'm sorry for the things I said,
and didn't mean.
I'm sorry for the things left unsaid,
a...
681 reads
3 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
22nd Oct 2015 5:27pm
22nd Oct 2015 5:27pm
Dreamstate
There's a place not far
Yet out of site
That I lay my head to rest at night
Under trees with a whistling breeze
I find my peace and return to me
The ocean waves
and open horizon
capture my soul
and lead me home
To the place where the stars
are always aglow
where secrets aren't spoken
but always known.
Humbled and blessed
I lay my head to rest.
The sun will rise,
as it does set.
It is in this place
I am at my best,
but come morning
I must return.
Yet out of site
That I lay my head to rest at night
Under trees with a whistling breeze
I find my peace and return to me
The ocean waves
and open horizon
capture my soul
and lead me home
To the place where the stars
are always aglow
where secrets aren't spoken
but always known.
Humbled and blessed
I lay my head to rest.
The sun will rise,
as it does set.
It is in this place
I am at my best,
but come morning
I must return.
551 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
22nd Oct 2015 2:29am
22nd Oct 2015 2:29am
I Dare Not
There are dark corners of myself that I choose to never tend,
for fear that I may find you there, and never come back from where I've been.
I dare not go there.
The jagged, rigged bend.
The road there and back is enveloped with shards,
and sharp peices of you...
Of us,
For it has yet to turn to dust.
I dare not.
I dare not.
I dare...
for fear that I may find you there, and never come back from where I've been.
I dare not go there.
The jagged, rigged bend.
The road there and back is enveloped with shards,
and sharp peices of you...
Of us,
For it has yet to turn to dust.
I dare not.
I dare not.
I dare...
688 reads
2 Comments
SELF POEM
Published
15th Oct 2015 9:20pm
15th Oct 2015 9:20pm
Road Block
With eyes held on the stars,
head kept in the clouds,
feet placed on the ground,
and heavy heart weighing down,
there is violence
in the sound of silence.
Distorted vision has blurred my horizon.
Where do I go now?
What once was black and white
has bled to shades grey.
I'm now never certain
of whether to go,
or stay.
Hands reach out in darkness,
yearning for contact from the other side.
Feet planted firmly on pavement,
fearful of treding the yellow line.
The steps I take are curtail, for they are all that's...
head kept in the clouds,
feet placed on the ground,
and heavy heart weighing down,
there is violence
in the sound of silence.
Distorted vision has blurred my horizon.
Where do I go now?
What once was black and white
has bled to shades grey.
I'm now never certain
of whether to go,
or stay.
Hands reach out in darkness,
yearning for contact from the other side.
Feet planted firmly on pavement,
fearful of treding the yellow line.
The steps I take are curtail, for they are all that's...
577 reads
0 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
10th Oct 2015 2:48pm
10th Oct 2015 2:48pm
Twenty Something
On the cusp of adelesence and adulthood...
I know nothing with any real certainty.
My only clarity is some false sense of time:
• How it passes.
• How doorways bridges burn in the blink of an eye.
A pocket full of dreams.
A fist full of ambitions...
Tucked away in my pocket for safe keeping.
As of yet not placed in the drawer for rest...
Early milestones line the way.
Destination unknown.
Everything is unknown...
The black and white perceptionof my childhood has sense bled to shades of grey. ...
I know nothing with any real certainty.
My only clarity is some false sense of time:
• How it passes.
• How doorways bridges burn in the blink of an eye.
A pocket full of dreams.
A fist full of ambitions...
Tucked away in my pocket for safe keeping.
As of yet not placed in the drawer for rest...
Early milestones line the way.
Destination unknown.
Everything is unknown...
The black and white perceptionof my childhood has sense bled to shades of grey. ...
579 reads
4 Comments
NON-FICTION PROSE
Published
1st Oct 2015 5:06am
1st Oct 2015 5:06am
My Home
I had a vision once, seemingly so long ago. Simple and pure memories flood my gates that I have never lived before.
I saw myself on a Sunday morning, descending the stairs of a modest home. As I walk through the house the wonderful aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled my senses and teased my palet. I turn a corner leading towards the kitchen where I see a man leaning over the counter, chopping away at some form of breakfast preparation. Sitting on the table are two cups of coffee, one half full. A smile greats me with a kiss as I lean in to hold him as he's washing a dish. Love. Home....
I saw myself on a Sunday morning, descending the stairs of a modest home. As I walk through the house the wonderful aroma of fresh brewed coffee filled my senses and teased my palet. I turn a corner leading towards the kitchen where I see a man leaning over the counter, chopping away at some form of breakfast preparation. Sitting on the table are two cups of coffee, one half full. A smile greats me with a kiss as I lean in to hold him as he's washing a dish. Love. Home....
653 reads
SELF POEM
Published
12th Sep 2015 2:56am
12th Sep 2015 2:56am
Baggage
And with a sigh,
granting momentary lift,
I glance at dirty laundry,
hung and left to dry.
This too will add to the luggage, already weighing heavy.
It is mine, and mine alone to carry.
I packed it all away,
then set out on my way.
granting momentary lift,
I glance at dirty laundry,
hung and left to dry.
This too will add to the luggage, already weighing heavy.
It is mine, and mine alone to carry.
I packed it all away,
then set out on my way.
647 reads
3 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
10th Sep 2015 9:38pm
10th Sep 2015 9:38pm
Life, Death, and Truth
All too often in life, when it comes to death, we tend to glamorize things.
We pull the strings out of something real, and with it, make a new
(not improved) watered-down version of the truth. We sow with it our tapestries, and cliche', catchy decorative pillows, then put them on display.
Let us honor the memory of reality.
It's important to remember,
when we love,
we love an imperfect person, perfectly.
Take note of the imperfections,
for they sculpted the truth.
It's a sad sin to remove something so beautiful as a sunrise, and sunset, with...
We pull the strings out of something real, and with it, make a new
(not improved) watered-down version of the truth. We sow with it our tapestries, and cliche', catchy decorative pillows, then put them on display.
Let us honor the memory of reality.
It's important to remember,
when we love,
we love an imperfect person, perfectly.
Take note of the imperfections,
for they sculpted the truth.
It's a sad sin to remove something so beautiful as a sunrise, and sunset, with...
660 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
7th Sep 2015 7:51am
7th Sep 2015 7:51am
A Place Outside The Box
There is a place beyond the cells that bind...
The key is kept in all abstract minds
Past the steps over pavements
-Mine
Where the arms need not reach
There..
The place with the bedsheet sails
The makings of gourmet fairytales
Cropped and grown
In the fields unknown
To most
-Unless you know it
Close your eyes
Rest your head
You needn't take a single step
It's past the shadows
-Nook and cranny cast
This place is ours
-In the minds abstract
The key is kept in all abstract minds
Past the steps over pavements
-Mine
Where the arms need not reach
There..
The place with the bedsheet sails
The makings of gourmet fairytales
Cropped and grown
In the fields unknown
To most
-Unless you know it
Close your eyes
Rest your head
You needn't take a single step
It's past the shadows
-Nook and cranny cast
This place is ours
-In the minds abstract
522 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
5th Sep 2015 9:18pm
5th Sep 2015 9:18pm
To Be Seen
He didn't want to outshine anyone
He would dull his flame mid-game
He didn't need the world to notice him
He didn't want banners held in his name
-or any sort of fame.
All he wanted was one...
One voice to whisper
In a crowded room of shouts
And screams...
..."I See You"
With that
He would have achieved
His most sought after dream...
To be seen
He would dull his flame mid-game
He didn't need the world to notice him
He didn't want banners held in his name
-or any sort of fame.
All he wanted was one...
One voice to whisper
In a crowded room of shouts
And screams...
..."I See You"
With that
He would have achieved
His most sought after dream...
To be seen
629 reads
1 Comment
UPBEAT INSPIRATIONAL POEM
Published
29th Aug 2015 5:19am
29th Aug 2015 5:19am
11:59pm
11:59pm.
In exactly one minute,
Today will turn to Yesterday,
and Tomorrow to Today.
A clean slate.
A canvas awaiting paint.
A new page in the a story
ready to be written.
All that is,
will be what once was.
All that will be,
will show its glory.
What will we carry
past that threshold of time?
The sights we saw?
The emotions we felt?
The music that played sweetly,
and serienly to touch our ears,
and feed our souls?
The fear that kept us safe on the sidewalk,
or the gull to wonder what lies beyond?...
In exactly one minute,
Today will turn to Yesterday,
and Tomorrow to Today.
A clean slate.
A canvas awaiting paint.
A new page in the a story
ready to be written.
All that is,
will be what once was.
All that will be,
will show its glory.
What will we carry
past that threshold of time?
The sights we saw?
The emotions we felt?
The music that played sweetly,
and serienly to touch our ears,
and feed our souls?
The fear that kept us safe on the sidewalk,
or the gull to wonder what lies beyond?...
722 reads
1 Comment
EROTIC POEM
Published
19th Aug 2015 11:23pm
19th Aug 2015 11:23pm
Solo Sunday Morning
The Sunday morning
he couldn't shake.
The words,
"It was just sex",
played on repeat,
but didn't replace the feeling
of what was lost.
It was just the touch of her breast.
A momentary trade of heartbeats.
A swop of lonesome ties;
made undone.
"Something's" ,
he thought to himself,
"You don't come back from"
Her kiss was like an earthquake
that quickly lead to a body-mount
like a tidal wave,
but solo Sunday morning
felt like a razor blade.
A cut made fresh to the bone.......
he couldn't shake.
The words,
"It was just sex",
played on repeat,
but didn't replace the feeling
of what was lost.
It was just the touch of her breast.
A momentary trade of heartbeats.
A swop of lonesome ties;
made undone.
"Something's" ,
he thought to himself,
"You don't come back from"
Her kiss was like an earthquake
that quickly lead to a body-mount
like a tidal wave,
but solo Sunday morning
felt like a razor blade.
A cut made fresh to the bone.......
743 reads
1 Comment
DU Poetry : Submissions by prestonGibson (NomadsPath)
