lithedark » iambic pentameter

Writing a Poem Called Avocado

Josiah — Fri, 23 Mar 2012 01:16:26 +0000

Telling words that tell you naught but empty sound
Sought and yet devoid of thought they ring hollow
Eyebrows raise as glances sting profound
Writing a poem called avocado

Impassioned phrase but soul without a soul
Streaking clever ink as waters yearn to flow
Owing only to oneself a tawdry toll
Writing a poem called avocado

Grandiloquence a symptom of the blight
The lack of sight, a cause made not to show
Inaction births a sea of songs so trite
Writing a poem called avocado

In trying for the soul we wish to be
Trying turns to trying endlessly

Fuck Bitches, Get Money

Josiah — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 07:19:50 +0000

Of lofty goals I’ve often thought to chase
To mind there bubbles up to prominence
But two noble paths for righteous pace
For these treasures bring one to providence

The first, to tame the lusty female beast
To draw her to, and flesh to flesh, within
Of same import one must bring one to feast
On riches, delights, and gifts from heaven

Upon these notions, one must not dwell
But to pursue, to acquire, and succeed
For of breathing’s meaning, one cannot tell
Purpose though wrought of one’s will and need

If one desires lands of milk and honey
It is just to fuck bitches, get money

Part of me wants to apologize for this piece; the rest of me wants to judge anyone who would take such an apology. Thanks for reading.

Grieving

Josiah — Mon, 14 Feb 2011 08:27:45 +0000

It strikes me that the time I write matches
Clearly and cleverly with the dull ache
Of pains whose wounds were long since healed in full
And traumas born from unhappy passing

Despite the time spent healing in the dark
I’ll find that yes, time leaves some wounds unhealed
So the lies of comfort from caring friends
Run amok amongst the poison cure-alls

Yet completely as this piece lacks structure
The drink is but a way to forget all
Nothing more, though, was ever wanted for
As such, nothing more will ever be gained

There is no panacea for broken hearts
Time heals all wounds, so it goes, always
Another quick rap across the knuckles
Another blind evening spent so blinded

To reach out in all directions, yet still
There is no purchase where there is no strength
Not by exhaustion so profound, oh no
But mourning begot by mourning more

A senseless continuation of hope
Not hope for brightness, but for the darkness
That has so long been a comfort to me
Despite the bright lights at the edge of life

The path is not wicked or treacherous
The dangers are few and the risk is low
The rewards are plentiful and warming
The worst obstacle, the only ally

As some lights fade and others burn so bright
Pain gives way to pain, love yields to others
There is no solace to be found here, no
There is no solace in the cage you’ve made

Heroic Self

Josiah — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 06:27:00 +0000

Forget the first and last you’ve seen of life,
White-washed canvas hides the horror of strife,
Jaded visions cloud the mind, blind the eyes,
Beget the anguish, the darkest lies.

Use the eyes to look outside, view the curse,
Avoid hostile, selfish, and the perverse,
For they are out to kill the ones who stand,
Tall above the rest, heads above the sand.

Within the mind your hidden conscience dwells,
Seek it, lift it, delivered from the hells.

A Halting Melody

Josiah — Tue, 14 Sep 2004 06:00:00 +0000

Raindrops clash against the window pane,
Playing softly, sweet notes and such a melody.
Oh, but for life to hold such a beauty as rain,
To drown out somber songs of despondency.

Sitting and waiting, late at night, for clouds
To part and show a glimpse of silver moon,
My eyes upon that ghostly night-time shroud
That dances always, always, to the raindrop tune.

I close my book, tucking pen in page, making
A mark with which to return to simple rhyme,
Listening to that musical pane, its breaking
Halting melody that beats with the passing of time.

Wow, my first piece in iambic pentameter. It isn’t perfect, but it’ll do. Thanks for reading.