Mad Men. (the seekers) – Poetry

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Mad Men. (the seekers)

By J. A. Weymouth

 

Entrenched beneath

guessing

as the shadows dance in the hallways of darkness,

a footstep is taken, into the lamp lit room.

 

Solitary is the hint behind the eyes

the fool seeks the company of mad men.

 

His face is only half of the moon,

and tempers with the light of world.

 

Only darkness and blood can enter

though this is no gory tale.

 

Just a simple mad man

wondering,

meandering into

the hallways of others like him.

 

And so they dance.

Something new, something… blue?

I like this time of year. You feel warm. You feel fuzzy. Somehow the light shines through the end of the tunnel and you rekindle with your motivation. I wonder how long it lasts? Is it really only because of the extra Vitamin D that we find ourselves such the merrier?

Hmm. Maybe not.

Maybe things just have an ‘expiry’ date, and somehow, things reborn. Winter is just winter.  Spring comes around again.

Today has been a mixed week.  A combination of being somewhat lonely and somewhat stifled. It is that dreading sense as a teacher, that one day, you’re going to have to face ‘them’ again. Yeah, I mean the kids.  Today was my first day back and it wasn’t so bad.  Actually it was a lot of fun.  I also took on a lot more responsibility as a teacher.

Weird.

I had a weird day.

Weird… in a good way.

Now, one of the reasons why, I figured, why I haven’t been writing a lot of poetry these days is because I haven’t been reading a lot of poetry.  I used to just read the classics.  Yes, a lot of Coleridge, Blake, Dickinson.  Nothing modern or recent has really caught my attention.

Do any of you have recommendations? I would love to have a read…

All Eyes – Poetry

 

All Eyes

By J. A. Weymouth

 

All eyes are broken glass,

Fractured away from a whole,

Expression imprinted loss,

Nothingness – a black hole.

 

Tears are but a ripple,

Wavering across that loner pond,

Mirroring life as nothing but a cripple,

Despair dares not respond.

 

Loss breeds the need,

The need to see greater impressions,

Of souls born to be greedy,

For the better to question.

 

Left to shudder the anticipation,

Of crumbling sorrow,

Leaves us with the sensation

Of nothing.  Nothing for tomorrow.

Ink – Poetry

Ink

By J.A. Weymouth

 

Damn it all the eye that sees

Past.

A crying pain, a sinking hope. Lost now

 

The modern feeling is beyond all me.

 

A touch of a sinking age, now

Beyond.

And always through a pictured

Lover.

 

Her legs spread for an insurance add.

 

Oh screaming children who cry against,

The elder men and women. No gold for these

Wrinkled eyes.

 

No respect for the elderly.

 

No handicapped ear.

 

And what form do you have? For a stamp.

Or a dollar?

 

No print can remember us.