Poetry Visualized

Rock the Cradle of Time

Rock the Cradle of Time
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

Rock the cradle of time,
earth to earth dust to dust.
(Deep within the core)
Sweet meat crying to the winds,
carry me on, talk the talk, walk the walk.
(There is a hunger for dissatisfaction,
for surely if ever satisfied, it will be the end.)

Mark my silhouette in chalk,
on the sidewalk of crime,
it’s a reflection of where I’ve been.
Of what I was meant to know.
(Light will once again darken wretched desperation.)

Upon the wings of my sins,
the leaden weight of guilty pleasures.
My dark light grows dim,
I lay my sorrows in this grave.
(A soul rises burning and sets burning, so cold...)

My train… my brain….
(it’s heat)
Derailed some time ago,
(is black ice)
my loco-motives encouraged the steam
to singe the fringe of reality.
(A fuel of the fire that enlightens.)

Let them say if they speak of me at all.
He rocked the cradle of time
(The insatiable spirit...)
he was born beating a different drum,
(and it’s divided allegiance that is life)
he tried, he sighed, he lied and he died.

Rock the cradle of time,
Earth to earth dust to dust,
Sweet meat crying to the winds,
carry me on, talk the talk, walk the walk.

It's Broken

A reading of an original poem by myself: It’s broken Said the boy While holding his most cherished toy Fix it please you kind fellow The boy inquired in a voice quite mellow But my dear boy I had to say There just isn’t any way To fix what’s broken The damage is done No more playing, no more fun You broke it now so pay the price Find yourself some other vice Take up smoking, take up booze Whatever addiction you so choice But regardless of the choice you make Still loving that toy is a big mistake It’s useless now, best thrown away Trust me boy you’ll thank me some day But the boy still pressed me to fix his toy Truly he’s a stupid boy I told you son once broke no fix Any notion to the contrary you must nix Fact is fact and I say again the toy is useless That’s the end But the boy did ask one last time Prompting me to give a final reply After gathering my thoughts and releasing a sigh I spoke, it’s broken son and I’m the reason why

I Think I Died Tonight

A reading of an original poem by myself: I think I died tonight But how I just can’t say Was it of a broken heart or something quite clichéd? Was it a case of murder? Or was I just afraid How does not much matter Cause dead I do now lay

Fluxuations

Fluxuations By Reid Baer Buy on rumor Sell on fact Start with humor End with sad Love the lover Cut the crap

I Dont Get It

I Dont Get It
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

The auras flare and sparkle around me,
drifting upon the currents of lifes breath.
Sweet winds adorned with the scent of love,
a fluttering pine, a sigh embraced and absorbed.

They trinkle, they tinkle, they flood the spectrum, the prism of my
mind, scattering thoughts of crystalline faceted perspectives.
Mirrored in experience, in fantasy, in desire.
They float in empathy and entice emotion to flicker.

The brightness of a smile, contagious as a yawn,
the twinkle in an eye that shares understanding spirit.
My brothers, my sisters my humanity.
What pleasure there is in this, our love.

And then there is fire, a blessing and curse.
Knowledge and ignorance, which is which, which is worse.
We worry and fret and toil as we age,
succumb to our evils and lash out in our rage.

Were human, were Gods, were deep in our shallow.
Were light and were dark, we choose what we hallow.
A little pleasure and little pain, a lot of both if you let it.
Measure wisely your hate, I want love I dont get it.

Go Down, Death - A James Weldon Johnson poem

A difficult poem to recite, without breaking down in tears. I dare you.

Spirits of the Hour Glass

Spirits of the Hour Glass
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)
Times sands swirl in the winds of change
and are carried upon the conscience of sentience.
Streams and rivers, granules of human essence flowing
from whole to bottleneck soul, filling and emptying.

Great deserts vast in humanity, the dunes ever moving,
shifting in emotion and reason. Flowing from soul to hole,
to soul filling and falling out, gathering and emptying.
Expounding time as the grit of pleasure and pain.

Humanities awareness is dependent upon endings and
beginnings, and arrogant of everything in between. It is the
holes in our souls, it is the sand that moves through it.
That makes life worth living. Spirits of the hour glass…

The King of Fools

The King of Fools
by MrDaMan
Virgil R. Hall II (Randy)

His smiles are genuine and built upon a seasoned toughness
of hidden fears. His souls skin is hardened and weathered,
callused by sarcasm, cynicism and misplaced love.
There is no hatred, only confusion…

His spirit reeks of empathy and wisdom has taught him to
dampen down the tears and disguise them with sparkling
laughter. With ruse and feint he wages a war of discontent.
Smiling and laughing to cover silent cries…

The depth of life… is shallowed by survivals reality.
He dreams of going off the deep end but the weight of his
tears would surely drown him. Even the buoyancy of the
King of Fools holds no reign over the unknown…

His epitaph will read;

Here lies the King of Fools.
Who dreamt of deeper pools,
he laughed and smiled as others sinned.
We found him drowned in the shallow end.

When Trains Collide In Finland

Risk

The Mayo Clinic

Childhood trauma