Old Gypsy Souls

travels, songs and scars along the way

Posts tagged poetry

3 notes

Go to Sleep With the Sun

when all truth turns out to be
is death being elusive
bound to be caught up one day
with a lack of white lights

we don’t believe

all so hot blooded
with still beating cold hearts
and so much hate
hiding behind dead eyes

we can’t see tomorrow

she was my nightingale
orgasm black and numb
i think she was just a dream though
since i go to sleep with the sun

wait at the edge of forever
peaceful but barely alive
we pray for a flood
from a well that’s run dry

but we were water born

to break like ocean waves
or shatter like glass
we will die like heroes or dogs
for unknown masters

we all live in sinking boats

she was my nightingale
begging to be silver numb
where’s a noose when you need one
to go to sleep with the sun

i remember a moon
that was bright once upon a time
but we are all blind
we go to sleep with the sun

Filed under poetry song lyrics love death ending rememberance lost humanity society addiction

2 notes

SIRENS

something has changed in you
it’s dancing right behind your eyes
do we seek bliss or are we chasing oblivion
one shove from the edge to either side

an ecstasy blooms inside like light
will this brilliance break us to pieces
a wind blowing back through forever
but is forever such a bad place to stay

maybe just until the dawn

one night away from in love
one trial away from the rest of our lives
a touch, a breaking and sigh
do we know what is right anyway

swear on the cross darling girl
swear upon the graves we fill
it never does any good
swear that its meant to be broken

when lips begged to be kissed
and a single breath can set flesh on fire
move and caress, mark me, make me
always yours

this is a curse, no worse, i’m blessed
every night, my dreams come to life
an unbidden image of you
why would anyone ever wake

into the cold and lonely morning

Filed under dreaming death sex love Poetry

2 notes

Invitation to the Dance

losing so much in this dusk
abandon hope and trust
let us keep lust and everything
that keeps us human

these long arms of beast
lashing at the sky above
finding our craving of pain
losing our fear of love

a pale horse orgasm
the chanting ebbs and flows
monstrous grinding
sweating, pulsing slow

racing hearts, fevered minds
spilling screams and seed
like it was the very last time
we’d ever see the moon alive

there’s a beat in the distance
as ancient as gods and mud
it speaks of old earth
it speaks in warm blood

a ritual lost to it’s people
yet still felt in moments of flesh
it’s waiting to be reborn
if we can just remember the dance



Filed under ritual flesh sex rebirth dance primitive fighting gods earth death pagan rememberance Poetry

4 notes

honeymooners

bleeding gums and blackened nails
caressing the garish wound
a fly alights on his eye
he doesn’t blink, doesn’t care

biting down on a staring socket
and with it the offending fly
all one mess down the gullet
for reasons beyond her

breaking her teeth on bone
going back with mindless zeal
dislocating jaws snapping sinew
her lover is now her buffet

they say it was in the water

Filed under poetry spilled ink october horror zombie

64 notes

Random 10:30 - 12:57 - 1:21

vaguemumble:

I may have an empty bed
where I clutch pillows at night;
mimicking an unknown love
I have yet to stumble on

But I am thankful for them:
the friends I surround myself
with; always in my corner
and coloring my dull days.

The gals that comfort my heart;
guys standing guard over it —
fae oracles - sage advice,
warrior poets - caution.

The ashtray piles high; smolders.
The whiskey glass empties — sigh.
The beaten brow of the man
staring off into nothing.

Even in the emptiness,
I’m finding some happiness
in knowing my wounded heart
still, sometimes, thinks it can beat.

Beat. My dad’s generation.
Coffee houses and road trips
and readings and galleries —
age romanticized by me.

Dreams of new bohemians
gathering under the stars
and rejecting this “iLife”
for hedonistic comforts

and indulging in our own
moments without sponsorship
or subscriptions to the stream
of conscious-collected trash.

No forgiveness for our sins, 
only experiences —
Praised be to the living ones
who remember how to feel.

The message ends here tonight.
Vague mumbles cease, to lay down
with arms embracing pillows
and eyes watching the night time. 

(Source: redavis101)

Filed under poetry spilled ink random thoughts late night contemplation bleeding the humors

6 notes

of many a monster

must remember what reminded me
just toss and turn instead
a few shots and a smoke
to cloud my mind

little slivers of memory
drops of blood on the table
will i ever recall
what led me to the gallows

a monster
a mongrel
a man-god
a master

all rolled into a boy
who just wants to love
not too much to ask
but the world demands pain

so a mattress and mistress
that will do for the night
finding solace in claws
tracing lines on my back


a brute for the ages
but can i be blamed
for another breaking me
and reforming the pieces

does the devil ever stop
so a man can begin again
from the ashes of a boy
brokenhearted

i could stop
i could watch
i could reverse
yeah right

for now

maybe forever

i will be

the beast
the boy
the heretic
the broken one

Filed under spilled ink poetry madness duality love lust horror doubt dreaming hurt heart sex death god anger monster

46 notes

One Black Wing

can I really just simply behold you?
a lover from forgotten times
so far removed from the here and now
but here you are, now.

Bleeding

a wavering halo makes you dance
mine exists no more
if only i had your strength
that makes me so strong

Breathe

in your breath from a shared pillow
sweat from flesh and afternoon
dogs raising hell into a cloudless sky
fucking hell, I could die right now

Blush

as the sheet slips away
curves a man could kill himself on
reflecting your labyrinth soul
and heart(beating)and mind

Blossom

like you were born to do
my time is done for now
nothing will become of us
but a broken halo and a black wing

Filed under admiration beauty growth halo longing love lust muse sex spirituality poetry spilled ink