Dougie P.R.

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this is a collection of a small fraction of my poetry, not any particular poems, just the most recent. I hope that you enjoy them a fraction as much as I enjoyed writing them. I'm sorry for the length of some of these as well. If you like these, All of my poems are posted at www.myspace.com/dougiepr to see them all click "[view all blog entries]". Please give me some feedback, leave me a myspace message, im me at ksboy13, or email me at dprobbins89@hotmail.com.


Shimmering Dreams

Dreams shine,
Brightly and purely,
Upon the pedastals our minds set them.
That beautiful light shines not from fuels,
But from teh happiness dreams give us.
Happiness flows into the dream,
A constant waterfall of energy.
Just as any earthly fall,
The falling drps of mirth feed the torrent,
To a strong thundering waterfall;
But as a spirit takes drought,
Brought on by teh hot winds of doubt,
The fall turns to a trickle,
Then a drop.
With the fall of its energy wavering,
So does our light,
Turning to dim,
The flickering,
And finally out.
Now, every child's light is unpreturbed,
Shining constantly with no lack of falls,
However the realist eye of time,
With a withering gaze,
Dams the mouth of our falls,
Killing them all.
They become like the black remnants of fire,
Dusty, crumbling cases of what was;
And the owner, like the camper,
Has moved on.
Finding happines in the eye of realism,
Often in the form of home and family,
They peacefully go on with their world,
And let the wind blow away the remnants of their dreams.
Oh, but once in every melancholly moon,
A small ember remains buried,
Deep within the gut of the dream,
And as the wind disperses of its coverings,
It inflames to whiteness upon contact,
And it catches again.
Dry boughs ignite and dark clouds eplode,
And the dream comes screaming back in all its glory;
Reclaimint its long dusty pedestal.

Slowly

Breathing, breathing,
You stare at me in disbelief,
We can only breathe.
I'm not sure why I told you now;
I can't recall the reason.
I remember that,
Alone in my room,
The words sounded so sincere,
And not scary.
I recall that approaching you was hard,
I had to force myself,
Step,
Step,
And then I had to call your attention:
"Can we talk?"
Like always your beautiful face,
Split into that big smile,
And your eyes twinkled at the site of me.
"Um..well"
Breathe.
Just breathe;
And then I don't remember any more,
There is just us stanidn here,
Breathing,
Breathing,
Then you slowly blink;
Blink,
Blink,
Blink;
Disbelief parylizes you now,
Your mouth closes,
And you jaw clenches,
As you use all your strength to turn,
Turn,
And turn,
Then slowly, so slowly,
Step,
Step,
Step,
Step,
You step yourself away from me.

TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND LET YOUR EYES REST!!!

Music's Work

Small golden bars of music,
Run fleetingly through my head;
Happy carefree and smiling,
They set about their work.
The affects are immediate,
Such fine craftsmen.
My feet begin to tap,
And a small smile makes its way across my face;
Singing crow bars set work on my ears,
Prying the lock off my volume knob,
And turning it up as high as it will go.
Some jolly bartenders begin they're endless mixing,
Passing drinks to my legs and arms;
Their drinks are potent,
And my limbs start to move.
Two shimmering bars of gold drop,
From my thought and into my throat,
Pounding into the "on" switch of my voice.
All the bars done,
I go about my business,
Unbelievably content,
Emjoying the music's fine work.

Seperation

I miss you so much, I cannot believe,
How your simple absence from by my side,
Causes my emotions to ebb and bide,
A mixture seperated through a sieve;
An now my ingredints are laid bare,
Exposed upon a smooth black table top.
So bare it leaves me powerless to stop
All the world from peeking at its share.
And as they see my ingredients true,
They will pull out their tweezers and disect
My soul, I do not ask for their respect,
This painful scrutiny does have value:
The biologists' look inside the dove,
Is all worth having you at my side love.

THE FOLLOWING ARE TITLED AFTER EYE COLOR

Green

These eyes are green,
The color of nature.
They reflect the shade of nature,
Not the synthesized green of man,
Focused on flashiness and show,
Which pays no homage to the suttleness of the Mother.
In Her infinite sageness,
She knew better than to freely
Cast pure green into the world,
Blantantly bypassing the beauty for the gaudy.
No, she knew from movements inherent,
Green is best in shades,
Darker, and more thoughtful;
Kissed with brown.
Capped with heavey lids,
This is the color of these eyes,
And their personality;
Dark, pensive and wise.
However sparkling and happy,
they are the eternal color of spring,
Changing, growing, learning, and creating;
They are the eyes of eternal childhood.
They emptomize the personality of their home,
And open small glimpses of his soul,
Glances of what lies within the trees,
And occassional revelations.
Green is the color fo these eyes,
And nature is the content of their character.

Blue

Blue is beauty,
Envied by all.
The eyes that hold me captivated,
Arresting me with their weight,
And thier clear beauty.
Clear as the perwinke of summer skies,
Crystal and shimmering,
Not like diamonds,
But like ice.
Ice held frozen by winter's grip;
Reflecting with honesty and brilliance to all the world what is seen.
These eyses are indeed ice themselves;
Round an dlarge,
Framed by light lids.
The captivating look out upon the world,
Reflecting all that they see,
But never allowing glimpses of whats in;
They captivate the world with beauty,
And bar its entrance,
Walls of blue ice.
These eyes are different,
Darker and brooding.
Drops of teh water whence they came.
Dark, eternal blue.
They watch me,
Still beating to the rhythm of their mother,
Dark and imperceptible.
Staring into them is akin
To staring over the edge of a boat,
They are dark and deep,
Imperceptible as ice;
yet occassionally something swims to the surface,
Unexpectedly and slowly from the depths,
Before turning and diving back again.
These eyes of sapphire hold wisdom,
Secrets of life and origins,
And keep them hidden well.
Four eyes look at me,
Two appear sectretive,
Twp appear wise,
And no one reveals anything.

Brown

Deeper even than the darkest,
Darkest of polishing refined mahogany,
Gently sparkling in the light,
Brown eyes glint back at me.
The earth color of Mother's clay;
Formed into almonds by their lids,
They harbor every emotion:
Every screamed curse,
Every word of sung praise,
Every murmuring of true love,
Displaying them in amazing fashion,
Everytime they feel.
One second they are large,
Innocent baby eyes,
Then two blinkd and transformation,
They invite us to places filled,
With large beds,
And whispering bed sheets.
They harbor no secrets,
They are round and full with innocence,
They tell all htey have with every blink.
They contain wisdom of mothers,
Gained through eternity of trial,
And times of error,
They share it all;
Ensuring none experience unnecessary pain.
Containng teh same swilrs and lines of ancient mahogany,
Two eyes of melting chocolate stare at me,
Glistening in the light.


Sloth

All the world around me is chaotic;
Its peope are filléd with emotions
Far darker than the soul of the devil.
The world is blanketed by smoky clouds,
Thick, and ripe with the rotten smells of death;
The smoky blanket is killing us now,
Turning our soul blacker, with e'ery breath.
The cloud obstructs our view into heaven,
Making people short sighted to the point,
Of blindness, and vulnerability.
The cloud mufles the cries of the righteous,
The evil of this cloud has not and end.
And it has deafened us by now as well.
Now, restrained by the weight of the blanket,
The earth has been struck with the curse of sloth.
Every little thing which we dwell on,
Money, status, luxury and comfort,
Feeds the ravenous hunger of the
Hulking evil beast that holds the world,
Wrapped in a grey blanket, upon his palm.

Well, for any of you who may be completely lost i'm going to say that Sloth is a deadly sin. I don't want to spoon feed you the meaning of this poem, I want you to think; yes think, its not such an awful thing.


Will You Criticize Me Now?

Is failure such an ugly thing?
Even after all is given,
All is tried on the now failed cause?

No failure is intentional,
But from the quick mouth of critics,
Failures might as well be as such.

And now that I have failed once more,
Every person is my critic;
I can not find a single soul

Who will stop talking and help me.
Stop pointing and offer a hand,
Who will take time to lend an ear.

Such a person I do not need,
So go ahead and criticize;
But one thing I'll warn you of:

With each of your painful comments,
A small pice of my soul will die.
But I can't make myself care,

I have accepted this sad fate,
And with no soul I fell no pain,
Go on, What do you have to say?

She Is Coming

Sitting out on our old backporch,
Picking at the peeling green paint,
I can feel the new spring's approach;
It is everywhere around me.
In the crystal clarity of
The velvety blue starlit skies;
In the drip of teh melting snow,
I feel her coming upon me.
She'll arrive in all her splendor:
Hair held back with flower wreaths,
Her radiant smile thaws the ground;
The trailing of her light green cloak
Leaves blooming plants and sprouting grass
Rippling far across the landscape.
She looks gaily over shoulder,
He runs with all the speed he can,
But the maiden runs far ahead.
Their chase brings far warmer type winds,
And I sit here, awaiting them,
Picking at the peeling green paint,
Smiling, and waiting patiently.