MooN PoEtry....LoVe,LiFe,ThiNgs InBeTweeN

The Empty Soul Of Man
I see their faces
Through a windshield
Dirty from the road.
Their pale hands
Reach for me
As if I were a knight
On a shining white horse,
A savior to lead them
Through the abyss,
To part the seas of their blood,
To swept the dust off of their souls.
Through the endless miles
Many faces become one.
The empty soul of man
Is on display.
Like a great gothic painting
In colors of sorrow and pain.
I find myself drowning
In a river of their tears.
(copyrighted 2001 J. Abell)

Dreams of a Dead Soul
I can not dream, nor lie still, nor sleep,
There is no place for me to rest my head,
Exhaustion has set in, Am I alive or am I dead.
My eyes burn but I can no longer weep.
Left with hollow memories I refuse to keep.
It began that golden night we kissed,
I longed for more, craving pleasures
gravely missed,
But the lust I sewed, proved a bitter
crop to reap.
Far from here, beyond these narrow walls,
In the distance, a sickening sweet sirens song,
Haunting laughter, I can hear her calls,
Harkening me back to a time when fate was clear.
It makes me lonely, without
your warmth to draw near.
Your silky touch which made this weak soul strong.
(copyrighted 2001 J. Abell)

********************************************
POETS CORNER
A PLACE FOR POETs Old And New
********************************************

You are such a mystery to me
drawing me in with words like
"everything will be ok..."
and "don't worry..."
This book, an assertion to motivate
my chaotic roller-coaster ride
to self-discovery...
It's black, smooth surface
and creamy skined pages
lure me in like memories
of ours last interaction.
I hate you with the same passion
that I adore you with.
And, yet, I don't even know you.
It's the mystery that grabs me
the subtle allure of new meetings
the magic of getting to know someone
of getting to know myself
maybe I am really the mystery

(copyrighted/2003 by Mackenzie Wooten)

********************************************
ARCHIVE POETRY GALLERY
********************************************

Bliss' Delicate Waltz
By Jeff Abell

True love is a thing that cannot be measured.
It is not a commodity which can be sold,
traded with or bartered for.
Rather, it is the extension of
ones soul with another,
the merging of ideas and realities
into a universal force.
In the face of true love, mountains crumble,
the seas are parted,
the very fabric of the universe is torn asunder.
The simple kiss, a touch, a smile
radiates more power than all the suns
in the cosmos.
Love, if true, cannot be denied, or altered.
It cannot be refuted or explained.
No philosopher can examine
its metaphysical benefits,
No poet can captures its essence of purity.
There is no method known that can explain
the delicate waltz between love, hate and bliss.
It is a triad of lust, longing and levity which
transcends and defines what it is to human...
to be alive.
(copyrighted 2001 J. Abell)

Pinheads Me Thinks
By Jeff Abell

Politicians, thou art fools.
Fake, one-dimensional frauds
Full of sound and fury
signifying far less than nothing
Self appointed prophets,
do-little demagouges.
Uttering and spurting
like carnival barkers
Promoting their prized sideshow freak.
Lies dressed up in silk,
bureaucrats and diplomats alike.
Like snake oil salesmen selling
hope as if were a commodity
in a brightly packaged bottle
full of broken promises.
(copyrighted 2001 by J. Abell)

Painting Expressions
By Jeff Abell

Your face is like a watercolor painting,
red and white colors swirled together
to form texture, substance.
You are an Impressionist painting
by Van Gogh, Monet, Degas
hanging in a museum behind a velvet rope
so close but yet untouchable.
I am but an abstract painting
a Picasso twisted and deformed.
I am the bastard child of Jackson Pollock
nothing that I am makes sense.
I am a pale collection of colors
sprayed painted on a black soul canvass.
You are a Norman Rockwell painting,
full of color and life,
vibrant and magnificent,
metaphysical and physical.
I long to break the frame that binds you
move you from behind the glass case
that imprisons you.
But I am broken, fragmented
My heart is made of papier mache
pasted together with
the paperwork of your betrayal.
(copyrighted 2001 j.abell)

Parallel Universe
By Jeff Abell

One last kiss,
is all I ask.
One last embrace,
is all I deserve.
I ponder this,
these few fleeting moments,
this empty apartment,
these still moist tears.
I wonder how it might be
in some strange parallel universe,
where bliss was still young,
and joy was a commodity,
freely given between two
star-crossed souls.
I wonder if we would
have gotten married.
If that white-picket fence
would belong to us.
Would I father the seed
of our love?
Would I survive a
new way of existance,
a future so different
than the one
I see before me?
How easy would it be
to reach out to you,
to show you the love
which aches inside of me,
to make our final kiss,
not the last...
but the first.
(copyrighted 2001 j. abell)

***************************************************
THE ART GALLERY
***************************************************

SINCE ART AND POETRY GO HAND AND HAND,
I THOUGHT I WOULD FEATURE SOME GREAT ARTISTS
THIS MONTH:

An Original...
The Great:
Pablo Picasso

******A MESSAGE FROM MOON******
Thanks for stopping by and checking out my
poetry site. Thanks to everyone who has emailed
me, your comments are poetry to my ears.

You can submit poems to appear on this page
by sending them to the email address below.

**All poems on this page are copyrighted
2002/2003 by Jeff Abell