Coffee Cup Poem no.68

Come With Me, Little Girl, Dusk is Drawing Near

The world I know is burning away
Beams of sunlight fall with ashen tips,
On fire and lost in the surges of gray.

My heart sinks, lost in the searing fray
As light fades black behind an eclipse
The world I know is burning away.

And yet I drag my feet, stumbling astray
As songbirds sing for me. Mute, my lips
On fire and lost in the surges of gray.

Someone’s voice is telling me to stay
But I do not want to hear, lost, my mind slips.
The world I know is burning away.

Before my eyes, the town ignites, a bouquet
Of ashen coals and sunset singed tips
On fire and lost in the surges of gray.

I force a breath, thick with cinders, melee
Has taken over and I search for a grip–
The world I know is burning away

I fall in front of a charred alter, pray,
But its all so overwhelming and I see it slip
The world I know is slowly burning away
On fire and lost in the surges of gray.

A Break From the Blog

Readers, I know I’ve been a somewhat absentee blogger for a week or so here. It is going to be like that for a little while, my family is going through some very hard times and my time lies with them. I will try to post here and there, but it may not be consistent. Hang in there with me and don’t forget to write poems of your own! If you would like, you can email me and I will feature some guest poems on soso.

Coffee Cup Poem no.72

I know, I know. I took a bit of a vacation due to a very busy school/work schedule, but I’m back and writing!

Delivery Matters

In a bookstore,
a peaking light
streaks the new covers
of old titles
siting idle on dusting shelves.

The electronics section buzzes
with their future, their fate
hanging on shrinking shelves
as seldom turned pages crumle in
on themselves.

Will they ever be turned
or stay in exile,
exile from modernity
and quick convenience?
Some shall stay loyal

Loyal to their pages
full of the past’s secrets,
in printed words, annotations…
there is nothing quite like
turning a page by force

and not by the simulated
the one-hundred-percent glare protected
the adjustable font and spaces
the immune to inked annotations
the coffee stain resistant

perfection of a digital book.
I don’t believe literature
was ever meant to be so clean
as made by the computer screen.