NathanAnthonyBarstad

Category: Poetry

  • poem 42

    what you want why can t i give it up yours like you want it to give up good luck chuck with your feeble attempts to becom e something that doesn t flounder in the end of it all when you fail to re call what once was a beautiful eulogy of an epiphany you…

  • poem 41

    Ha ha ha! I laugh at the storm and swirling tempest Not because I am so confident or brazen or strong Nor because I am a storm myself of swirling chaos Nor because I am a solid tree of stolid stance Nor because I have a slew of cash aid to throw its way Nor…

  • poem 40

    For me to write is about as painful as Constipation, when the shit is really Stuck. In. The. Inner. Workings. Of. The gut. And I’ve got no sort of rhyme Or flow–just a deep abiding angst That one day this shit will come Out and provide me with some Relief. Oh, but when there is…

  • poem 39

    There is, I hear, a difference of opinion On the way that a poem, it should be written– Whether with random lines of nonsense-making, Or with metered lines of rhythm and rhyming, Or with unrhymed lines that adhere to a meter, Or with a sensible story that tells the reader Something meaningful and useful for…

  • poem 38

    Riding upon the wings of time with the ages of history in hand, The silent stealth rider of the heavens arises to gird on the fleshly souls of all man. The passage of horse-ridden rider is as seamless as the flow of the course of the river which runs Through mountains and valleys and cities…

  • poem 37

    The waiting room in life—No matter where you go—Is the worst sort of placeTo be, and the serviceAlways sucks the lifeOut of your soul likeNothing else ever could.You might try to meditateOr read a stupid book,But the goddam TV,Playing just loud enoughSo you can’t hear yourBreath or silence yourThoughts, is cloudingYour mind with worthlessInformation you…

  • poem 36

    The story must be told–to me, That I might relay it faithfully, Lest I should write vain fantasies. About a realm I cannot see, But only touch with pen and ink, And with each keyboard stroke That strikes upon the document. The marks these make upon the page, Wherein the story that must be told…

  • poem 35

    throw. caution to the wind. and let peace like a river run down the side of this mountain. just like the wind blows wherever it will and wherever it will blow it blows. like a will un- known and known by those un- known and known by those un- known and known. each of us…

  • poem 34

    When the song of the morning starts, with all the birds a-singing, I wish I could awaken and join the morning sun that is bringing Light to shine upon all whose faces beam with life awakening, But it is all that I can do to make my eyes to begin their opening. With shades drawn…

  • poem 33

    Thirty-three years I have lived.Thirty-three years I have died.In sum-total, thirty-three have I. What of the past, which is past?What of the present, which only lasts?And of the future, all but forecasts? I have been born and I have died.In many endeavors, I have tried.In sum-total, these alone have I. The past is taunting, where…