Jeremy Mifsud's Blog, page 16

Lullaby

Between us:

rock; soil; ocean; magma.

I will endure all these miles;

to hold your hands in mine

like we did last night

in my sweetest dream.

The fragrance of your neck

is hypnotic;

your voice – a lullaby.

Dreams depict reality –

the past and the future –

accurately; like a meteorologist

predicting tomorrow’s weather.

When did being awake

become less real

than being asleep?

~

This poem was first published on Steemit.

If you would like to support me, check out my book The A to Z of You and Me, which is available on Amazon, Kindle and Barnes & Noble.

Home

I seek a home –

where my soul can rest

without being tattered

by the demons running this town.

I seek a fireplace-

its warmth protects me

from the harsh cold

of the truth.

I seek a bed –

its comfort brings peace

when I lay my head

on its softness,

as if I was a pup

resting on his mother.

What is the worth of a mansion,

when it is plagued by the demons

that you seek refuge from?

I am simply seeking

a home for my restless soul.

~

This poem was inspired by Camila Cabello’s song “Real Friends”. I adore that song, so I thought I’d let myself to be inspired by it today. It was first published on Steemit.

If you would like to support me, check out my book The A to Z of You and Me, which is available on Amazon, Kindle and Barnes & Noble.

Watered Words

Words – they are often spoken

without much thought;

they are rivers that never found

the peace they sought.

Words – they comfort you

like a Summer beach;

they can drown you

where your feet still reach.

Words – they flow swiftly

into the canals of your ears;

they cause your eyes to bleed

an ocean of tears.

~

This poem was first published on Steemit.

If you would like to support me, check out my book The A to Z of You and Me, which is available on Amazon, Kindle and Barnes & Noble.

In The Streets of Paris

 

 

[image error]“Snow in Paris” by Christina M. Wilmes

 

In the black and grey streets

of a gloomy Paris,

my shadow lurks.

My heart – black like coal;

cold. Hope dwindles,

like luminescent lights

dulled out by darkness.

You drop out of the sky

like a meteorite –

my lucky star.

Blazing warmth;

cherry red lips

brush against mine;

reborn:

the flame within my heart.

The holiest of heavens

bless my lands.

Falling snow, dancing slow;

layers of white sheets

cover the once bleak streets.

In the black and grey and white streets

of an upbeat Paris,

your soul flares.

~

I want to thank Christina M. Wilmes (Peace in Artwork) for letting me use this image as an inspiration. If you liked the painting, you should check out more of her work on her page. She is one of the kindest and most talented persons I have ever come across. 50% of the proceeds from her sales go to the Buddy Project!

~

This poem was first published on Steemit.

If you would like to support me, check out my book The A to Z of You and Me, which is available on Amazon, Kindle and Barnes & Noble.

 

Spoken Word Poem #5: The Shearing

 

This poem was written for a contest on Steemit:

Every night I sleep

amongst wolves dressed as sheep,

shivering, not because I feel cold,

but because I am terrified.

Midnight Eureka!

An apple lands

on my Isaac Newton within.

Eyeing the fence,

I run towards it

and take a leap:

rolling the dice;

ready for my lucky streak.

Next morning, I won’t be wondering

about the shepherd’s shaking knees

while he points his cane

to count his flock.

Tomorrow, I will be the fleeceless stray

chasing rainbows until dusk.

When the moon beams,

I will rest on lush grass, wondering:

Am I too wise to be a sheep?

Confined

Abandoned within transparent fences,

like a Pavlovian dog, drooling,

wagging my tail, eager

to jump into the world

that lays in front of my bulging eyes.

Through dog hair, electrocuted,

bound by a defined space;

visually undefined.

Curiosity is fried;

hopes are murdered.

I remain curled up

like an armadillo;

admitting defeat.

~

This poem was first published on Steemit.

If you would like to support me, check out my book The A to Z of You and Me, which is available on Amazon, Kindle and Barnes & Noble.

The Imprisonment of Dreams

A poet’s dreams are locked

in the deepest

corridor of her brain.

Trapped,

behind sealed doors

the dreams knock,

their knuckles bleed.

In a cell, imprisoned

fed hopelessness

for breakfast and lunch.

no dinners,

the mind is left to starve.

Through the halls,

guards roam

in a state of hypervigilance,

ready to shoot down ambitions

with a lethal dose of reality.

As the poet writes

lines of misery,

her pitiful sulking

seeps from the gaps

of the prison door.

Dreams lie

on the chilly floor,

shivering

in their tattered clothes,

wailing

in synchronisation

to the poet’s weeping.

Their howls echo

towards a dead end,

where they linger

in neglect.

~

This post was a contest entry on Steemit and earned 4th place.

If you would like to support me, check out my book The A to Z of You and Me, which is available on Amazon, Kindle and Barnes & Noble.

A Community of Ants

Ants are smarter than man:

they come together

to defy their limits,

their weaknesses dissipate.

Humans need to follow suit:

united, we are stronger

than any single man.

~

I first posted this poem on Steemit.

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They pass me by

one by one,

as if I was invisible.

Irritated,

heat rushes through my veins

as my face turns bright red.

They pause in terror of

my flickering eyes –

their bodies tremble anxiously.

Nervous stomachs pass gas

as they stand by my side:

a nauseating whiff

turns my skin yellow

Fists clenched in resistance,

but I fall on my knees, weakened,

vociferously vomiting

on the grimy ground.

By the time I look up,

they were all gone.

Once again,

I furiously turn red

and the newcomers

anxiously wait.

~

This post first appeared on Steemit.

Finish Line

Lungs working overtime

trying to keep up

with his fastened pace.

He is soaked in sweat,

unbothered

by the accompanying odour.

Leading a stampede

of oversized elephants,

his feet stomp

in front of the others’.

With each step,

the ground shakes

and the audience cheers.

He can see the checkered flag

waving up and down

to the motion of his head.

Determination gleaming in his eyes:

he sprints like a cheetah

chasing its vulnerable prey,

wanting his tight abs

to rip the ribbon.

The others trail behind,

spectating the fall:

there is no ground

beyond the racing track.

He plummetted towards the rough sea

that repeatedly crashed onto

the sturdy cliff’s belly –

all of his hopes and dreams

vanished in the wake

of his blind vanity.

~

This poem first appeared on Steemit.