Author: beighartman

On The Living Room Floor

poetry

Standing erect and straight
Like statues
Their ranks spread out vastly
In every direction
Stone faced glares
Look onward towards combat
At the ready, guns upright
Commander’s bellows
And trumpeters lungs
Frozen
As the colossal enemy
Looms ahead
A shrieking cry
Proliferates the battlefield
Followed by the earth trembling
Charge of the monster
Crushing regiments like the impact
Of pennies on a train track
As she pounces to her food dish
Behind the plastic soldiers

Fire

poetry

It was evening when I built the fire
Kindled in twilight
Night dragging on a veil of shadows
Before morning rays shone through
Afternoon stretched its course
And with it came evening again
Where a fresh log and heavy exhale
Sprung forth smoldering embers
A Phoenix reignited to life
Flames licking at the cedar

Closer

poetry

Curling delicately along lines traced
By fingers
Burning sensations underneath skin
Less like satin but a breath
Trembling each hair
A whisper tickling inside ears
Where thought and touch coalesce
Into a fleeting acuity of godliness
Balling fists in lungs
An alien air that feels too innate
Incinerated by its detection
Clenching tightly to grasp
What only slips through sooner

Firsts

poetry

Too often I lament the ideas
That have eluded my pen
But in mourning even one second
I miss what now is.
Take as much as I can.
Begin the very first chapter
Of my very first book.
The first is always the hardest, they say.
The first step,
The first day,
The first word,
The first sentence.