Reality Driven

Follow says the wise,

Be educated and concise.

Know and tell,

To learn and share.

Expression of privy.

Follow says the leader,

For wisdom is but pestilence,

Transferrable.

Not logical nor emotional.

Blind.

Follow says the poor,

Take example and opportunity.

One must be grateful,

Not greedy and ambitious.

Follow says the indescribably unique,

You are the well of all knowledge.

Guise.

From Another Time

Poetry three weeks in a row… what the fuck, man?

I know, I know, the sentient Guise has been absent for nearly a month now, instead replaced by a number of poetic short verses. How dare I stay away for so long, taking the easy way out by sharing works that are old and already written.

Construction, Pressure, and Nights for Knights were all works from a time well before now. A time that as much as I’d like to, I don’t really remember much about. It’s not some suppressed memories deal, but more so that I’ve just got a terrible memory. These pieces were from another time, a time when I was enveloped by completely different set of stimuli, challenges, muses, thoughts, feelings, and anxiety.

And only recently did I find these. Once locked away only to be found if I passed, a legacy I thought which was worthwhile sharing in the afterlife, only. But that was fear. Fear that maybe I wasn’t good at this writing thing. It was safer.

Whilst I recognise that it may seem like I’ve been taking the easy way out just to keep on track for this goal of weekly updates (which i guess is partially true, I’m not going to pretend to be some sort of delusional, all-wise, martyr), I’ve realised that sharing this work is important.

Writing was my escape, a coping mechanism to deal with what I felt was an existence of isolation and anxiety. But I can’t sit here today and tell you what I was thinking, what I was specifically dealing with, what had sent me into a particular frame of mind, but my writing can get pretty damn close to it.

So I’ve decided to share with people now, rather than later, and on occasions, I’ll dig up some pieces from another time.

Heck, they may still even be relevant.

 

Guise.

Pressure 

A moment and a glance or two,

In which way may it be true?

If nature simply specifies,

accordingly,

To recognise and justify.

Decisions and commitments,

Raging intuition,

If nothing more.

Know your path,

Prepare for detours,

Act with sense.

One must measure

The enormity of the journey

If one expects,

One assumes,

And one learns.

While the path,

Relentless,

Consumes.

Take control and grow. 


Guise. 

Nights for Knights

Shine.
Your armor glows,
For fear of failing light.
When nights draw cold,
And growth sprouts fear,
May they know
They stand
As one.
For brotherhood stands the test of time.
Like each bright light floats in the sky,
The guarantee that each may fly.
Eternal strength they draw from near,
Stand tall young brothers and grow,
The strongest oak must face the wind,
And rain.
Know for one these are true,
My words,
My need for each of you.

Guise.

City Street

You lay beneath the feet of man,

The condescending  hierarchy.

Imposed as though inadequacy.

To be so boldly vilified, 

And publicised, 

In view of many stoney eyes.

Know not what brought you to this point,

There is no room for simple thought, 

And so I stand and condescend, 

I have no choice my Stoney friend. 

Visions seen before my time,

Too great for one within the hour.

I am but man. 


Guise. 

The Linguist 

His powers are the subtle kind, gifts of literary gold. Expressions splashed in ink across the old papyrus scrolls. 

Predetermined talent rushing through his veins, or skills with which he only gained how and when he trains. 

This superhero’s nemesis goes by writers block, the nasty and obtrusive villain who lives within the man. An everlasting battle for the right to share a mind, but battles are only temporary and fleeting all the time. 

A dedication to himself to fight for what is real, and break what is prescribed for all with letters sitting still. 

End goal unclear, but direction less so, our hero soldiers on, to find the answer to his own unfinished epic song. A sonet here, a theory there and words to fill a cabinet, he will not ever lock his gift, with this in stones, he’s set. 

Guise. 

Mother

Endless, unwavering love, 

Giver of life, 

Feeding from the spring of existence. 

Dreams made capable, 

Power beholding, 

Your grace and love a pillow on the dreary bed of days. 

Worthless words, 

Juxtaposed, 

Your deeds,  too great for words to know. 

My endless love, 

And gratitude, 

To you, sweet nurturer. 

Guise.