Poems about No Special Meaning

All these poems have no special meaning. They are just poems that came into my head at the time or they were writing when I was out on the town have a drink and/or just wandering around the city. Maybe you will find some meaning in them for you. In any case, I hope you enjoy them. The titles are: "Light", "Glass", "Beginning The Night", "Corners", "Some Things", "Another", "Club", "300 Yen Bar", "Pendant", "Stolen From The Good Book", "A Teacher's After Thought", "Clock Time", "Promise", "The Word", "Tomorrow" & "I Made The News And Never Knew It". Syrbastyian

Poem: Light

" Light "

Do you see the light.

Does it cover you.

Blind you with it's glare.

Do you see the darkness.

Does it fold and hide you from the stares.

Step into the night.

The city lights will provide islands with little fear.

Small alleys and lanes.

Where no light penetrate.

What mysteries and unknowns hide in there.

Look under your bed or in your closet.

Do you check before you rest your head.

Most of the time you will find nothing.

Just lights dancing with shadows.

Maybe there are monsters.

Hiding from the light.

Or only the monsters in your head.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Glass

" Glass "

Glass, what a marvelous substance.

Clear, transparent, to see all within in it and on it.

To see around it, under it and through it.

But add some frost, some cloud, some colour.

And visions are unclear, understandably blurred.

Strong, tough, reflective.

It is able to withstand heat, cold and pressure.

Being pounded and hit.

But if it gets the slightest tap may shatter it.

Broken into a million shards and pieces.

Variety, many there are.

All shapes, all sizes, colours, styles and uses.

Yet from the same beginnings and origins.

Glass, what a marvelous substance.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Beginning The Night

" Beginning The Night "

Brown, the scent of Seder.

Wooden comfort, leather caress.

Amber liquid, golden, a happy influence.

Soul and jazz playing.

Through the box a grooving vibe.

Sitting, relaxing.

Feeling the joy of a jumping place.

People rocking, people moaning.

Bodies swaying to the beat, to the heat.

Alone standing, together standing.

The journey.

Club where it starts.

The beginning of the night.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Corners

" Corners "

Did you see it, that quick flash.

At the corners of your eyes.

Did you see it, a sudden shadow.

A dark patch.

Like something or someone standing.

But when you turn, gone to air.

Did you hear it, a soft voice.

A whisper.

A quick sentence that sounds like a word.

It was there but now gone.

Nowhere, it was there.

Must be my imagination.

Must be the corners of my mind.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Some Things

" Some Things "

To learn, to know, discover, to understand.

Many things we bring to us.

Many things we learn.

Many things we throwaway.

Many things we burn.

Some things we build.

Will evolve our life.

Some things are stagnate.

Destroy our life and mind.

How we absorb and view will determine.

Which affect, effects and actions.

The direction's, paths and roads.

To our travels.

Our journey will end.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Another

" Another "

Another cigarette.

It's smoke whirling and curling to the ceiling.

Another bar.

Beer flowing, beer drinking.

It's amber blessings rushing through us.

Another time.

No flowers to caress.

To open, to impress.

Another place.

To be here, to be there.

Alone, together, to know.

To know another.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Club

" Club "

Rhythm, beat, melodic, repetitive, tribal, animalistic.

Bodies entwined together, apart.

Movements basic, complex, free, sexual, sensual.

Sweat perfumed, sweetened, musky, desired.

Lights fantastic, rainbows and black.

Now but not now.

On then not on.

Dance the physical form of thoughts.

Dance the physical form of emotions.

Dance, dance, dance.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: 300 Yen Bar

" 300 Yen Bar "

300 yen bar, 300 yen bar.

It is a 300 yen bar.

Hip hop music, hip hop beat.

It is not Australian Crawl.

But this place is cheap.

J and the mob are in the house.

Having a few, a few drinks.

To enjoy, to celebrate a new year.

Everybody put your hands in the air.

Everyone is too drunk.

Ok keep your hands down there.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Pendant

" Pendant "

When you look at this pendant.

What do you see.

The patterns and designs on this pendant.

They have no special or real meaning.

Just pretty patterns.

Pretty designs to see.

Now look at it again.

Let the patterns envelop your mind.

They will tell a story.

A story for you to find.

They look to venture a journey.

Travel in time.

Discover new worlds.

Magical places.

Memories lost in time.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Stolen From The Good Book

" Stolen From The Good Book "

Life, death, resurrection.

Church ministers teaching hypocritical incite.

Salvation witnessing armageddon.

Bible baptism, bloody cross.

Consequences of corruption.

Murmuring news of an unforeseen occurrence.

Brothers calling, mind your own business "error".

Operation of the excused.

Hell, hades, sheol prove to be proverbial utterance.

Devils and demons.

Sin of earth.

False prophets.

Images of healing tongues.

Stolen from the good book.

Looking for a bottle of coke.

Pay attention man of lawlessness.

Rights as a citizen nonexistent.

Bodyguard broken, spiritualism.

Soul wickedness, world distress.

Clan chief fooled fraudulently.

Whitewash, creation ransom.

The memorial mass.

Religion first days of the sabbath.

Sovereign lord.

Heaven in opposition to persecution.

Costly criticize the kingdom.

Stolen from the good book.

Looking for a bottle of black gold, coca-cola.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: A Teacher's After Thought

" A Teacher's After Thought "

Straight line, straight line.

Better travel in a straight line.

Do not waver, do not falter.

Not unless you reach the end.

Hey, I am going to kill myself working twenty hour days.

Hey, why don't I kill myself just to what it might be like.

Can not do that, I have got thirty student test to mark.

Slowly, slowly declining.

The light ebbing away in the western sky.

Orange glow fading into pinpoints of twinkling light perforating the young night.

Coffee and biscotti by my side.

Paper work only half done, long night, long night.

Packet of cigarettes in the draw will make it alright.

Hey, I am going to kill myself teaching thirty student's their A B C's.

Hey, why don't I kill myself just to see what there could be.

Light up a cigarette, friends say I will die of lung cancer.

Funny comment that, I mean.

Most of them die from drinking and driving.

I do not drink, funny that.

Hey, I am going to kill myself, thinking over and over that is me.

Hey, forget that thought.

I have a date with a beautiful lady.

By the way I am not a teacher. I am a cafe owner.

How could that be, how could that be.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Clock Time

" Clock Time "

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tock.

The hands of a clock.

Measuring time within time.

Read once, read twice, read once again.

Read between the lines.

Electronic and print media don't always say the truth.

Well not the complete whole truth.

Reach across, hold my hand.

Reach across for where you stand.

Where you stand is not where you stand.

Where you deceive yourself, that is where you stand.

You look upon something but you do not know what you see.

Lips say one thing but the says a different thing.

Look for answers, try at least to find them.

Don't go blind when you discover you do not like them.

What is there to see, what is there to be.

Body aches, police crimes, supposed justice.

How can that happen when everyone is guilty of or committed some crime.

Now, I ask you to take my mind.

Take it away.

I give it freely, it is yours to take.

But beware of the secrets they might jump out and bite you.

Enough, enough, enough of this talk.

It is time for pleasure or if you want something relaxing lets make it leisure.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

You see, you hear.

It is a clock, yes a clock.

Open your eyes, it the counting time.

Open your mind, it is count down your time.

Open your life, for time, to time.

Clock time.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Promise

" Promise "

People talk, people walk.

It is all the same.

Play the game.

It is all disconnected.

See the shore.

Beat the drum.

Watch the sun until you are blinded and numb.

People lie, people cry.

Some day people surely die.

In their hearts and mind.

People believe, people ask why.

Watch my eyes, don't watch my hands.

Do you trust me, you shouldn't, I wouldn't.

It is human nature or is it a failure.

Understand to not understand.

You can try, you can lie, You CAN lie.

You can scream, you can cry, you can plead.

It is all the same, just a game.

A game you lose to think you have won.

It is a game. It is a shame.

You promise, I promise, we promise.

Promising a promise, promise.

People walk, people talk.

It is all the same when you are covered in rain.

Feathered with blood and dust of the earth.

People promise.

Promise people.

Promise.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: The Word

" The Word "

So soft, so gentle, a power connects the lines.

Time in a word and the word in time.

Crossing and testing, making the unmaking.

The word defined.

The word is the word.

It is always here and always now.

See, it is not hard to refine the word.

You know the word.

Smoke rising in the air.

Yes the word is there.

Round, round and round we go.

Going forwards, going backwards.

Going for the sake of going.

No direction, to little time.

The word is the word.

You know it and I know it.

And the word is.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier

Poem: Tomorrow

" Tomorrow "

As The light of fire dims slowly form the reflection of one's own eyes.

The mind trips over thoughts of dreams once gone by.

You heard a sound.

Feel a strange particle of chilled and unforgiving air.

And you know.

What is there, which awaits your coming.

It sees, it knows, it awaits your coming.

Still you watch the flames until they dwindle to nothing.

Tomorrow you will go.

Tomorrow awaits your coming.

Tomorrow.

By Syrbastyian Vzampfyier