Momo's Hope

[Momo Mastermind]

I was just looking around and I saw how people have a specific thread dedicated to all of their work, so I made one. I only plan on posting this one poem I wrote a while ago, but just incase I ever want to post more, I'll know this is here. Well here it is, it's really not that good- I just have never gotten any feedback from it or really shown many people.

The title is "Of all things, hope."

Somewhere, right now, a beetle lands on a window sill
Since yesterday, in a web, a wasp lies still.
The sun is setting for a couple in bed,
While it rises on a road untread.

Across the land, in a different place, a snowflake melts on a rabbit’s fur
Storm clouds moving, love-deter.
Ten-thousand raindrops grace the sky,
Ten-thousand people gone awry.

Damp in the storm, a horse tells secrets to the wind
In a business complex, thirteen computers compute and have sinned.
Shortly after, in a field, a green sea
A spider hordes the secrets in the hollows of a tree.

In the house of the couple a desperate show
Broken glass rests under the mistletoe.
Someone just now found a beetle to kill;
The hope of this world murdered on a window sill.

[Momo Mastermind]

Here's a poem I wrote a little while ago for a piece of artwork I had done. Basically in the photograph there's a woman laying spread across a stone staircase out in a park- in the background there is another woman sitting, contemplaiting, with a large stone in her hand.

The one with the stone killed the other, obviously.

Here's the poem; Seven.

Seven years to build the hate,
seven months to plan the kill.

Seven days to tie her fate,
seven seconds to die still.

Seven steps she fell across,
seven sins she has lost.

[Momo Mastermind]

I know this is considered double posting, but I'm extremely picky and each poem deserves a place of it's own.

Comments are welcome of course... although I'm no poet by any means!

Here it is:


There are ten of those words better left unsaid,
nine of those windows now streaked with red.

Eight legs are weaving a trap of pure deciete,
while seven sisters assemble on a clean folded sheet.

Six computers churn through the bowels of the night,
next to five roaches who won't die without a fight.

Four bullets shudder across a silent church hall,
three people pray while their hopes quickly fall.

Two worlds clash at the stroke of ten,
it's one of those nights all over again.

[Meier Link]

man i must say that i like these alot, they are good. keep them coming i would deffinantly like to read more!

[Momo Mastermind]

Thanks. I don't know what my obsession with numbers has been lately, but the whole "Seven" and then the countdown one... maybe I should call it Countdown.

Anyway thanks, I'm more into writing fiction such as short stories and novels, but sometimes I'm feeling poetic.

I'll add more definately.

[Dimi]

Originally posted by Momo Mastermind
There are ten of those words better left unsaid,
nine of those windows now streaked with red.

Eight legs are weaving a trap of pure deciete,
while seven sisters assemble on a clean folded sheet.

Six computers churn through the bowels of the night,
next to five roaches who won't die without a fight.

Four bullets shudder across a silent church hall,
three people pray while their hopes quickly fall.

Two worlds clash at the stroke of ten,
it's one of those nights all over again.

I really like this poem. For not being a poet Momo, you did an awesome job on this. The imagery in it is really good and the way you write it makes the poem as a whole pretty catchy. Hope to see more.