Treasure Island

shimon weinroth


With A Grain of Salt


the other me slithers out of
peep holes, cracks and crannies
slides and spreads, rolls and multiplies
fillng the here and vast beyond

rides the golden chariots,
glides on the wings of fantasy
begetting dreams of dreams,
floating on clouds wrapped and cloaked

shedding my skin, dropping my leaves
hung up to dry,
dominnated by lack of means,
I shrink wither and recline

by moods eluding and flirtatious
devoid of trauma, drama and catharsis
indulge myself
into realms of there

sometimes I can be followed,
pride is of no use
guilt and blushing have no place,
I am free, of electronics too

on a vacation, from some of myself

Submitted: Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Listen to this poem:

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (With A Grain of Salt by shimon weinroth )

Enter the verification code :

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. A Dream Within A Dream
    Edgar Allan Poe

PoemHunter.com Updates

New Poems

  1. Melancholia (haiku), hap rochelle
  2. قصه ماه 1, ALI MOSLEHI
  3. life is fair........., RIC S. BASTASA
  4. when you are alone you become a thinker, RIC S. BASTASA
  5. all dirty clothes wrapped in cellophane, RIC S. BASTASA
  6. the way i want it, RIC S. BASTASA
  7. an early morning canvass, RIC S. BASTASA
  8. A Nation I Lack Of Notion, Halla Ingimars
  9. a little philosophy, RIC S. BASTASA
  10. No More Sorrow, Dr. Emmanuel Moore Abolo

Poem of the Day

poet Alfred Lord Tennyson

It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]