It is always such a celebration
in every single new adaptation
that I then pen upon the page
some new epic for a new age
While I while away my time
chasing a life of pure rhyme
never staying within these lines
plot and scheme my own designs
Just another creature of the night
ever indentured to the write
bound up in the poems I pen
forever returning once again
Capturing every single word
jotting it down before it is heard
weaving it into my canvas
before the moment can pass
Until all of my ink runs dry
when I then await another try
in the hope that might find
all these dreams I left behind
Mar 30, 2025
Mar 30, 2025 at 6:38 AM UTC
There is such a simple math
when it comes to Sylvia Plath
to this undying Confessional fad
for in order to finally add
one must first subtract
leave all balance left in tact
hence one must choose
to be prepared to then lose
before at last you dare take
that final line break
Mar 21, 2025
Mar 21, 2025 at 5:50 PM UTC
It could not be any clearer
how I must now deceive the mirror
assume another tragic role
even if it must then take its toll
For I have crawled many miles
painted on so many smiles
just to get where I am
using words I dare enjamb
Wanting to only just reveal
a hint at all that I do feel
all that I do still now know
within a perfect poetic flow
Ignoring all of those voices
offering such trivial choices
tried to convince me to stay
on a different path, a different way
While I take this empty stage
prepare to turn another page
even though this ink is not dry
ever certain of how I must try
Mar 21, 2025
Mar 21, 2025 at 11:48 AM UTC
How do I then transpire
walking out after the fire
after everything has burned
along with everything I learned
No longer needing to be rash
leave these footprints in the ash
a trail for me to now follow
with all of this pride I swallow
As I seek out what will last
fusing future, present and past
into a single moment to claim
finally free of any lingering blame
Climbing this final lonely hill
in the hope to somehow spill
words to capture all that I feel
the rapture of all that I reveal
Able to full immerse in ink
balance how I feel and think
I reflect upon that initial spark
how it illuminated all the dark
Mar 20, 2025
Mar 20, 2025 at 10:00 AM UTC
I want to feel each sweet word
the tickle when it is heard
the sting when it then fades
a cut from far too many blades
Or so it does always seem
when I dare to care to dream
let my thoughts just scatter
write as though it does matter
What I once more now say
play the roles in this sad play
that I penned for my very self
old stale poetry from the shelf
This lone anthem from my life
dipped in both joy and strife
meant for me to again feel
how each moment was real
Spilt in a fluorescent ink
yet disappearing in a blink
feeling this true poetajazz
all the magic that it still has
Mar 19, 2025
Mar 19, 2025 at 1:54 PM UTC
Is there really much left to say
about a contrast in grey
with so many different shades
sharpening all of these blades
Penning here line by line
in search of some sign
an omen to be read
or perhaps ignored instead
For it leaves me unimpressed
by each confession confessed
every lie I ever told
exaggerations now resold
As I hope for any clue
about why the sky is blue
why the days diminish
before I have a chance to finish
When my thoughts are contiguous
in a world forever so ambiguous
never making thing clear
now that the last lines is here
Mar 18, 2025
Mar 18, 2025 at 6:45 AM UTC