In poems beyond my edge,
I masquerade still, even more-so
Camouflaging no less often
I relinquish my words to the
crackling wind of naked trees
Daring all to fly
to find another sky
Instead they flutter, like yesterday's leaves,
crystallized in the exhilarating chill of abandonment’s freedom
to lie in wait for a braver me
Apr 18
Apr 18, 2026 at 12:51 AM UTC
With colours gone
Grey, forlorn
The sky a puddle, muddy morn
I have no tears
I give thee thorns.
Where laughter lived
To once exist
The room aswirl, silent cyst
I have no tears
I give thee mist.
When passion played
And love was made
Fingers clasped and grasped in vain
I have no tears
I give thee reign.
Apr 6, 2025
Apr 6, 2025 at 7:52 AM UTC
It took forever for the hot water to get up to my room
Every hotel I get a room in the hot water takes forever to get to me
I'm not kidding
And I'm on like the 3rd floor, not the 12th or the 32nd
The hotels I stay in don't have 12 stories and definitely don't have 32
But the view was ok
The roof of the lobby had a lot of things going on
Like big fans and motors and pipes
And water in big puddles
All the hotels I stay in have a lot of water in big puddles
They really do
But the girl at the check-in counter really knew what she was doing
She checked me in real quick
And she was friendly
Most check-in girls are not friendly at all
They act like you're a inconvenience to their job
Which is checking people in to the hotel
Check-in guys too
But when they're nice it makes everything seem not so shady
I hate it when people treat you like you're standing in a shadow
like you're invisible
It makes me feel like they can't see me
It really gets annoying after a while
Like all they see is a big fan and a lot of water in a big puddle
It really does
Mar 31, 2025
Mar 31, 2025 at 5:41 PM UTC
Some are my
angels
Halo'd and winged
Others my
demons
Horned and singed
These words I speak of,
these ill-fated feti,
doomed remnants on the yellowed page.
Lie lonely,
and shawled
found in attics and cobwebbed mem'ries long gone
in scrapbooks and photos of loved ones moved on
Wicked words can devour
the feeble and weak
as they bump into walls in the night.
Sightless,
and hushed
Yet there was once a vision
They once had a voice
And I am not God.
The weak make their own choice
Mar 28, 2025
Mar 28, 2025 at 8:01 AM UTC
I rarely understand,
or, in any case,
I am the last to understand
a stream flows for the first time, trickling up from earth
air, hushed in the still of night,
then puff, a breeze
O' to witness that glorious space in time
a river magically unfolds, alive
wind, from nothing, begins to blow
a flame arises, unbidden
a universe bangs big
our hearts beat as one,
As we fall in love
for the first time
All over again.
njcoleman march 2025
Mar 27, 2025
Mar 27, 2025 at 5:25 PM UTC