i try
to count each of my blessings,
thank every person who helped me silently
in the face,
but
still I ponder
how sorrows swallow me
and irrational questions
like
would i ever ****
tonight,
i steadily write
because if today goes past without a word,
i might just break
and wish somehow
that i was better off dead.
Aug 27, 2017
Aug 27, 2017 at 8:06 AM UTC
There’s a silent invisible in every person
And in you it strains to be read,
Like the creased pages of a forgotten diary
Spilling delicious secrets not meant to be shared
Like you it begs for the unspoken cue
From the boy who would tilt his head and listen,
But until then the mental melody you weave most beautifully
Knows only the tear tracks on your cheeks that glisten.
So on the day your voice slips through the cracks,
The cobweb dreams you bottled up in fear set free
I pray they won’t grow weary with unuse;
I pray he’ll let hear your silent muse,
ring crystal with no apology.
Aug 16, 2017
Aug 16, 2017 at 12:37 PM UTC
Into the meadow I wander
Pressed against fragrant blooms
Glittery embers in dark sky
Sweet, sorrowful night
Shadows growing lighter with every step I take
I remember, love, how we felt that day
The linger of your embrace
And warmth of your skin to taste
Through rose-tinted lenses
Envisioning your perfect visage in my mind
Poised, lithe and slight
We intertwine
And chanced faster into the depths
Slowly you realise
Suddenly the darkness that befalls
Sour thoughts hidden
Sodden, damp spirits
Sorry
I'm sorry
Run away, my love
Highway love
Toss me side-aways
Come find me in this meadow in the morning
Where I was dancing and crying and losing myself
In the liquid moonlight
To escape the groping madness
Now no longer struggle to disown fear
As sun rays kiss my face
Imperfections gently smoothed over
Eyes lifted to the dawn
Basking in a greater love that’s available to all
Aug 4, 2017
Aug 4, 2017 at 10:46 PM UTC
Wrench me open like a nut
into two, I crack beautifully. one
half for me and one half for you.
Jul 18, 2017
Jul 18, 2017 at 7:17 AM UTC
In the wildlife and brambles
of swallowing reality
I am animated with my friends,
Silent in the face of my enemy.
This is the nature of me,
my jaundiced and lily-livered,
Blossoming weeds.
In the torrid heat of the garden
Plastic petals cushioned by a non-existent breeze
The expensive and perfect roses speak
In a high and thin voice:
“She doesn’t belong here!”
I maintain distance, observing quietly,
Drinking in supple thoughts
My type of nourishment.
How strange! While we all exist,
I realise I am mostly the only one
Alone in this thistle-thorn entangle--
Spikes on spikes--
And these roses are cruel,
They bite my stems,
They scythe through my stalks.
They make it sound
with their chorus of coy voices,
That I am strangling them,
with my unkempt leaves.
Nonetheless odd and daring
In the best sense of the word
I was a bore to the masses
Amidst the roses’ mellifluous clamour
which was static white noise
and superfluous torrential chastisement
But I’m safe in knowing
that their words will crumble to dirt one day
And that being “social”, was just an experiment.
I left the town
in search of a happier place.
I am twisting skywards
for brighter light each day.
Do not misunderstand that I am completely alone,
I am better outside the garden now
As a light globular lump on the open road
Thriving on even the forgotten and sighing wind.
Occasionally I come across another fellow being
I wouldn’t want to choke with my untamed growth,
And we find sweet comfort in unspoken words
Between two lost, closet souls.
I would invite them graciously
To my snug abodes of desert peace,
To tumble about carefree
With the gentle caress of warm currents
Finding solace in vastness and anonymity
When we ride freedom breezes through scorched skies.
As the sun dips and glows behind the last clouds on the horizon,
We’ll be roaming further still from the plastic perfect roses
We’ll be together in the knotted wild,
Tumbleweed friends, you and I.
Jul 14, 2017
Jul 14, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
Pain and expression whenever ink splatters,
I can feel the forked serpents in my belly
twisting and tendrilling into one.
In the air slowly seeping,
as black smoke from the
smouldering remains
of all the paper-thin trees
I killed with my handwritten poetry.
If I open my mouth to speak,
forked tongues will fly out
to kiss the descending flames
upon graveyard plains of doomed foliage.
On that fateful night from the bonfire,
monsters sprung free.
Jul 9, 2017
Jul 9, 2017 at 1:27 PM UTC
harrowing
brown-eyed
darting into corners,
sweet stories
yourself
don't see
in the luster
of irises
forbidding intensity
stole twinkle,
kaleidoscopic looks and
now there's only
a testy glint left.
Jul 8, 2017
Jul 8, 2017 at 11:40 AM UTC
There’s a funny tale read to children today
about a nonsense world found in the fields
on one manic hot morning
past a bubbling stream softly singing
at the place where a curious girl took her tumble
down a long hallway full of puzzles
and doors. If you’re sane, you wouldn’t be here
but here you are now, and it’s all so queer
how food enlarges your body to epic proportions
and critters, not of your typical garden variety,
don’t bother with “excuse me’s”,
“please’s” and “thank you’s”, but most of all
a strange sight to behold, a purple cat
on how to navigate this whimsical thicket
disappears with a trace, you see, of his wide grin of glee
so let us now stroll through the wood, to the Mad Hatter’s
where a tea party goes on forever and ever
and he hasn’t the slightest idea of the answers
to his many riddles.
In the distance rose trees painted red are growing,
while the Queen of Hearts is growing red
with hot rage at her subjects
in the midst of the oddest croquet game
with hedgehogs and flamingos as the ***** and mallets.
Now you could choose to stay here, or try to depart,
I grant you this place’s not for the faint of heart
But once you leave you’ll think about it
the absurdity has made you smile.
You’ll stand again
in the fields of another manic hot morning
hoping to God that White Rabbit will again be coming
late, late, for his very important date,
otherwise the thought of it fills you with dread,
because outside the fairytale books which you once loved and read,
a Wonderland must exist!
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 1:09 PM UTC
what do I do with this heart,
how do I console it?
awake and electric
only to signs feeling true
also--a starved animal of sorts
clawing to the bliss of youth
beating time just a little off
with the lungs of my history
this is the tragedy that sets me apart
from the rest of my frail body
and so--heedless pumping.
tolling for everything unforgiving.
here, the lacerations of palpable lies
running parallel to the coronary vein
deep within my living
and here too, the ****** scars to remind
myself, the bigger and louder the
beating gets to finally leave the past behind
each day swelling to the point of failure
and the world stops,
but my heart endures.
what do I do with this heart,
how can I do without it?
Jul 3, 2017
Jul 3, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC
There is nothing more tasteless
than the sweet nothings you
gloss me over
like icing on a vile
honeysuckle cake
already--
--burnt
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 8:56 AM UTC