I hate the night and it's untimely creations.
The avalanche of loose words
doused on closed eyes,
begging to be assembled
into flowing images or
melodic alliterated sentences.
Adjectives lurk under sealed eyelids.
Verbs implore the body to respond.
Mocking my stillness they urge
limbs to act out in their name.
Verses arrange and rearrange
of their own accord.
They ebb and flow.
I'm too tired to grab them all.
Why now, when I crave nothing but sleep?
Why can't I conjure this brainstorm
in waking hours.
I grab a pen to write; semi-conscious.
It all jumbles into nonsense.
The dream state draws me back
to act out unconscious intentions.
I hate the night and all its promises;
Its lyrical musings
behind twitching eyelids.

Today, a door was left ajar.
My thoughts have escaped me;
I wonder if they know not to play in traffic
or strike matches found in the tool shed.

I'll wait 'till dark before I worry.

Though your roots are bound in darkness,
let your life be fuelled by light.

My eyes sting
with tears not spilt
for the touch of a face
which remains unfelt.

We are the heartstrings;
we play songs in chorus,
to summon the hands
of the ones who adore us.
To call you to our land
to rule, as did Horus.
Yes! You built your guard:
tried hard to ignore us.
"Desist with that noise"
we hear you implore us.
But your wall is no match
for the lilt of the Taurus.
It's thick and secure
but deceptively porous.

Polished and serene;
your vocal tones,
they soothe my stereocilia.

A lethargic frustration
has taken up residence
somewhere between
logic and clarity.
She's a devil;
a tantalizing waif.
Powerless but relentless
in her horrid little mission.
Pulling and clawing
at all that is good;
drawing curtains to
inhibit the light.
**** her
and her intrusion.
She has dabbled in
the dark long enough.
Its time.
She was never welcome anyway!

...the War that is fought
beneath glazed eyes and
puckered brow.
How epic the battle,
in all its
exaggerated glory.
No bloodshed;
just words spat from
the trenches
to make casualties of
ears and pages.

What is a poem?
A lilting of words?
An image of voices
forever unheard?
What's this picture of symbols
all ordered in lines?
What's this rare combination?
Did it take her much time?
What makes the pattern
or rhyme start to flow?
What sets it apart
from the prose or the scroll?
Is it empathy recalling
some rose-tinted dream?
Maybe it's laced in darkness
the vile or obscene?
What is a poem?
Some words written with tone?
What are these lyrics
Sung straight from my bones?

The
distorted
feather of
cigarette
                 smoke
                                         trails
                              upwards.
             It dances
                                    on the
                                             first
                       wisp of wind;
escaping
                 the draw
                                 of cracked
                weasened
lips.
Lips
formed of
                                      withered apple skin
                                                         and stale coffee;
                                            of puckered
                         mouth
              and deep
inhales.
                             Hunched shivering
                                                       shoulders hoist a
                                                                                            shaky hand
                                                                                          toward the
                                                                                    face.
                                                A raspy exhale releases
                        another puff of smoky breath.
The icy air exaggerates
the capacity of old
and tiring lungs.

I foresee this rarely preempted fate.


I quit!

Sometimes,
I don't listen
to the words you speak.
Instead, I watch
as your lips curve
and shape each sssound.
Sometimes,
I don't hear
a word you've said,
but I agree
with every breath
you've drawn between them.

Shaking, tossing, turning,
Stomach knotted; churning,
Light of day I'm yearning,
Darkness fades for you.

Raging, pulsing, chasing
Heart is pounding; racing.
Creaking boards I’m pacing.
Make haste morning dew.

Stirring, calming, slowing,
Curtains lightened; glowing
Misty solace growing,
My mind returns, renewed.