Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Actions speak louder than words,
You wonder why I'm speechless.
So get used to it.


"They" swear you should write at all hours, fr'intents,
But oh! what swore it wanted voice t'avail
At nearly midnight left me with, to scale,
Its acrid taste upon my tongue for sense
Ere dawn could settle on just whither hence,
The memry's chalkboard smudged, but NOT in pale
Excuse at all erased, alas.  Go hail
Some taxi to the edge of town, and whence?
I pick 'non through the rubble of as twere
Now oer a decade of romance I rue
Attempts at, sighing.  Dredge up hopes I'd bestir
Oer whom, was't? back then, cuz it all fell through.
Those kisses, dates--all soured.  I'm left in tour
Lo, an olde maid, where dawn won't even woo.

I swear truly:  NOBODY comprehends what the term "******" signifies.  Every last man thinks, "Oh, you must be dying to be ******, my girl!" When that's not the case.  And I'm sick of being used by scoundrels.  That means you.
In a drop of you, I lost an ocean of me.
 Mar 2019 spysgrandson
That thing we had
I’m sorry that
I walked away before
giving it or us a chance
to even dance, to
become something, sadly
still, my heart
I’m happy for the
more than nothing
thing we had.
 Mar 2019 spysgrandson
 Mar 2019 spysgrandson
There’s a kind of grief
in a long leaf pine
with a scar cut deep
in its bark from lightning
that shines beneath
a winter’s moonlight
all alone out there
down by the water
like a man in a wheelchair
grieving for a daughter
at the end of the dock
hard and gray
old as the rocks
and cold **** waves
that break in time
along this god forsaken
piece of coastline.
 Feb 2019 spysgrandson
Freezing a glance
Wind cuffs down-white heliums
Sweeps contrails
Separates cirrus across the moon

Cresting wave tormented
wind against steel
movement in movement
sprays of hair

Blizzard of petals from the apple
Furious snow
drifts off—  garage roof  
Fog that haunts the river on the coldest nights

The walk across the alley
so long—
A lifetime from the doorway
of someone else’s impatience
Prints of motion
record the loss
a single set in snow

But there!
on the icy, shoveled surface of night
lies the snowflake of a bird
impossibly molted
Song of a feather
Flailing! Helpless!

More than lovely for its lying there!
Lying there!
Repost for the cold nights
Next page