No one paid no mind
To the tears from this man
That land at my feet
Creating a quicksand
I couldn't slow the rate
At which it would expand
Leading to the scars
At the base of each hand
I know what you think of me
But this wasn't part of the grand plan
I tried and as usual
I was not able
To help you understand
That I just wasn't capable
Of being a "real man"

©2024

Feb. 2015

this writ,
content so obvious,
it begs,
why even bother...

Pen Man Ship

this is who you are,
this is your scent, scripted,
the parfume that memory triggers
declarative self-examination passing grades

if pen and paper
are your skin and blood,
then you, man,
ship to shore,
skinned alive,
in poems verbose spill all

ship in ship out,
the glories and the dreads,
expel ink oceans glorious India blue,
rivulets of tributaries,
spillages of what~where,

you are pen
you are man
you are ship

where intersect these routed things,
one is voyage~bound
for parts unknown

the pen be the oar,
and the man, the ship,
and when the sails raised,
the wind never fails,
only there is no
dead reckoning -

for there are no
landmarks observable
when sit~stand
to commence sail~writing

each writ a latitude recorded,
each poem a longitude drawn,
all together, a
body of work,
all together,
your life's coursework
is the captain's log

Pen is the Man is the Ship

in everyday words
he answers
the questions life poses,
in everyday words,
he realizes
the answers he (doesn't) posses,
with each passing poem
the ship, righted,
though the heading
remans unknown

You took a sip of my pain,
And mocked your fellow man.
Take the whole bottle-
Let's see if your
Still standing

Man

By Darren Wall ©

.
our noses huffing   our eyes flirting out
             vetting the loose night air
a display of yearning   we did a grand deed

a mammal slain at our heart
   and we are the wrecking children  
we killed ourselves a deer
   ( no   small   thing )

flashlights propped in nooks                                                          
open the prey for dressing    we decorated a tree with the task
                                                  slings of intestinal tubing

open prey for dressing            
                 vocal prayer for the ****

praise the attributes that we ended            
                             the characteristics we assigned it
live meat in perish   organs   adding moist hot breath
                                                 to a waking cold night

after our butcher act                                                
after the parcels and beast are stowed                        
amongst the trees   we take off as phantoms in touch                
'to ourselves be sacrifice and yet return'   is somehow the plan

winds pick up                                            
                            and cold rain drives sideways
leaves of the bushes                              
                  flashing fish silver underbellies
a fleshing thrill combing the trees
an urgent spirited excitement

back at daybreak                                                        
                             we skin off our leather grip slippers
remove our party plate masks                                      
and  in the irrigated mourning grass          
              wipe our feet                               
wash away our tread and our threat