take my pen.
write your own conclusion.

~

take my pen.
scribble your own miseries.

~

take my pen.
jot your own formalities.

~

take my pen.
scrawl your own elegy.

~

take my pen.
compose your own poetry.

~

take my pen
scribing is no use for me.

is finger-licking two senses
me, myself and i sit down, consensus
everyone has a different rendition of relentless
what version is this of this, which you, depends it
imaginary penitentiary, locked in myself, one tenant
like i could send a message with only a letter, pen it
see greater with less 3d one eye red it
eye to brain, i blew it
i 9 lives brain dead
brain faculty, mind, not same head
while nothing visual, split cranium and drain head

The sun is napping behind a cloud,
though loud plane engines call her awake.

Pollen is prancing around the patch,
and tiny critters follow their lead.

A big dog lies on the patio,
his smelly body absorbing heat.

You rest here with a pen in your hand,
tossing small diamonds into the sand.


-
by Aleksander Mielnikow
(Alek the Poet)

Poets born and die
with every stroke of the pen-
so live fast, write young

12:13 AM
18/6/19

a poet's pen
with scarlet ink
paper thick
for blood to sink
roses fill
the empty space
while tears fill up
in the poet's place
these shadows offended
they tease and they taunt
petals fall
as the roses fought
their darling dear
their poet's fear
as the shadows were out for blood
a poet's own
to draw it from
skin pale like a rainy day
fiery hair
tangled in thorns
a poet's pen
in a poet's corpse