#gateway
more is hidden than can be seen
can you be a gateway to let love in
let love gush from beyond the veil.
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 8:45 AM UTC
For 48 hours it sat in my gut,
the possibility of
dead letters
of stanzas standing still
of work washed away for no one to see.
I refresh the page yet it curdles thoughts further.
Unavailable
Unreachable
Potentially forever
And I curse the promise of my own words
I curse the ambition that led me here
and swear upon a piece of paper
that I will never
Let your words die
It is a cruel reality, in this age
of letters transmitted within seconds
that they can be swallowed up
and burned trying to pass the gate;
Your name branded on the cold iron.
I've lost many friends
at the crash of a site,
reduced to a pen name
and a memory
Many pieces of mine,
Pieces of me,
lost to gateway errors and dominated domains
I do not wish you
or any
of you
to become fragments.
Jan 1
Jan 1, 2026 at 2:18 PM UTC
They’ve all worked too hard
To be at the top
Shot up the ladder
They’ve never had a flop
But don’t look too close
You might see a raindrop
They don’t hide the storm
They just keep it away
Shove the lightning to the front
Don’t let anyone through the gateway
Their clouds grow bigger
But I’ll always love the game they play
I’m crashing on the weekends
Running way too deep in
Try’n figure out how to get this right
All of this is so fast
Feeling like a fitted cast
When will this sunny day come to and end
So I’d gaze up to the sky
With eyes full of hunger
Let the storm come
So what if I’m way younger
I wanna be the lightning
To my own thunder
Just a warning of the flash
Not the one they love with wonder
The ones at the top
Never look at the daisies
They’re just trying to hide
That they’ve all gone a bit crazy
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 12:36 AM UTC
Unto a summer and all that seemed likely,
set open as a tome
that old friends discovered lightly.
One day, as many of them do,
did simmer and saunter
under the golden glimmer and heat
that haunted away the dew.
Slumber then and to you shall pass,
a little of brotherly offense
collapsing with the weight
of ten siblings crass.
What can I say to one such as thee,
but wish and wonder and ne’er throw away,
the exquisite plunder
of such a deepening display,
wrought whistling in a cinnamon forest
of raspberry inlays—
unbound, incorked and nuptially unmade.
A coat for the shoulders
to keep the cold at bay,
and a rather wistful, wicked malaise
glistening in the skull of those
that always threaten to run away.
Life is a gateway and nothing remains.
Aug 11, 2025
Aug 11, 2025 at 9:36 AM UTC
73 drafts,
73 finished poems,
73 pieces I can't post,
73 plus instances of 502,
Bad Gateway.
Mar 10, 2025
Mar 10, 2025 at 8:39 AM UTC
502 Bad Gateway
(a work in process)
~~~
poetry
is to be found easiest, lying fatal-fetal amidst
the sewage of the blessed daily profane~mundane,
enslaved within the tyranny of everyday indignities,
encrusted within the indignities of diurnal tyrannies,
in the catch basin of sew-aged treatment pools,
living as a perpetual unpublished draft,
locked behind Five Hundred and Two
Bad Gateways,
Emma Lazarus-yearning
to be free…
502 is an even number, the internet sages confirm,
equitably distributed with no regard to
pronouns,
disrespectful of any age, all creepy~seedy known gods,
equally unconcerned by the laws of **** poetica,
succinctly informing you to f**k off with the elegant
sparseness of technical brevity,
a la vie moderne boulder,
repeatedly sissy-fussy pushing back on you,
as we push a poem uphill
<?>
The road to good poetic intentions is human-paved;
a utile fact, so continue to insure-shod be thy feet,
when shedding writings of poesy, lest the hot asphalt of
low inspiration yet get the better of ye…or the gates
or the bad gateways,
502 in their number, lock you out,
and carry the day, have their way, and
fracture well honed words
into bits & pieces of letters, scraps of scrap,
“pebbles and ******* and broken matches and bits of glass”^
that all the king's servers and all the king's technicians couldn’t put together again coherently, your words but conscripts in a
vast wasteland of eternal drafts^^
<?>
well you know this story, that one that has being asking
you to writ it/get rid of it/tell it finally,
a couple of times daily,
that poem, this be that one,
an amorality tale of rejections,
a precision guided
error message,
a HIMARS missive miserly
missilery projectile
rife with hidden %#&”postulations,
of the “what’s wrong with me”
garden variety
think of life as a series of serious, independently linked moments, cherish-able, composting usurping cursing phrases
distinctly worthy
of re-sharing unto the befouled upper atmosphere,
directly communicating the texture of your experience^^^
*Ah Goodbye
Hello Poetry,
rejection is thy middle fingered name!*
this befouled poem
was
begun: many years ago
completed: Jan 4, 2023 @2:11AM
Jan 4, 2023
Jan 4, 2023 at 8:59 AM UTC
This poetry site used to mean
Quite a lot to me,
But recently all that I've seen
Is not what used to be.
Perhaps this site is dying,
Like the fragment of my soul,
Which has given up with trying
To love this unpoetic hole.
"Five–O-two, Bad gateway"
Is mostly what I read,
And the same **** poems every day
Appearing on my feed.
This used to be a lovely place
To connect and to explore,
But now I accept it's lost it's grace,
And this site's done for, for sure.
I hope in time they'll fix it,
And this site will be restored,
But, 'till then, I will not risk it;
So I'll leave on my own accord.
Oct 12, 2022
Oct 12, 2022 at 10:15 AM UTC
Bad gateway 502
I know I'm not the only one
Makes me want to tell HP to *****
It's no longer any fun
Sep 19, 2021
Sep 19, 2021 at 10:26 AM UTC
I AM SICK
OF LOSING POEMS
TO
502 BAD GATEWAY
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Nov 11, 2020
Nov 11, 2020 at 7:04 PM UTC
I need peace or death.
Maybe both.
First peace and then death.
Let me slowly drift off into a different world.
Where there’s no constant pulling or pushing on your body and torture.
In the mind, the soul, the heart, the eyes, the ears, the muscles, the skin.
Let me sleep and know it’s over.
I made it.
To the other side after all.
After all these nights and all these different tests and teachings.
Not just useless torturing being left behind.
It’s time to find some spirit guides.
Take me on a boat and let me sail with you.
See the moon so blue and bright with the stars shimmering.
And when I close my eyes I’m floating, leaving the demon body.
Smiling at how it’s lying there and I am free to go.
To the other side.
Syonide.
To the other side.
Syonide.
To the other side Syonide.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 12:20 AM UTC
Obviously
No one needs
Special devices to
Focus somewhere
In the unknown
And get lost
Gaze into the eyes
Of beloved
For a little more
And find
The entire universe
So much to offer
Aug 25, 2020
Aug 25, 2020 at 7:00 AM UTC
It happens too easily these days...
I end up with a mustache or a teardrop.
Together they're too much but none is not enough.
Crying over love or pressure.
Never both.
Never together at the same time.
Living in solitude.
Among the other lost ones that sometimes forget how lost they are.
Escaping in the walk to the grocery shops.
Or the drilling through the walls.
The brick walls that have holes now.
At least it's warm outside...
At least the sun is shining today.
But I'm thinking as I'm sitting: what am I still doing? Still being.
I need to go somewhere to find something else.
Or else I'm a dead woman every day.
Taken away by everything.
Too much.
A quirky little mustache.
A pretty little tear.
A dancing in the street.
A song on the staircase.
Real true love.
Too much pressure.
Too much.
Mustache!
Jun 3, 2020
Jun 3, 2020 at 5:22 AM UTC
Windows in my house
Gateway to the outside world
Gateway to my soul
May 29, 2020
May 29, 2020 at 10:35 PM UTC
i moonlight as the sunshine in your darkest dreams
i am the gateway the kingdom and the key.
i'll settle for reality, though I am, after all
to the last sunrise, the cult leader is, in effect, ineffective
in the same state of mind, but a different state of the union
because no one is willing to remember what they already forgot
Dec 23, 2018
Dec 23, 2018 at 12:40 PM UTC
**** is green
My eyes are red
I can't decide between
The refrigerator or bed
Nov 17, 2018
Nov 17, 2018 at 2:59 PM UTC
a bastion
of position
to fend
rife that
any captor
courts acrimony
here that's
really offensive
that ruptures
passage to
the next
realm in
this savanna
with bedspread
if interstellar
jar was
thunder road
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 11:34 AM UTC
Squalid off-white cube
fluorescent buzzing hue
water stained tiles
tribulation from digital files
dilapidated symbiote
invisible hungry parasite
optimism capsized in the abyss
tedium tongue french kiss
five hours a month
forest bathing in the sun
a cure they say
nature is a gateway
shambling down trails
languid gait sails
fractal patterns surround
tweets in background
head starts to clear
wondrous frontier
five hours a month
soaking in the sun
not enough time
to melt away grime
five hours a week
leaves a happier physique
summer sea breeze
rolling over unease
basking in the heat
leaving is so so bittersweet
return to human farm
pray for fire alarm
nature is a gateway
natures my getaway
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 8:52 AM UTC
A sacred hope
On one faithful day
Heard, Songs in harmony
Seeking the same essence,
Then,
A piece of silence
A walk close in the parallel lines
Eternal, no sound of foot steps
Anchored all roots of a souls
Melted into the grace
Muse of the flowless Ink
One will feel it till the spirit
Gateway to the doors.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 1:18 PM UTC
Must have been the end of a delightful dream
Had my fingers around a power leak
******* up the light when I came to,
loosening my grip on a can of beans
68 cents, tacos on demand
counted the change pushing
through my pockets and
leaking through the seams
In a life like this I wish it
was considered decent to
decide for death even with
in proper company,
but only sometimes.
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 8:50 PM UTC