#intrigue
Winner, winner.
You have lost
yourself
in a fever of hatred.
It spins around you
like a kaleidoscope—
fractured shards of warmth
in shades of red.
Goodbye, the blues of peace.
Untie my black-night
corset;
watch my pale, midnight skin
cavort
to your performing, icy touch.
We never kiss.
Even when we made love—
Aha!—
that was sublime wrath
sheathed in passion.
Everything about you
is filtered through high-fashion,
deathly, fiendish,
spectral binoculars;
maintaining the dastardly illusions
you crave.
While a foolish mortal
might ache for your
heart,
you are merely moving the *****
A Rook.
Warming the thighs:
A Knight.
Generating friction:
A disguised rainbow.
You move the Queen.
You checkmate
the darkness.
Eclipsed.
What little light remained
in familiar colored eyes
has gone red,
then drowned
to black.
Mar 24
Mar 24, 2026 at 12:32 PM UTC
She loads the film
like she loads the gun
slow and trembling
Her head is still ringing
but she remembers the words
and numbers
and his face
so vivid
so life like
even in the smoke-filled silence
This will be a document
in waiting
collecting
like a pond
streaming from
the center
draining out
when the colours
move apart
The job is done
her heart unmoved
perhaps she'll
send this to the folks back home
as a postcard
in place of
the moving picture
forever in her head
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 7:41 PM UTC
They say the wind at Hollowmere Hill
Does not quite blow, but hums and chills;
It carries whispers of ancient cheer,
And laughter lost to another year.
For once, when frost first kissed the corn,
And daylight died too soon, too worn,
The townsfolk felt a trembling dread—
The feast was set, but none were fed.
The pumpkins sagged with sullen eyes,
The apples rotted mid-surprise;
The turkeys fled, the cider soured,
The maple trees stood strangely glowered.
So through the mist the elders crept,
To call the Harvest’s ghost they kept—
The Hollow Host, with crown of sheaves,
Who walked each year among the leaves.
They lit three lanterns, red as sin,
And left them by the door within;
Then whispered prayers in cider’s steam,
And waited long through autumn’s dream.
At first came footsteps—slow and low,
Like roots that creak where shadows grow.
A cold wind sighed, the rafters moaned,
The apples shook, the kettle groaned.
The door swung wide—
and in stepped He,
With cloak of moss,
and scent of tree.
No face he had, just shifting hue,
Of harvest gold and pumpkin blue.
He spoke in crackles, soft and thin:
"The Feast begins—when joy begins."
And all at once, the spell was broke!
The fire leapt, the cider woke,
The table groaned with pumpkin pies,
With candied yams and laughter’s cries!
The ghostly guest threw off his hood,
And there stood Farmer Wilkin’s brood!
They’d played a trick, those rascals bold,
To scare the townfolk, truth be told.
They’d hung dry leaves to rattle loud,
They’d lit the smoke to make a shroud;
They’d turned their coats and stitched a mask—
To play the spirit’s ancient task.
Yet none took anger, none took fright—
They roared with mirth the whole long night!
The cider flowed like maple sun,
The autumn prank had just begun.
Now every year on Hollowmere Hill,
They dress the ghost and play the thrill—
They set three lanterns, red and round,
And dance till frost has touched the ground.
And if you pass that hill at dusk,
Through scents of smoke and oak and musk,
You’ll hear their laughter through the chill—
The joyous haunt of Hollowmere Hill.
Nov 11, 2025
Nov 11, 2025 at 12:22 PM UTC
I shiver with a nervous chill
As I stand incredibly still.
Dressed in black of silk, twice-pressed,
A rose of red upon my breast.
High King Alasdair lies at rest,
Pickled corpse dressed in solemn best.
Stone-faced priests in ritual vests
Offer up incense cakes to guests.
Silent is the Hall of Passing,
False the tears of those in mourning.
Every sigh a shrilling laugh,
Grief and pain all pre-choreographed.
Seven spiders and fourteen lice,
Coven of liars, lords of vice:
Every one enseated here,
Scheme and plot whilst stewing in fear.
Cosmic thread of lies enweaved,
******* sons and daughters conceived:
Fighting for the Starry Throne–
The sounds of war give pleasured moans.
As a Requiem starts to play,
All who are present bow to pray.
Great and grand Galactic Mass,
Liturgy for a blessed farce.
Past the ghastly Introitus,
"Kyrie Eleison!"–Have mercy on us.
Ships and drones now lie in wait,
Pistols, disablers, knives and fate.
I get up and say my prayers.
Leave this hall of **** betrayers.
As I close the door behind,
Shots now click and fire in kind.
I breathe a sigh: it's coming soon.
Power shifts like the waning moon.
Death and Hades at our door:
Seven-way galactic war.
Aug 28, 2024
Aug 28, 2024 at 7:32 PM UTC
Her body was acoustic
Her skin a melody
My mind hung on every note
As she sung her life to me
Her passion was a crescendo
Although her tone was soft
With a cadence of bounding horses
She threw my rhythm off
I felt all of my heart strings
Pop, break and go out of tune
Her voice cracked - All I heard was feedback
As she measured me up from across the room
I walked to her in 3/4 time
I struck up a chord - she told me a rhyme
She was well versed in French poetry
A deep bodied bass with fine copper strings
I was her rosin
I was her trill
Together we sang
We're singing still
Her body acoustic
Her skin a melody
Her mind on different wavelengths
She's the song I sing
Feb 24, 2021
Feb 24, 2021 at 10:48 AM UTC
I looked over the frame and upward to
Meet your eyes when you passed by
A sidewalk beggar
A kenneled hound would
Present this posture to any passing uncertainty
Doning fangs or long coats and a predatory aura
Feb 5, 2021
Feb 5, 2021 at 9:06 AM UTC
What's your star sign? Let me guess a Leo?
I felt it. You're strong.
And charming.
Proud even, like a lion.
I'm a Pisces, a romantic...
Oh, you are too? Ok!
You like a challenge as well,
yeah, me too.
And you're an adventurer.
An artist as well. Smart and Free.
I like your soul. Your face. Your body.
I love, your mind.
I barely get lost. I know my way around the world.
I know how to protect myself against monsters.
Even my own. But your eyes;
I'm lost. I know the exit, yet not where they lead to.
Don't give me the map. Its ok.
I can handle it. Let the green light be the guide.
You're fragile and sensitive.
You're bare, unfiltered.
I like that a lot. And you like me too?
I'm...in awe. Wow. You? Really?
I...thank you, beautiful lady.
I appreciate you.
What can you teach me?
Lets exchange lessons.
A give and take.
You seem wise. Enlighten me.
Nov 25, 2019
Nov 25, 2019 at 7:36 AM UTC
Chuck your documents and bills, your old love letters in
For I am your container, your waste paper bin
I’ll take whatever you give, and I won’t tell a sole
You can count on me, secrecy is my role
I come in all shapes and sizes, with lids and without
You can dispose of whatever you wish, of that there’s no doubt
What goes in the bin stays in the bin, shredded or not
Under a desk, in the corner, your garbage, I’ll take the lot
But should somebody come just to rummage around
I can’t be held responsible for what it is they’ve found
I only hold your papers and don’t know what is contained within
It is not my duty to judge if the papers reveal any sins
Every so often you empty me and the history for you I keep
But you have plenty to refill me, in fact more and more each week
To you I’m just a container, a vessel of no repute
But I’m a hoarder of your ******* of that there’s no dispute
If only I understood all that you lob
That would for me make a very interesting job
Perhaps I could figure out what is fact, fiction or sin
But I know my place I am just a trusty old waste paper bin
Oct 18, 2019
Oct 18, 2019 at 5:54 PM UTC
She's got an air about her.
Makes butterflies flutter.
She makes my heart stutter,
The world's her oyster.
Always, I'm with her
Rooting, in her corner.
I feel for her, forever.
Even if..
Never again, I'd see her.
Her presence, her might.
Subtle beauty, not withdrawn.
Majestic mind, this benevolent body,
Many a day, she is my Dawn.
An adventure..
Like magic.
Exciting, enticing.
A phenom, a danger.
Many a goal, may she achieve.
Incomparable, may she be.
She's always like magic, to me.
Sep 13, 2019
Sep 13, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
Oh my brother
riddle me this
was it the knife
maybe the twist?
Sacrifice made
blood that was earned
one of us fade
the other too burn
Garnering royal
as jewels on a crown
blood not that thick
when spilled on
the ground
The court just a place
watching your back
blades in the crowd
a pending
attack
Apr 30, 2019
Apr 30, 2019 at 9:34 PM UTC
Let me ask--
what is worthy of being untitled?
What is the poem or story with so much meaning that it cannot be labeled?
Is my work worthy of being without a title?
Is this poem that meaningful?
Will a title spoil the emotion?
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When we see something untitled, there always seems to be a reoccurring sense of intrigue surrounding it.
I wonder if you'll be intrigued when you read this.
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If I filled this page up with hyphens and forward slashes, would it still be intriguing?
You could say yes, since there could be a secret meaning or code within the longer and shorter lines.
But what if I told you there was no meaning to any of this?
What if everything you're reading in this poem is nonsense?
Would there be any way to know?
You might argue that you could ask me.
But what if there is no answer?
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Now I wonder why you're still interpreting these words.
I hold nothing against you...
I just don't see the point.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
a girl
in my
arm that
she would
make harm
then anticipate
this with
her ****
and amplify
nem. con.
but multiply
her seed
with impunity
their ***
in Riyadh
and lace
in Istanbul
Oct 17, 2018
Oct 17, 2018 at 2:10 PM UTC
Haven't you seen what sins the light
is capable of?
Embrace the dark
Make your mark
Go and rise above
To finish this fight
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 5:21 PM UTC
Why did the dark
cause all this pain?
Within the light
We will give you insight
To keep you sane
As you stand in this holy park
Mar 20, 2018
Mar 20, 2018 at 5:18 PM UTC
You walk with me, I walk with you
Together we keep each other company...
You morph in my shape,
Not a strand of hair out of place,
Why would my feelings be any different then?
Are you telling me to look inward?
But unlike the breath that stays with me both day and night and I feel her, you have a liking only for the light.
Why do you do that?
Only manifest when the world is shining and gone when the stars are shining...
You might say why do you even care because we do not speak even when I am there.
True. The fault is mine. I should.
Reflect on your being.
Will you tell me who you are?
Will you find a voice in me?
Will you see the world through my eyes?
Will you marvel and agonize like I do?
Will we ever know each other?
I may pride now in knowing that you exist because I do,
But would you come shatter it?
Wouldn't it be a delight to know that I exist because you do?
Feb 9, 2018
Feb 9, 2018 at 12:27 AM UTC
I read something someone wrote today
It shocked me so much i nearly melted away.
What a lucky guy i thought to myself
To have someone appreciate them for being themselves.
To enjoy reading their writing
And want to know more about what drives them.
I don’t know if they were talking about me
Because i could just be wanting to be seen.
I couldn’t help but think about their questions
What my answers would be
If it was me who could satiate their curiosity?
I am into girls
But I am not in a relationship
I can be very overbearing and clingy
But I’m simply being me.
My favorite color?
Well i suppose I’m just as indecisive as any other
I enjoy dark shades of blue, purple, and red.
Oh wait! Does black or grey count as a color instead?
Coffee or tea? Hmm let’s see.
I really hope this wouldn’t be a deal breaker
For I’m not particularly into either flavor.
I’m a bit of a soda addict you see,
I love the caffeination and carbonation.
I may be a bit extreme.
But i suppose i can say that for almost all of me
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 9:10 PM UTC
Our eyes make acquaintance in the dim light of the car.
I search them for a person I once knew, someone different, someone not you.
I see a familiar glare.
I want to test your patience.
I want to taste your soul.
Two different bodies with the same paces.
They make your intellect into copies.
Not the same, no.
The differences are obvious, but the intrigue stays.
Love.
It always comes back.
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 1:44 PM UTC
oh puissant orchid
her kiss pursue
tell of a harlot
with malapropos foreseen
that itinerate she reckons
her untoward Soviet
from a storied depot now
a' la bleeding cape
and their diaphragm regime
but she's flagrant in Fremont
only so that he died as much again
with her earth scorched bear
whether desert storm's hand here
her beads oft rise a heroine.
Nov 13, 2017
Nov 13, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC
an occidental
girl flap
was ****
as they'd
pass together
there and
she did
them fine
with nuance
now wet
but stark
or coy
with stalk
liaison so
curt in
town tower's
suite'again
Oct 25, 2017
Oct 25, 2017 at 7:30 AM UTC
as desolate winds could charm their cymbals
and to enchant this summers' gleaming
but hot those afternoons did return steaming;
this hot dirt in palm sands there
and carpetbaggers still wondering aground
but in their lewdness they called a woman
so made this lazy day ashore and quite gooseflesh
as any who'd visited in this bungalow at port
where their dream was so alive and together
that really made bounty in her clutches
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 8:21 AM UTC
She bought me good times
and really felt my lines
it made her say many things here
like venture on a map
so let me inundate her wraps
under Christmas Trees abroad
that balsam lights her cigarette and
there is hers with Maria in Cali
Jul 31, 2017
Jul 31, 2017 at 5:37 AM UTC
"A wildfire does not have any choice
regarding whom it falls in love with!
It is too far out of control,"
he paused, his eyes concerned.
"Just as a tree has no choice
but to fall for a wildfire.
Flames are undeniably beautiful
and full of such intrigue."
He smiled, his thoughts showing
upon his small face.
"I fell in love with a wildfire,
and I had forgotten
that I was but a tree,"
he said.
Jul 6, 2017
Jul 6, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
A schlepper ground with stars alight round movie
marquis a rightful pocket will pop a leader
to weigh in his conversation where
fire tight dreamer's surreptitious delight
when eggplant has garnished the haunt tonight
and there in a mercurial trance these numbers abound
in a matinee where such tones are plush.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
An astir this dimm
she dig train then abscond
that dawn set her part
just round nine o'clock
and she sped into town
but rode back at dusk
met me on this serial port
and funny interlude discretion
with a keystroke to browse
this cockamamie diatribe
while all through a route tonight
yet this flagrant twist ensue
with her laptop a comrade fair
to find her again
upon this moment of bliss
she rightfully kissed
with a monument there
that touted strikingly tall
like an obelisk affront
an oft-heard prayer.
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 5:21 AM UTC