#lore
One Must Imagine —
sissies make mad fuss
about a big fly.
The absurd Lies.
Flies in plain sight.
Plane of fright.
Alien? Stranger?
As if you ever
belonged here, anywhere.
What is the nationality
of matter, which
did not return?
You can trick
but never beat
That idol.
Now you roll, roll—
keep the lore real.
Will the loop ever end,
or does the tail
itself?
All is crushed
under one stone.
Time.
Apr 29
Apr 29, 2026 at 8:58 PM UTC
A pale light
wanders low through the breathless still of night
across fen,
forgotten track;
a wavering spark,
bog-born black,
never held, never kept.
No honest flame
mind in debt
but a will that troubles the dark:
a lonely shade
insight of heart
with no kin,
a sly thing with a crooked spark,
or the small, unquiet dead made bright
to linger at the rim of night.
Follow and it slips aside,
warm as want, then cold as pride,
till the path unlearns your name
and the ground folds you from memory
shame.
Apr 15
Apr 15, 2026 at 7:41 AM UTC
The young sea dog ghost walks by the dock
His sword in hand clangs on the stones
A headless man a crooked back
A torn sail as his cape
He stole the king's gold from his own ship's hold
Not for ****** not for fame
Just a bracelet for the one he loved
A small bright thing, nothing more
Something to put a big smile on her face
They caught him at the harbour mouth
He ran three leagues along the dock
He drew his blade and three men fell
Four more came and took him down
Accused him loud before the crowd
He pled for mercy before the king
He swore his innocence to the crowd
The king's men cut him down and laughed aloud
The axe fell clean on a lying charge
His head rolled into salted stone
They threw his body in the salted seas
His betrothed stood waiting on the shore
And waited there until she turned to bone
Now the tide pulls back when he draws near
The gulls go silent on the pier
He walks the planks of ships long gone
His boots leave salt where they have been
The fishermen won't speak his name
They cross themselves and scurry away
But he is not looking for revenge
He is looking for his betrothed
He wanders every dock and shore
Calling out with no mouth to call
Searching till the break of day
A headless man a crooked back
A torn sail and a lover's grief
Still carrying the bracelet in his fist
Still waiting, looking for his own betrothed
Mar 5
Mar 5, 2026 at 8:08 PM UTC
_~a jump-rope chant~_
Black silk handkerchief,
what ya’ gonna’ hide?
A pox that knocks on the church’s side.
Preacher won’t preach where my daddy died.
Angel forgot which soul to guide.
Both arms wrapped in moccasin skin,
open the gate and let her in!
Snake-bone hag with watery eyes,
count to ten when the baby cries.
One for the moon,
and two for sin,
three for the teeth with the rusted grin.
Four for the girl with the copper cough,
dancin' in the attic with the light turned off.
Five, six,
skillet ticks.
Seven, eight,
shut the gate!
Nine, ten, count again--
bathe him slow and cool the skin.
held him close till the fever broke;
air curled white from pinewood smoke.
Chewed the haw and bit the sage,
wrapped his bottle in a bible page.
Ghost stood watch on the porch out back,
shadow thin and eyes coal-black.
Sayin', "I’m fine, don’t mind the cold,"
"died last spring but ain’t been told."
Oct 5, 2025
Oct 5, 2025 at 3:52 PM UTC
In Đà Nẵng my friends cradled me like a child.
We screamed Taylor bridges,
tequila-toasted in bars until the lights blurred.
A single candle in the bathroom
danced warm sighs through open windows,
and all felt calm.
I grew new muscles balancing on a motorcycle,
sometimes gripping Harry’s jacket,
sometimes throwing my weight into the wind.
The city flared neon and gasoline in stuttered traffic,
but along the coast
he drove so fast the vibrations in my chest harmonized.
I pictured my bones becoming butterflies if I let go.
I had entered the Year of the Dragon on a futon,
swayed to half-sleep by a hundred chanting voices
from the temple next door.
I did not dream of dragons.
I only learned to breathe fire.
At midnight Bailey stood at an ancestral altar,
kumquat branches, apricot blossoms, red envelopes, wine,
burning full sticks of incense,
and smoking half a pack of Esse Lights.
This is how the year turns over safely.
Tết is not about faith; it’s about continuity.
The Year of the Snake slid in with new bones and old habits.
It hissed that suffering could be scripture
until letters slithered free from the page
and coiled like cold jewelry around my wrist.
I didn’t make it for Tết that year
no silk áo dài, blood orange, too big
for a body that learned shrinking
before it learned staying.
That was the shedding.
Salt water peeling old skin away,
songs shouted so loud they drowned the ache,
poems that did not start tragic,
nights when my body finally kept time with the moon.
At home the water did not move.
At home the dog’s teeth found my hope.
A terrified mouth rerouted rivers
through my soft parts.
A jewel carved from my nose.
Six punctures blooming across my arms like altars.
In Vietnamese stories the snake waits beneath the water
to claim whoever dares the bank.
I wonder if I was chosen the moment
I opened my mouth in those bars,
when I leaned into the bike’s curve
as if danger could be a swan song.
Now I lie awake at hours unnamed,
tracing scars that hiss answers back.
Something from Vietnam keeps breathing through me,
the candle’s heat, the coast’s long nerve,
voices braided into salt and night,
and I cannot tell if they are echoes
or fangs testing the dark.
They say snakes shed to grow,
but no one warns you how thin the new skin feels,
how everything burns against it,
how you mistake survival for prophecy.
I touch the scar and wonder
if I am still that girl clinging to the bike,
or if the snake has already swallowed me,
patient, sleepless,
feeding on my own venom.
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 1:24 PM UTC
As stores of value, two titans stand
One old as time, one new in the land
Gold gleams with an ancient lore
Bitcoin opens a brand new door
Yellow metal, mined more each year
Still has too much inflation, we fear
Its authenticity, hard to prove
By ship or plane, it’s forced to move
Bitcoin, child of a digital age
Finite and quick, enters the stage
At light speed, traverses the globe
New frontiers of freedom to probe
Choose the one that you think is right
Gold from the earth, or digital light
Or some of both, for each in their way
Stores up value for a future day
Nov 19, 2024
Nov 19, 2024 at 12:10 PM UTC
•°• A Twisted Classic •°•
Here is the church
Here is the steeple
Open the door
And see all the evil
...see all the people,
stranded in a free fall,
falling for the lure of lore,
but there's nothing at all...
©2024
Mar 14, 2024
Mar 14, 2024 at 7:04 PM UTC
I must steal Harold’s purple crayon
And build myself a brand-new town
No king or paper bag princess
It will be me who wears the crown.
I shall draw myself a forest
And begin the stories anew
Word of the Fair Queen’s fame will spread
And chaos will ensue.
In order to reach my kingdom
You must first prove your worth
I cannot be reached by sea or sky
You must travel over the earth.
Through the forest is your only hope
To gain such fortune and fame
Marry the Queen and rule the kingdom
If you can survive the game.
You must follow Little Red Riding Hood
As far and as fast as you can
Steer clear of Jack and his beanstalk
Do not trust the Ginger Bread Man.
Snow White’s cabin is to the north
Goldilocks lives to the west
Hansel and Gretel will offer you food
Beware, this is a test.
The Three Little Pigs are plagued
By the Big Bad Wolf of lore
But even he is nothing compared
To the curse Sleeping Beauty bore
**** n Boots and Robin Hood
Will save you just one time
Dare to steal the Goose’s Golden eggs
And you will be punished for your crime.
If you manage to defy the odds
And make it through alive
I shall take your hand and under our rule
The kingdom will grow and thrive.
You must understand it isn’t personal, darling
When I slip the poison into your canteen
I miss my game, and nobody can be
More powerful than the crooked fair Queen.
Aug 30, 2022
Aug 30, 2022 at 10:57 AM UTC
Dragons, witches, monarchs' sons
all of them forcing me to run
never allowing acceptance nor grief
no people involved, only politics
With things like this I must say
all that I had was yours to take
and my life too I would gift you
if only death had not coloured you blue
Early as the sun when it shines first
a beam of light from your smile could burst
and the warmth of it would haunt me for days
as did your words when you begged me, "stay"
And I would hold you tight
through day and night
if only it might
lock us still forever in time
But, golden hair shines no more
and blue eyes are known through ancient lore,
but as the old man who walks the shore
your presence is still intact in my core
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 8:09 PM UTC
Was it a glitch?
Or was it a reminder
That the end is coming?
I speak to the stars
To provide answers,
As they have passed on
Inspiration to gaze upon
For years,
But they remain silent
As though they have forgotten me.
Perhaps since I learned my death day
On January 1st,
I lost my ability to live
With the gift
Of new knowledge.
I cheated,
And now feel invisible
As the world
Passes around me.
I’m no longer an obstruction
I’m just a figure
With no shadow,
With only the ability to write,
And post
And fulfill what I promised,
But I fear
What comes after
When yesterday’s
Was written illegible.
Feb 28, 2021
Feb 28, 2021 at 5:10 PM UTC
These two elements were enemies since dawn
When they fought, the whole world would be warned
As heat met cold, smoke would alight
While they quarreled, the land stood in fright
The Fire had a fierceness to her that the Water could not match
The heat could paralyze you, even the smallest of a scratch
But she would lose her temper whenever she talked
The Water took advantage and would continue to mock
The Water on the other hand was smart and full of wisdom
Her power was so mighty that it could wash away kingdoms
However, how clever she may be, her cowardice was known
The heat burned her when it was shown
Who lost? Who won? No one knows anymore
But we know that they fought a thousand times in the lore
It's a mystery when will they stop
But one thing is final,
While the Water runs cold, the Fire burns hot.
-Grisha. S
Dec 15, 2020
Dec 15, 2020 at 3:10 PM UTC
Among the hideous shapes
you are my favoured
For the wretched silence of your scoliotic spine
flavoured with our crimson wine:
Blood diamonds
screaming songs of sirens
writhing on a desiccated island's edge
Boiled alive—
can be distilled into the language of a pledge
I hereby promise to be yours
Foretell you will be mine
Aug 17, 2020
Aug 17, 2020 at 2:13 PM UTC
I was
**** happy
and doted
to her
my grave
that splinter
her trace
with two
me and
you an
ancient love
of fiesta
now in
Maya this
ram of
fire in
lorry's spin
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 10:04 AM UTC
I have died a thousand times, yet lived a million more
Swept in the natural flow of whispers through the night,
Evolving ever so slightly through the passage of time.
The mind’s colorful fruit slowly fixing my frayed fibers.
I am immortal, yet nevertheless dynamic, but still unchanging.
I may fall with the leaves of autumn, only to return the next year,
To haunt the minds of peoples beyond, and coat their lips
A golden hue. Shall I tarry any longer in pen and paper?
Jul 27, 2020
Jul 27, 2020 at 4:57 AM UTC
MY adventure began no less than upon this chilling night when homes of many lower their shades and **** the light. As sullen souls lay down for bed and fall into their dreams some common sense was telling me I ought to follow; but my heart stood firm and I – in place of fear!
While conviction (that solid and shiny compass) melted color-pale and heavy fright that night my plan was nothing more than this: to find the house of EROS to cure my heart of alder blight! After Chaos, Gaia, and Tartarus he was born but for I — as I for him this night, my ambition over fear.
EROS, the God of Love and sexuality could show the path for that enduring love of my bride to be … my writ of right! Nothing more to keep me still so I fled into the frozen hills upon a whirlwind. Yes, me the mere mortal like EROS I sped beating glittering golden wings upon my hidden fear.
Heavy a burden of knowing what must be, that fate of me. As my beast passed through the mist and soared in height she bravely carried on across barren wasteland and icy bog as sad and frozen waters gravely sang to me, “CHAOS …” and my eyes were slightly hidden – Monmouth and fear.
And it seemed to me that humanity might have just begun as we moved by wood and sullen hill surging forth in might. Oh! Pity us as EROS must feel the greater that his bride was no less than CHAOS!
Soon I came upon a chasm which has no name but keeps a flame the light of Luna burned – to see the truth of life this night.
The dance of light upon the night stirred a feeling within my soul.
Soothing my beast I released the burden of my weight and there she fled into the night like burning crystal – who eased my fear.
And within the gaping chasm of this slightly twisted **** of soil I faced my future fate by gently carefully moving forward into that dim light. And into the night like oil each footstep soaked inside my soul; the fear within this slice of time grabbing my throat so fierce and I, like EROS, felt as one with love, less that burning fear.
My mind a fever beating like a raging river I slowly seeped into the porous night like some hungry ravenous creature who only wishes blood and bite. But soon that moment of decision as I met that ancient door of lore. And with my hand so cold and gray I took to knock upon the legend no less EROS. In retrospect I must confess: seconds felt as minutes – minutes like hours, all in fear!
The sane and stable heart might wish to judge the fool I am but the need for love is stronger than the shame of fools or mortal smite. To those who know the pain and silence of an empty life tonight compels the heart to find one’s lover and to face one’s fear and fright!
:: || ::
Mar 2, 2020
Mar 2, 2020 at 5:58 PM UTC
I met a busboy and once he really ***** twill
of this winding expressway
with a bourgeois vex in this supper quest
why a Turk described them admirably
a shrew whirled in a shrill of the night
still could skirt his papa's pants
in a romance of tennis
to further kind with a match
only with a foul drama again
and put it in court
Aug 30, 2019
Aug 30, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC
I don’t believe in myths or lore, but there might be truth within its core
I don’t believe in shadow folk, or people made out of smoke
I don’t believe in fairy lights or small gnomes wandering through the night
I believe they are allusions, all about scary humans
I do believe in monsters though, just not the ones the fairy tales show
Monsters can be many things - strangers, friends or even kings
Most of all I do believe, that inhuman monsters are make-believe
Aug 29, 2019
Aug 29, 2019 at 1:24 PM UTC
A Procrustean woman's tale
in an orbit does tell that this snitch
here wasn't Montgomery whether sound must hitch
with Pythagoras
that seldom erupt in despair
now dire hands with guilty chest
yet volcanoes bleed in the air
Aug 13, 2019
Aug 13, 2019 at 9:56 AM UTC