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Apr 23 · 186
Wind and the Willow
Rowan S Apr 23
The wind that shakes
the willow tree
That slowly bends
the rods and reeds
My iron bones
and sulphured soul
The roots grow fast and deep

I twist, I give
I stretch and flex
The bark, it groans
from sweet duress
I crave your touch
your whispers' true
Oh blow now, through my leaves
Apr 15 · 118
High Coup #34
Rowan S Apr 15
You end the static
Quiet all the noise inside
My head, now at peace
Rowan S Apr 11
while I shove sleep
      to the dark corner
i slip more
hard caffeine
through my blooded canals
and ponder

how

the cotton cloth'd
and pastel'd world
now opens up
before me
sleep deprivation and a new relationship make for strange bedfellows
Rowan S Apr 9
I have ignored the warning signs
teetering, all a' kilter
upon this precipice

to breathe, hard air
a gasp, of frigid life
tip into another one
trip into oblivion

my mornings are strains of
ichor from within
ochored bile an offering
to a porcelain god

an illness slinks
through these
capillaries

sandpaper stress
scrubs my marrow clean
to bleached
pale
bone
Rowan S Mar 31
Now, I always wait
For the other shoe to drop
Good things aren't for me

But I fight these thoughts
Incumbent storyteller
Perhaps, he is wrong
Mar 31 · 159
(paint)
Rowan S Mar 31
color splashed upon living canvas
a *******'d dalmation
rippling stories speak on
madness
and
journeys
and
peace
Mar 7 · 71
(statue-esque)
Rowan S Mar 7
I am a living memory of you

For as a sculptor
Slow and methodic with the clay
You have shaped and molded
My very being
And all can see
Your impassioned mark on me
A testament to kindness
Tried, and true
Pulled from something a recently wrote (and posted). Sometimes the pieces are better than the whole.
Feb 24 · 146
(sorting us)
Rowan S Feb 24
I ventured forth, again into the musty canyons
The dark, dank space that is
My past
Or more specifically
Ours.

A perusal reveals:
Hats in boxes, brims unmet by sun in ages
Creased shirts, bands' crests emblazoned bright
Clever titles scrawled in sharpie on silent CDs
And everything coated with brown hair
Crooked and curled as the smile
That I wear presently
Upon this journey

Upon further inspection:
Percussive rhythms, beats tattooed
Into slick skin
A laughing afterthought of intimacy
A private joke shared between us
Among many

The messy box:
Conversations held hostage by anger
Fueled on one side by deceit and fury at the world
While the other fights a war, at another's side: alone
Confusion racking both
Where once there was naught but desire
To care, protect, discover, and journey
Hijacked, a spoiled child upending a puzzle
That his insolence will never allow him the
Solace
Of completing

And the box that releases a torrent of whispers upon opening:
My name
Hands on knees, rage relieved in an instant
Your laugh
At my protruding tongue, a face fraught with focus
Poetry, lilted and simple
About the charm in how I climb stairs

Ending with the lessons:
To seek patience; with the large, and especially the small
To love fully; as they say, time flies
To face fear; naked honesty will conquer this
To rely on; there is no shame in support
To...

The grit of clenched teeth
Overcome by the solace of
Framed reality
I descend the shaking ladder
Leaving behind this echoing forrest
Mist clouded with
Shared impassioned melodies
I have sorted and cleaned enough
I will revisit from time to time

But. In practicing honesty:

I am a living memory of you

For as a sculptor
Slow and methodic with the clay
You have shaped and molded
My very being
And all can see
Your impassioned mark on me
A testament to kindness
Tried, and true
Feb 12 · 205
High Coup #32
Rowan S Feb 12
The marks on my arm
Now hidden, masked by color
History disguised
Feb 11 · 559
Clarity
Rowan S Feb 11
**** bookends
**** closure
**** the black and the white

**** the knots
******* neat
Cause that really ain't life

Life's messy
There's dirt
It's not simple and clear

It's the road
It's the journey
And the path you take there
Feb 5 · 187
Shipwreck Heart
Rowan S Feb 5
The serpent, slow and winding
Rears its fanged head
As it again constricts the
Leaps and bounds
Of this Shipwrecked Heart
Feb 2 · 142
High Coup #31
Rowan S Feb 2
I can't think of when
I remembered all my lies
There are too many
Older haiku that I wrote a few years back. I don't live like this anymore, and god, am I grateful for that.
Feb 2 · 177
Sylvia
Rowan S Feb 2
Manhattan is a symphony
Directed by her laugh
And the lines that trace her battle scars
Begin to fade at last

My Sylvia, you've fought a war
With more life yet to go
But I battle the same demons, dear
Please know you're not alone
Feb 2 · 107
High Coup #30
Rowan S Feb 2
A good warm flannel
Makes me immensely more pleased
Than most people do
It's flannel Friday.
Feb 1 · 96
High Coup #29
Rowan S Feb 1
I saw some old friends
Shared old jokes, old memories
All to make new ones
Feb 1 · 76
(tune)
Rowan S Feb 1
Re-listening to this music
To find some hidden melody
And rip meaning from its depths
Jan 31 · 89
High Coup #28
Rowan S Jan 31
All I can do now,
Is a minor distraction.
My brain is too loud
And it is especially loud today.
Jan 30 · 51
a poem about lust
Rowan S Jan 30
Electricity
My flesh hums in anticipation
I'm completely
Losing
My mind
Literally shaking
My intelligence goes
Out the window
Very
Very
Quickly
Until all that remains
Is the desire
    for
        your skin
            on
                mine.
Jan 30 · 64
Its own drummer
Rowan S Jan 30
With time on my wrist
It now creeps
Crawls, not cruises

Slow moving sap of
Eternity marching onward
Forward little ants, forward

Such small life
What can I
Possibly
Change?
Jan 30 · 130
High Coup #27
Rowan S Jan 30
Fear in the morning
Feelings fly, flapping and free
Bat-like emotions
Jan 29 · 271
striped
Rowan S Jan 29
Most days I forget

That I have black ink marking
The top
Of my thigh

But the days I remember

I touch the
Thickened five stripes
Separate, just below this mark

Reminding me
That the insanity of a past self
Craved the caress of
Sharpened
Metal
More than the memory
That mark
Created
Jan 28 · 110
High Coup #26
Rowan S Jan 28
Contortionist thoughts
Lurk, deep in the recesses
Twisting "good" to "bad"
Jan 28 · 65
High Coup #25
Rowan S Jan 28
Someone I know said:
"Our phones are just a small world."
I crave the large world
Look up. Be in the moment.
Rowan S Jan 27
It's been long enough now
And enough has been said
Apologies and forgiveness passed back and forth
Like folded middle school notes
Yet here I am

"Ouch, I just bit my cheek."

As I let my rods and cones
Intercept the
Lies and smoke
The electrons radiating from my
Squared, glowing palm

I sigh
And attempt to release stagnant regret
As my mouth fills with the taste
Of
Metal
"Whoops, I just hurt my own feelings."
Jan 27 · 159
High Coup #24
Rowan S Jan 27
I have now backspaced
Probably, too many times
All for a haiku
Yeah. The creative juices aren't really flowing today.
Jan 26 · 89
cheese fries
Rowan S Jan 26
i thought about cheese fries

and almost broke down

god d*mn it

this is ridiculous
Old old old "poem". I plan to do more with this juxtaposition of how the mundane memories can be the most heartbreaking (sounded fancy there didn't I?)

I wrote this in the depths of some pretty vicious drinking and self-loathing, years ago post-breakup. Hindsight can be a cruel master, especially if things were your fault, but you don't know how to healthily move past them.
Jan 26 · 163
High Coup #23
Rowan S Jan 26
Sometimes you hear words
Spill, careless from peoples' mouths
Their impact, unknown
Jan 26 · 108
Shards
Rowan S Jan 26
I used to think I was messy broken

Let me explain

Like a stray rock,
chipped from a bat in some sandy back lot
Through a window
Now shattered

Through. Done. Finished.

My splintered little pieces scattered to the winds
And me, running after those small bits
Like they were loose handouts in a windy parking lot
Scrambling to catch hold of
My life
My dignity
My sanity
My love

But

The only way to amend
Is complete replacement

For I am now irreparable
Jan 25 · 65
High Coup #22
Rowan S Jan 25
Break. Break cruel sea waves
'Cross my brow and back: ceaseless
I hold hope for air
Jan 25 · 54
(wrinkled)
Rowan S Jan 25
I dream
Of you and your failed attempts to reach me
And I relish
At the thought that in my righteous anger

I
could make
you love me
again.

I awake
Saddened by the reality of a world absent you
And dreams slipping swift through my fingers
As sand

For one day
When I have more creases from too many smiles and frowns
I’ll think of you
And I’ll weep
Because I’ll remember how much this version of myself

Craved
and ached
for your touch.

But for now

To sleep

and

To memories.
Jan 23 · 132
High Coup #21
Rowan S Jan 23
A nail through the skull
Repeatedly pulsing, hot:
A migraine headache
I have a migraine as I write this. SOOOOOO yeah. Ouch.
Jan 23 · 153
Avalon
Rowan S Jan 23
The mist filled gaps
Of my mind
Leave small open doors
To
Leave
Through
Count down slowly
      And slip
              Away
Jan 23 · 75
Early Morning Habits
Rowan S Jan 23
Grit down deep, the final dregs
Looks like I've lost sleep again
Burning fumes, and barking dogs
With hopeless reminiscing

Home is where my pillow is
And not where I can find a friend
So why spend time still wondering
If luck had never left me
Jan 23 · 113
High Coup #20
Rowan S Jan 23
The necessity
Of filthy lucre: money
Oils the world's hinges
Jan 22 · 151
High Coup #19
Rowan S Jan 22
I hide out beneath
The welcome shroud of music
And escape problems
Jan 21 · 93
(just me)
Rowan S Jan 21
And as I stood
Clothed in my shame
The monster I'd created
Was me
Was mine
And
The most difficult part
Was turning to the mirror
Looking into my eyes
And realizing
There was no Jekyll
There was no Hyde
There was just me
There are so many things I would change/cannibalize from this poem (and I will eventually), but this is the first poem I have recorded that I wrote about the refusal of the Jekyll/Hyde stereotype.

-------"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it."--------
Jan 21 · 259
Crossroads Contract
Rowan S Jan 21
Time is holding out on me
Promising solutions to old conflicts
Granting a reprieve to pain
A contract on her terms
And me, equine-like
Forever chasing the assurance
That one day
I'll wake up
And not have this serpent 'round my heart
But for now
It remains a hair's breadth out of reach

              -a crossroads contract
Jan 20 · 54
Out of steam
Rowan S Jan 20
My feelings leak
Through this hand, through this pen
My feelings crave
For reprieve, for an end
To echoed voices
And venomous critics

But maybe
Not
Today
This is all I've got for today. And I've been trying to twist this one around for a while now.
Jan 20 · 57
High Coup #18
Rowan S Jan 20
Don't know what to think
Just need to let my acts speak
But I'm conflicted
Not my best work, but I'm trying to crank out one more poem for today and I'm experiencing some major writer's block
Jan 19 · 76
High Coup #17
Rowan S Jan 19
Sterilized flesh burns
While colored ichor drips, drops
Buzzing needles hum
I need some tattoo work done ASAP
Jan 19 · 278
F.I.N.E.
Rowan S Jan 19
I use my shaded 3rd and 4th eyes
To hide indifference
And at times I feel a post-dentist numbness
Across the expanse of my mind
And it begins to seep
Leak
Sneak
Into the marrow and tendons of my being
Hey.
Ask me later if I give a sh*t
Except when I say I don't give a sh*t, I usually do.
Rowan S Jan 18
Alliteration isn't cheesy
Not for me.
When I use words to stave off the clutching squeeze of
A panic attack
I can write:

"There is pressure on my chest and I feel anxious."
or
"Pain presses me into purgatorial prayers."

Alliteration becomes the stutter into which I
Skid to a stop
Today has been a rough day. Here is me, publicly coping.
Jan 18 · 284
High Coup #16
Rowan S Jan 18
My brain has become
An unavoidable trap
Filled with nostalgia
And nostalgia might as well be a drug, for all its usefulness.
Jan 17 · 192
High Coup #15
Rowan S Jan 17
Tired to the point of
Weighted-sandbags-in-my-bones
That no rest can cure
Jan 17 · 189
The Life Raft
Rowan S Jan 17
Obsessively focused on black ink swimming from my pen
Keep me floating in this storm
When writing stops, this craft sinks into the frothing waves
Poseiden's domain, beckoning.
Compelled to cling, to coping that only works temporarily
For this well now springs forward only from time spent held back
Dammed up, concrete walls held strong, but defective
This flood
This Flood
THIS FLOOD
I flee, not fight, furtive failings of final flips into the film
Thin membrane, now breached and spilling
Oh god why can't I stop this?
Oh god why can't YOU stop this?
I am done.
Despite dealing with doom, with despair
How strong the maelstrom I now succumb to
I started writing a bunch of stuff about the background of this poem, so heres the gist: it is about EMDR (go look it up), stuffed emotions, PTSD, and I was written on the verge of a panic attack, which escalated into a full blown attack upon completion of this poem.
Jan 16 · 59
Mantra
Rowan S Jan 16
Grip the wheel
         Hold Fast
Waves will crash
         Hold Fast
Take your time
         Hold Fast
This too, shall pass
         Hold Fast
Jan 16 · 76
High Coup #14
Rowan S Jan 16
I need to recall
What it felt like to look up
And always see hope
Jan 15 · 167
High Coup #13
Rowan S Jan 15
Isolation? Great.
Emotions drive me to ground
Want to yell and curse.
Jan 15 · 72
Slanted
Rowan S Jan 15
Slanted
Why do I slide?
Slide down a rabbit hole, Alice's hole, Layne's hole
A burial of open air, dirt imagined, smothering the thought
that slipping into any other pool besides this self-administered poison
is directed squarely at others, not me, oh god not me.
A brain's bitterness more toxic than vinegar on the tongue
Misery that slimes, oozes, creeps, and constricts every thought
My thoughts, not my own, converting my hands to someone else's
And I watch. Trapped. Sliding down the now speeding *****.
That which stalked and surprised, but I cannot blame.
Cannot predict. Cannot battle. I'm slanted.
Slated to slip down slides of sloth, slowly.
Shredding into sharpening shouts, shifting into panic.
Pleas. Please. Pleasing Pleas.
Can't cope, can't cut, can't control.
Wait. At the bottom is a light.
But whether to heaven or hell
This purgatorial slide carries me all the way
Slanted.
A poem I wrote on the verge of a panic attack. The formatting when I wrote it is quite literally "slanted", and angled diagonally down the page, and the lines were not spaced out. It was stream of consciousness and I had no time to consider poetic merit. I've had to incorporate phrasing based on afterthought. The vast majority of these poems have non-coherent thoughts included in them, and I'm only posting ones that could be seen as still somewhat cogent.

**Layne in this poem is of course a reference to Layne Staley. I had a roommate at this time who played a beautiful cover of the Alice in Chains song "Nutshell, that I was obsessed with.**
Jan 14 · 2.0k
Monsters
Rowan S Jan 14
I fear you
Hyde hiding in plain sight
Jekyll murdered by his creation
His ambition
Gone the way of the monster
Victor's supposed victory
The Jekyll and Hyde/monster archetype shows up a decent amount in some earlier poems of mine, but I don't agree with it anymore. I think it is easier to believe in some kind of hidden, dualistic, "evil" that forces my hand in situations. I simply don't feel like this anymore.
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