I Will Never Write My Obituary

I bleed before the world
in many different ways,
by rocks and knives
and paper cuts,
sometimes it is blue
sometimes it is red,
every time it feels real,
because it really is.
I bleed before the world,
cutting myself open
that it may read the entrails
through what my poetry says.
But this (upon reflection) is not
what will be written of me
after I have died
and it only concerns me now
while I am still alive.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

My Manner of Muse

My manner of muse
(rampant in the soul)
is cancer and medication,
my blessing and my curse.
I stand starved for affection,
a rose ripped of its petals,
having only bleeding thorns
dipped in tree toad toxin.
Do I poison you all?

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Remembrances of Wounded Knee

It was a beautiful dream
that ended in the silence
of the dead laying
huddled and scattered
upon the winter ground.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

The Beautifully Brutal

I have no pretty paintings
of flowery poetic expression
to delight the senses,
or panoramic vistas
wrought in iambic pentameter
to lighten the human heart.
I emerge from shadows
as a Phantom masked in red,
revealing the dark and despair,
of a world seen
through obsidian eyes.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

As He Slept

As he slept
the old man died,
a baby brother
to take his place.
And as he slept,
the whole world sang,
celebrating in the hope
of a brighter year ahead.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Colors in a Kaleidoscope

Colors in a kaleidoscope
separate yet blended,
midst a turning and twisting
towards independent unity
of new and merging patterns
in a future long hoped for
on the crux of being realized.

James E. Roethlein copyright 2020

My World Gone Small

My world gone small,
shadows heavy
gather upon my brow,
this darkness inside me
growing growing growing,
as does the distance
from fellow reflectors of Light.
A cry for help in poetic form,
nary a hand to help me,
thus
I drown
I drown
James E. Roethlein copyright 2020