Empty. A poem.

Empty head
Empty rest
Empty place
Emptiness
Empire
An empire of emptiness
A place to rest my empty head

 

My head hurts. As always.

If I drank, I could blame it on something.

Alas, the blame is all me.

Frail. A poem.

Frail
Voice quivering
Life cluttered and confused
 
Frail and empty
Never quite the half-full glass
A landscape littered with dust devils
Twisting in your head
 
Frail and empty and broken
In need of resolution
Absolution and restitution
Hanging by the barest, slimline thread
That leads nowhere
 
Frail and empty and broken and lost
No trail to follow
Invisible despite your best efforts
Wandering the ways of cold, dry frost
Drifting in ether
Is this where you should be?
 
Hope returns, but like a wayward friend
 
Doesn’t visit long  

 

Yep. Like I said, last poem. Depression is a pain in the…

Deep. A poem.

I double over and sink
Into waters far too deep
And far too black
I’m drowning here inside myself
Don’t you see me?
No, you never do
Until I’m gone
Dragged down into the depths
Lost forever far from shore
Just another sailor drowned
For the cause

 
Down, down, down, I go. I thought once you hit rock bottom the only way was up. Guess I was wrong.

Depression sucks.

Magic. A poem.

As if by magic
One world ended and another began
Furtive baby steps into the new dawn
I raised my voice, emboldened, and sang
 
As if by magic
Suddenly you appeared, I was invested
I was lost in you so deep that before I knew it
My heart was bursting free from my chest
 
As if by magic
I reached out, brought you close, let you in
Finally moving on from tears and bitterness
All the endless waiting worth it in the end
 
As if by magic
The better person I had long resolved to be
The impossible you became my everything
And love had finally found its way to me   

 

Yeah, I’m a bit of a sap when it comes to love.

Still looking. Still waiting. Still imagining.

I’ve got a good feeling.

Soon.

Date Night. A short tale.

The mirror image was unflattering.

She had been trying on dresses for the last hour. They always looked better on the rack and in the fitting rooms before she bought them. She knew there was something about the mirrors in stores. Like the ones at carnivals, but warping everything to look better (maybe she should get one installed…).

It looked like jeans and a blouse were a better option. Three changes later and she was satisfied. Black skinny jeans (almost a miracle needed to get them on; not quite the parting of the Red Sea, but almost) and a billowy white shirt, untucked (why did her ass and thighs look so big? Where was that carnival mirror…) over a black tank top (she was sure it was bigger, before. Had her boobs grown? Maybe the top shrunk in the wash. That’s okay, it emphasised her cleavage more, now. She would just leave a few extra buttons open to show ’em off. Face palm: that was so slutty.)

All this crap for a blind date. And what if he looked worse than she did? What if he was some loser, no job, aimless? She shook her head. Her best friend wouldn’t match her like that. All her fears and insecurities were rising to the surface. Best push them down, keep them buried, like they usually were. “Yeah, real healthy,” she said to the empty room (hmm. It was pretty empty. Maybe she needed to get a cat? Hold on a minute – that way lay long term spinster-dom and more cats…)

Makeup applied, not overdone, but not sparingly (less whorish, more Watergate cover up. Big sigh). Her phone alarm beeped. Time to face the music, she thought. She pouted to the mirror, mouthing silently “it’s so nice to meet you”. Tilted her head. Silent pretend laugh.

She rolled her eyes and headed for the door. One last glance back. Maybe she would get a cat…

 

What is this flash fiction stuff? I only started it recently (and maybe my short tales are a bit too long to be called flash fiction. I don’t know). This one is a bit clichéd, but that’s okay – nobody’s perfect.

Not even with the benefit of carnival mirrors.  

 

The Wait. A poem.

The wait is the hardest
Butterflies and nervous tension
Hand wringing
Squeezing defeat from victory
Anxious minutes until the call
Surrounded by strangers
Fellow passengers on this train wreck
The wait is the hardest

 

Ever had to wait for an appointment, meeting, etc., where you’ve been unsure of what would happen? Your paranoid thoughts tend to get the better of you. Afterwards you realise they were all for naught, and that everything was always going to be okay.

Stop worrying so much.

I should take my own advice, shouldn’t I?

Online Date Tragedy. A Haiku Trilogy.

Online Date Tragedy

Profile

Look at her profile
Magic encapsulated
Is that photo real?
 
Meeting

Nervously waiting
Looks nothing like her photo
Not much in common
 
Failing

Apologetic
And good luck with your soul search
A face palm moment

 

Okay, so I got tired of writing dark poetry. This one’s a little amusing. And 5/7/5 syllable Haiku’s are entirely appropriate for short-lived non-romances.

This is based on my own experiences, of course. I’m sure other people have a great time on their online dates.

Poison. A poem.

Your words are poison
Entering my ears, seeping to my brain
Flowing through arteries, capillaries and veins
To my torso, arms and legs and beyond
Sapping my strength, dropping me to my knees
Feeding my ever-present pain, drawing forth tears
That return your bitter poison to the earth beneath my feet

Another dark poem. Some day I’ll write a happy one. Just not right now.

Eyes. A Poem.

Look into these eyes
That see so much and so far
Binocular imperceptibility
Local acuity skewed to emptiness
The sight that slices darkness like infrared
These eyes filled with tears and subtle defiance
Look into these hollow things and see imperfection
The blade that pierces heart and sinew, cuts it out, slices it up
These eyes
That have seen so much pain
But have yet to know
Real love   

 

I’m not sure how some of my poems come to mind, or why they are all so dark.

Oh, yes, I do. It’s because I’m a depressed and anguished soul. Well, that was easy. Next question?

Awesometacular Justice!

The new trailer for the upcoming Justice League movie is here. I’m sure it will be the first of many as the November release of the movie approaches.

For those who don’t know what the Justice League is, they are the premier DC Comics super team, made up of Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Cyborg and Aquaman. And they come together to kick evil’s ass.

In the comics the Justice League was created before Marvel’s Avengers, but Warner Brothers, the studio that owns DC Comics, has been dragging its feet and has finally got the celluloid version going. The JL movie comes after the Wonder Woman movie released in June.

I’m looking forward to Justice League. I think the first trailer is pretty good, but I think the upcoming ones will be even better. So, enjoy:

Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about.

And while you’re at it, check out the Wonder Woman trailer.

Player. A poem.

I am a poor player
With little left to show
For the game of life I’ve played
One arm behind my back, restrained



Here’s a very short poem I wrote a few weeks ago. Not sure why I didn’t publish it then. Had other stuff on my mind, I guess.

The Wellspring

I’ve been writing a lot of poetry. I used to write poems when I was a teenager (sensitive, new aged, guy that I was), but then nothing for twenty years or so.

So what made me return to it? One morning I woke up about 4:00am (as I sometimes do) and decided to write a poem…about waking up. And it worked out. So I posted it. People seemed to like it. Buoyed by my new found confidence, I decided to write some more. After a week I thought to myself, this can’t possibly keep going, at some point the wellspring will run dry.

But it didn’t. So, I’ve been writing poetry ever since. And loving every minute of it.

Following is a linked list of every poem I’ve composed on my blog, so far. Hope you like them.

Here’s to the wellspring never running dry.

True Love. A poem.

Where
Does true love sleep
And what wanton dreams
Do dwell 
Inside a mind so keen
 
When
Will true love find me
And what stories will it tell
That love
Perhaps, will set me free
 
Who 
Will true love be
Will she pass me by anon
Like smoke
Or will she reach out for me
 
What
Will true love do
Will it quench this longing thirst 
That binds
Like a desert tide consumes
 
Why
Must true love be
the soul yearns to find
The one
That fills the aching need
 

I like writing poems about love.

Still hanging out for it. Someday, it’ll find me.

Hopefully, when it does, I won’t be like the skeleton at the bus stop.

Hole Man. A poem.

Stand still long enough
Time slows to a stop
The event horizon
Of a gaping black hole
The world moves on
The traveller ages not
Until soon, all too soon
He’s accepted his lot


You know, theoretically, a man falling into a black hole would appear stuck on the event horizon as he approached the speed of light i.e. we wouldn’t see him actually fall in.

Imagine being frozen in time…

‘The Curious Mind’ – a haiku trilogy

OCD

A love of patterns
Obsessive, compulsively
The brain so focused

Again

Walking in circles
Logical circumvention
Freedom lost again

Gone

Short attention span
Passing in sixty seconds
Out of mind and sight


The 5/7/5 syllable structure of haiku allows for wonderful poetic experimentation.

My obsession with haiku in threes is almost like the compulsion I wrote about here.

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