And as I slowly died inside within the canny matrices of my mind, I came to understand it all everything I’d ever been done and seen, as if every strand was a flower bud opening for the first time. And … Continue reading Died Inside. A poem.
Nostalgia On my mind A keepsake Turn it over In my hands A snow globe Filled with memory And the dust Of fickle years And absent foes Now long forgotten But present still I write a lot of poems, some … Continue reading Nostalgia. A poem.
Third Degree Caustic heart branding third degree burns on my soul. Tell me again—why? Haiku is a Japanese poetic form with a strict 5/7/5 syllable and line structure. Cheers Steve 🙂 I write a lot of poems, some from my … Continue reading Haiku Friday: Third Degree. A haiku.
Why concern yourself with where you walk? I am just a reed beneath your heel cracking until broken, outlined in your footprint. I write a lot of poems, some from my head, some from my heart. Many don’t appear on … Continue reading Heel. A poem.
My/Your Greatest Fear Is That If You/I Really Knew Me/you You/I Wouldn’t Want To Know Me/You I write a lot of poems, some from my head, some from my heart. Many don’t appear on this website. For more of my … Continue reading Dual. A poem.
And now every time I pass by you, I remember when you were my muse. My inspiration, a living rhyme to hang my aching heart, in time. (I could and did, ‘til I was blue, … Continue reading Vagrant Heart. A poem.
My hurt My tears … Continue reading Surburbia. A poem.
Inbetween Caught in the middle, the dutiful advocate. Which way do you turn? Haiku is a Japanese poetic form with a strict 5/7/5 syllable and line structure. Cheers Steve 🙂 I write a lot of poems, some from my head, … Continue reading Haiku Friday: Inbetween. A haiku.
There’s no rain, but the wind blows and buffets and billows, like an intransigent wolf at my door. Cocooned in my chair and cold sweeps and seeps through joints, a lubricant of low viscosity oil. The fire inside is only … Continue reading Shade. A poem.
I’m just a stump By the road You took your axe And cut me Down to size Left me here Just a stump With not much To reflect on But passing traffic Erstwhile glances Just a stump Worn and threadbare … Continue reading Stump. A poem.
Perpetual, an endless sojourn, a continuum of unknowing. This electric chair does not ease the time as much as I would like. The thoughts that spiral in my brain are currents playing havoc with the depths of perpetuity, every outcome … Continue reading The Chair. A poem.
I wish sometimes I could open my head, take a scalpel in hand and then operate. Remove all the things that I just love to hate: things that make me odd, or a little irate, all the shadows I jump … Continue reading Operation. A poem.
My memories and yours, burnt in effigy. They’re digital photos deleted from your phone. The flames lick at them, a contented aftertaste. They hang like meat, smoked and chargrilled. The funeral tailor delivers a final suit in charcoal. I write … Continue reading Effigy. A poem.
Strangers, friends, lovers, then strangers again. Lovers and strangers, but no longer friends. It seems it’s a cycle we’re doomed to repeat. A cycle of madness, one we just can’t escape. No matter how we try to break the cycle … Continue reading The Cycle. A poem.
When I read good poetry I want to write good poetry But my feeble affectations And wanton masturbations Pale to insignificance When compared to Browning, Whitman, Yeats I yearn to write good poetry The way I yearn to read good … Continue reading Poetry. A poem.
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