It builds, it shudders Creeping its way up From gut and soul Slicing through proximities Of weariness and ennui Now Surging up so easily No Marathon or Thermopylae Stretching wings of fearsome resolve And filling our worlds With promiscuous promise. … Continue reading Laugh. A poem.
All these briars and thorns— Sticking and slicing, Pricking and enticing— Patterning my body And reflecting my somber discontent. Marking a trail upon this empty flesh— A patina of scar tissue, A fleshy, vertiginous map— To guide me like a … Continue reading Briars and Thorns. A poem.
A fleeting shape upon canvass A chiaroscuro background Running yet standing still Defying all expectations Of pointed rationality I will always run To and from Always Run For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and … Continue reading Run. A poem.
The enfilade is over And bodies lie strewn Across the battlefield Like broken bottles Leaking last regrets You have cut me down Your machine gun wit And explosive rejoinders Creating a no man’s land Where I lie fractured. For more … Continue reading Enfilade. A poem.
She was a rose in thorns abound, As cliched, it seems, as that may sound, Who grew from seeds of bitterness And contempt for those she kept around. She mastered the art of formless thought, Of tactless speech and schisms … Continue reading The Rose Garden. A poem.
The divide that’s grown between has widened over time— the subtle, well-toiled furrow, now a rift, of deep decline. When did this passionate divide become more like a gulf? And when did our discussions become a chore, less worthy of? … Continue reading The Divide. A poem.
Of this lingering half-life, only the iceberg tip exposed. Beware what lies beneath: cut glass, mirrored edges and radical toxicity. Splinters and elements better left submerged; its palpitating heart, decaying in the half-light. For more of my poetry, check out … Continue reading Half-Life/Half-Light. poem.
You who remain absent Don’t celebrate your hypocrisy Sliding on a sheen of contrariness Recognise the source of their upheaval You think time will make a fool of all But it seems your veneer is wearing thin And justice awaits … Continue reading Absent. A poem.
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.
My hurt My tears … Continue reading Surburbia. 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.
Dream in … Continue reading Disconnected. A poem.
I can feel the jagged terrain of your knuckles on my face, the force of mountain slides delivered on winds of fury and ever-reckless contempt. Should I return the favour or turn the other cheek, as my saviour recommends? I’ll … Continue reading Punch Drunk. A poem.
You are the prowling shark loitering in choppy waters waiting on a hint of blood to fuel your hungry needs. You sniff and search for snippets to exploit, building trust with deception to cover your misdeeds. You are a betrayer … Continue reading Backstab. A poem.
When the bone wails in time to my beating, breaking heart, and the blood curdles along with my myopic tears. I will reach for thee and mark my emboldened flesh in your honour. I will scour my skin indelicately so … Continue reading Cut. A poem.
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