I’m let down, again. Every letdown compiling like a coded compunction, in synapses despoiled by repetition and disfunction. Swarmed and overloaded, categorised and goaded. Too many times to make sense of it all. Letdown, like so many times before. Who has any tears left to cry? And why bother to even try. Continue reading Let down. A poem.
See the world. But not through your own eyes. Try his. Try seeing and yet not seeing, failing to understand what they truly perceive. Messed up signals, like a traffic jam waiting to happen. Open your mouth, like his mouth, and watch the words tumble out: unannounced, tactless and indiscreet; a crossword of errors on a big broadsheet. Walk alone, not by yourself, but like him: truly alone, like the world has eaten you up and spat you out. Deserted, when you truly needed love instead of doubt. This is how he feels. So extend a hand. Feel with him. … Continue reading Through His Eyes. A poem.
I’m alone against the storm, wearing custom-fitted armour, courtesy of the Lord. I’m a lone wanderer in form, but my way is assured, courtesy of the Lord. I’m a fighter on the boards, wearing gloves of solid steel, courtesy of … Continue reading Invincible. A poem.
My heart was broken, and the pieces lay scattered across the floor like so much fractured crystal. It lay where it fell for days, weeks, months. I fixated on my shattered heart for a long time. Everywhere I looked, everywhere I walked, I was in danger of cutting myself on a fragment. Visitors and friends stepped delicately around the shards like navigating a minefield. Every once in a while I would think about tidying up. But the strewn slivers were a reminder both comforting and saddening. One day, I awoke to find the pieces were gone, as if they had … Continue reading Heartbreak. A prose poem.
Message I got a message, anonymous, confusing. “Don’t wait up,” it said. Nerd Glasses, weird hair cut, quirky disregard for all. “Grab a seat, player!” Dog All dogs love me so. Must be my cool aftershave. Or meat in pocket. . Haikus, those wonderful little 5/7/5 syllable Japanese poems, are usually serious. I decided serious is not for me, today. Cheers Steve 🙂 Continue reading Haiku Friday. Three freaky haikus.
Hulls of broken ships, scattered like white noise. The sea bed, as black as a charcoal cellar. It welcomes sailors to their ends, bloated corpses sleeping in hammocks of crusted ribs, drunk on briny, antique wine. Coral wreaths and sawdust mouths; barnacles, the new tattoo that marks the passage from man to martyr. Here among the starfish and crustacean shells, unworried by the weather, seabed tales in whale song punctuate their empty dreams. Continue reading Dead Men Deep. A poem.
I looked to the city. The lights were on, but nobody was home. I was alone. I expected dust devils to whirl as I walked through my world. Behind every door a Marie Celeste, of empty chairs and still full plates. Always alone. Wherever I looked reigned emptiness, yesterday’s news and mild distress. The dust and dirt of memories clung to my walls like tragedy. And then the lights went out. That was when I knew, without a doubt: I would always be alone. But what was always there, that I just couldn’t see, were all the souls surrounding me. Continue reading City of the Lost. A poem.
So many options. So many numbers, so many keys. A lifetime of choice compressed into one, mechanical drone call. Menus designed to send me on my way (but not in a good way, or a satisfied way, or a new way). Menus, like life, with far too many options. Continue reading Options. A poem.
She loves me, She loves me not. I suppose I’ll never know. She loves me, She loves me not. I have to let her go. She loves me not. And that’s how it always ends. Continue reading She Loves Me (Not). A poem.
Causal expectations and experience will say that I will just gain nothing from this long and tedious day. My movement winding down, corroded, insecure, scattered springs, nuts and bolts and thoughts abound, unsure. Who’s to say my automation is better than before? Let cogs and gears grind on and on as I cogitate some more. I was once wound so tightly that I thought I’d never slow, but now my springs are stretched and worn, so tired and overblown. Tick tock, cries the clock, round and round it goes, this clockwork man keeps winding down, all the way to zero. Continue reading Clockwork. A poem.
Her apple eyes look through me, Auspicious in ambiguity. To think, I thought she liked me. Extra ego in perpetuity. Continue reading Hate. An Acrostic Poem.
Fence Sitter Here in your desert, every choice a mirage; each oasis lost. Silence Shy, foolish man child, so terminally quiet. Silence will end you. Bloom I wish love would bloom. In the field of broken hearts, loneliness grows strong. . Well, it’s that time of the week again. Haiku Friday demands three line poems with a 5/7/5 syllable structure. And what Haiku Friday demands, it gets! Cheers Steve 🙂 Continue reading Haiku Friday. Three Haikus pour vous!
The light is fading, you’re walking out; she’s reclining luxuriantly. The light in those magical eyes is enough to blind a man, before you question why. That smile, combined with sylvan form, is hot enough to melt a man (raised on a diet of ‘avoid’). Like a supernova sundae, take him out at the knees, leave him confused and dazed, with thoughts, indiscreet. Get out of there before that brazen temptress (Who doesn’t know her power over all that exists) enthralls you with her siren voice; makes you fumble, stumble, makes the floor your only choice. Escape while you can, … Continue reading Fall for you. A poem.
Perish the thought, along with all the others. My mind is a blank canvas for me to paint anew; for me to spray all my hopes and blues. Continue reading Perish The Thought. A poem.
I glanced drunkenly into the near-empty bottle. In the viscous alcohol I saw my face, rippled and twisted like a garish Mr. Hyde. I laughed at the carnival mirror, so accurately reflecting every facet of my, oh, so petulant features. Every flaw and misconception brought to life in errant ripples at the bottom of a pit, too deep to reach. I cast the bottle aside and hailed for another, in the hopes that I (eventually) might see something far, far better. My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most online … Continue reading The Near-Empty Bottle. A poem.
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