Alike. A poem.
Does she sit and cry? Does she pray at night, as I? Does she feel the patina of a life less inspired? Does she mirror my repose and ask the question: why? Perhaps we are, more or less, Alike. For … Continue reading Alike. A poem.
Tag: Writing
The Rose Garden. 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.
Abstinence. A poem.
You abstain in the light At night, small confessions Are saltwater wreaths Around your neck Dragging you along In a relegated riptide. This abstinence Has carved a furrow And driven conversations With shadows and mosquitoes Wondering when the light will … Continue reading Abstinence. A poem.
Airport Carpark. A poem.
There are far better places to while away the time, yet we continue circling like reverse-vultures. This obtuse concrete garden (no doubt designed by Daedalus, whose Labyrinth was but a flea compared to this circus) leads us astray in every … Continue reading Airport Carpark. A poem.
Elixir. A poem.
The elixir that drowns is a draught without measure, a flood like no other, an unstoppable well. ‘Tis the sweetest lifeblood, and an undying treasure brings me all the more closer to the place where He dwells. For more of … Continue reading Elixir. A poem.
Perilous Logic. A poem.
Oh, perilous logic, cast me upon the jagged knives of your perspicacity. Take these ramshackle emotions and reduce them to tears, aimless fears and accidental truths. When my ego is broken, my perspective becomes the precarious precipice upon which I’m … Continue reading Perilous Logic. A poem.
Aged. A poem.
Cranky at the portents: The breeze, it smells of winter, Even though the summer Has settled in Like a squatter, rent-free, Taking advantage Of your misdemeanours. Have your eyes aged With the rest? Or are you seeing as you did … Continue reading Aged. A poem.
Decisions. A Haiku.
You stand on the cusp Of an end and beginning Afraid of your choice For more of my poetry, check out Poetry for the Sad, Lonely and Hopelessly Endangered and The All or the Nothing, available in print or e-book … Continue reading Decisions. A Haiku.
Fences. A poem.
I thought I’d mend some fences Build them up to break them down Fill in all the trenches Dig the mines up from the ground I thought I’d build some bridges And meet you in the middle No more complex … Continue reading Fences. A poem.
Code. A poem.
I am yet to crack the code, the enigma that I see. These thoughts temptation sowed, this conundrum that you’ve been. I will try each combination, I will twist and turn and pry and after a long privation, I will … Continue reading Code. A poem.
Upstart Photographer – Rock
I take photos. I write poems. Chalk and cheese. Not. Cheers Steve 🙂 Rock. A poem. Rock of ages, how do you stand so firm and undeniable, when every dog has its day with you? For more of my poetry, … Continue reading Upstart Photographer – Rock
The Music in Me. A poem.
Why the sadness, the music tugging at heartstrings in pizzicato fashion, stretching my angst beyond reproach? Why the darkness, flowing in a syrup-like tsunami, to swallow my horizons and the shoulder I’ve hung my head upon? This rhythm and rhyme … Continue reading The Music in Me. A poem.
The Crowd. A poem.
From there, upon his pedestal, he lingered longingly on the crowd surrounding him. Dialogue and dialectic, commentary and whimsical surprise, his cult of personality awake and on the rise. But fate is fickle, as is the crowd and it passed … Continue reading The Crowd. A poem.
Poets Loved: Fame is a fickle food. By Emily Dickinson
Fame is a fickle food. By Emily Dickinson Fame is a fickle food Upon a shifting plate Whose table once a Guest but not The second time is set Whose crumbs the crows inspect And with ironic caw Flap past … Continue reading Poets Loved: Fame is a fickle food. By Emily Dickinson
Glass. A movie review.
Minor spoilers! Glass is the sequel to Unbreakable and Split. It’s the culmination of one journey and the start of another. It’s really good, and deserves more appreciation than it’s gotten from some critics. M. Night Shyamalan is an auteur … Continue reading Glass. A movie review.
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