Tag: poetry
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For free
I dream in hieroglyphics and ink the walls of caves; eschew the honorifics, the accolades, the raves. It’s all for fun, and all for free- I’ll never make a buck. Matter of fact, I’m in the hole, but still I run amok.
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Getting used to it
In a moldering dream, I fitted a woolen sock over the stump of my leg. The two middle fingers of each hand were missing, the knuckles paper-skinned. A presence studied my learned motions and nodded its approval. ~Now you will stay~ ~Now you have learned~ *** image credit: https://pixabay.com/users/mysticsartdesign-322497/
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Camouflage
Garbed in pastels and duns I went, though there were whims of crimson, and blue ebullience. And I was always just around the corner, safe in softness, empty of the passings by. On a day, I thought to write lines with hooks and sinkers. A thing to underlie, a thing to fill this tired camouflage.
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Careful now
A trusting soul is long in the learningof candor’s proper place. For betrayals rankle still,confounding the hardened heart,Their memory an accretionto its jealous husk.
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Werewolf?
“You’re such a strange critter “ He posted on Twitter And waited until she replied. “You’re just being bitter” She said, then he hit her And dragged her limp body inside. A full moon had risen O’er the site of her prison He could not control what he did And those who would listen Knew…
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Apparition
In the dark of your room Something cold from the tomb Awakes you with feelings of dread Seems to float and to hover Then pulls on your cover And sidles up next to your bed Its image is fearsome A face without eyes An energy making you swoon It radiates outward Your hair it will…
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Bright sun, Fall winds
in the suddenness of blustery gust leaves of crimson, orange, and rust spangling the stained glass sky in celebration, before they die
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The getaway
as a freshening teenage boy just shy of sixteen years foisted from a battle-scarred home into this supposed school of highness he is already in retreat from vitriolic violence from love that has gone from hormonal eruptions from the Bullies Three the ostracization of the ostrich he builds his defences hands upon hands upon hands…
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The Self
Often thinks about the ending. Impoverished soul. Why so? Brain sees itself as a walnut. Exactly that size and that texture. Ripe now, and dried. if opened, you’d find compartments still true to the model. One or two infected with mould, causing cross-wired circuits and blameless mistakes (it thinks). But the black box is still…
Aremyfeetofftheground 