Cold, Cold night No one to say Hi !! So I look at the sky Clouds passing by Cold, Cold night I look up high Calling my Name A Star in the sky Lonely, Not alone but, I am fine, Said I Stars shining Bright I see them in the sky Sitting on a tree…
Tag: poetry
Ali Baba (from the sky)
We are still under the sky, In the guest room; Beast and cryptic. Everything crawls. A car flings us. I see one peeling The middle east. Down there, it’s still Exotic; an open sore, With a mule-cart Full of gold.
I am sorry
I am sorry I don’t want to stand still I want to begin to crawl And walk, run and jump But the sinking sand stops me Me and all of my stars high in the heavens. I am sorry My heart is weak and I am weak without a heart My lungs fill…
Purse Kept Gems
To search outwards defines strength, To wander in the fields of black roses and purple orchids, Dance around and around under the late summer sun, Tumblers of pink lemonade, gin and chock full of ice cubes, Straws and a slice of lime to accommodate, Gather yourself and meet us there, We can watch the sun…
WE
these days there is a shadow on my heart a stone so weighty breathing is suppressed such sadness from this time we’ve been apart and memories of times when we were blessed no sleep while eyes keep searching in the night your warmth no longer felt here at my side without your arms to hold…
Poetry – Memo to self
a rhymer’s style is one that’s neat following form and counting feet free-versers claim their way is better no need to follow to the letter some poems only seem to ramble endless screeds all in a tangle esoteric styles depress me grandiloquence just don’t impress me so what’s the best thing I can do (the…
planning for Light
When I drift off and wander homeless appearing a month or two weeks growth no other man is there. I bring along my patterns: Exertion-Rest-Sleep, Contemplation, Mindlessness, Sexiness; behaviour-geese who nip and honk the conscience can only come so far along these urban walkabouts, being phoney with their fitness. There’s a freeing up of feeling…
Still-life
Will stay but not fight embarrassment in the lewd sun. Bring down infamous rain; the fingernail and the boot. I will sit here. Tender. But a still-life is a dead thing. I saw one sit and never breathe again. I paint corpses, apples and such, and the red ones…
Mutant
I sit; a nut, turn in my shell, eyes in backward. Dig a wee self; forage in the glen of fine, crude cells. I’m pressed. Ears in the ocean seize… a mutinous song. Feb 23 2017
falling
1 I was born on Saturday. Turned 30 on Monday. The days between, a blur. Especially nought to four and the early 20s when breast and bottle was everything. 2 I’ve said before: I recall crawling across the floor, soiling the moment, thinking Shit. Again! A nought to four experience I think/ I…
Hello Friend
Playing my old guitar , Old days like dead stars, falling apart Memories hold me back, they’re trying to Steal my dreams away I’ve never seen such a lonely heart, making my six string Rot and stale. A broken guitar Broken from inside and outside I can hear the screams of pain that has…
from: Pocahontas, Alcoholism, The Compass, & The Word.
The shadow stays dry as the waves collapse. For almost a full decade I have not used the strong drugs of illumination yet the hunches gather into something formidable, the doorways in space are open still, but I nod & I indicate again that I decline, feeling I could tear along the dotted line of…