Category Archives: Poetry And Prose

Creeper

creeper

in the moon’s embrace you prowl
a phantom of obsidian head and secrets
eyes like shards of fractured glass
watching and tracking her every step

you had your chance and now it’s flown
your deepest secrets on display and shown

she asked for honesty, attention, and time

you made her an option and squandered her touch
your interest morphed into obsession
though she’s free of your clutch

move your fingers from the keys in front of you
go out aside and get perspective

she’s gone
she’s gone

and you should be too

poet

poet

she told me with certainty that I was already a poet
that the day would not come in which it dawned upon me that I indeed was

it was not intended as a compliment
no more than noting the weather had shifted

almost mumbling, she added that rules in poetry are like ducks with paper clips

her words put an image in my head
just as sometimes mine remind you of an emotion

i am a poet and have been for years

it’s not a question

sometimes we need permission from strange sources

and sometimes little scribbles on a page translate viscerally into ideas

language is both for the meticulous user and the abuser

there is no deed or title for expression

i am both failure and success

X
.

Rough Hands (Guest Post)

Rough hands
Scrubbed clean
Spots of blood
Bare to be seen

Nervous smile.
Rosy cheeks.
Hand in mine
On leather seats.

Red hot heart
Pumping high
I thought I
Might call him mine

Blue blue eyes
Smiling sad
This is so good
I’ve got it bad.

I see flags-
Crimson red-
But his touch
Goes to my head.

I pray – I do
This is true.
Sparks and light
Please come through.

I don’t know
What to do
If he’s done-
Already through.

I’ve got too
many souls
Been close to
Too many holes.

And I’m still
Alone in the dark.
I’m still
Alone in the dark.

Those rough hands
Lit a spark.
So roll credits,
This fades to dark.

…though minutes long

blanketed by the sky blue

above the Earth immense

billowing trees verdant

dropping splashes of color bright

each one perhaps for my delight

seventy-seven irregular degrees

November ignored 

tomorrow reminds me that this is the last

time is short 

though minutes long

when you find yourself 

where you belong

bare feet sliding across bedrock mossy

water cold washing away the day

this moment stolen can’t exist tomorrow

you cannot borrow against what is not yours

for all the things displaced for tomorrow

surely regret will be your sorrow 

time is short though minutes long

what is surely yours is a song

you choose your verse

until its end

X

.

Honeyed Silence (Guest Poem)

There’s a buzz in the sun,

Under harsh light and heat.

Then stars shine, work is done,

Until dawn heralds a repeat.

And there, in shadowed night,

Held in sweetness’ embrace,

A calming chill of what might

Become in this honeyed place.

Meticulous and structured comb,

Like the life you built amongst the buzz,

Your honeyed embrace feels like home,

Silencing the harshness of what was.

Did You Ever (Guest Poem)

I told you I was going to bed hours ago.

I’m still wide awake and it’s almost tomorrow.

The absence of your words screams at me.

The deafening cry of your lacking intensity.

I remember you professed a strong preference

For concrete actions over eloquence.

But emoting my messages doesn’t count

And otherwise sparse deeds still leave doubt.

I think you like my smile when it’s directed at you;

You approve of my resume for blood so blue;

And you think you’ve got me around your finger.

I think I haven’t got any more reasons to linger.

There must be better, something better than this,

An arrangement where my needs matter like his.

Somebody who could hear my words and care

About the heart that so bravely put them there.

I don’t fall in love with titles, fast cars or banks

I don’t care about your grandaddy’s professional rank.

My heart holds the things you can’t touch or see,

And I expect to get that in return, equitably.

I asked for clear expectations and kind words.

I asked to claim time and what we already were.

I never yelled but told him I was watching to see

If he’d give love that felt meaningful to me.

At this point, it’s clear, he can’t or he won’t;

The result is the same. I hurt, you know?

And the answer doesn’t matter but I’ll ask him anyway:

Did you ever really want me that way?

Driving Past Your Home (Guest Poem)

I hate how I feel driving past your home

But I hate how I hate it even more.

So close but still a million miles away

Like rolling dice in a game I can’t really play.

I’ll keep everything you ever left with me

Wasn’t much – since it was just six weeks-

But you can take all the couldas and shoulda

Because I exhausted my words and my wouldas.

There’s no empty space, but there coulda been.

Everything’s out of place, right where it’s always been.

I filled up on ‘almost’ while you topped up my glass

Till my cup was empty-then I was on my ass.

Could you please move away from here?

Or turn back the clock, close the gap, bring me near?

You were half leaving while still trying to stay.

So close – but a million miles away.

F r I n g e

F r I n g e

I look out on the vast fascinating world.

A stranger’s glimpse.

I see the mercurial beauty.

I am its refugee.

Recalling the passionate colors is a melancholy endeavor.

To tingle, to anticipate, to experience.

Undiscernible to compass or GPS.

Out there, unpinned, a piece of me travels.

To own a beautiful house in which you can’t reside.

A banquet table flowing to the edge.

A fleeting moment, hopefully to subside.

Love, X