nubthousands of wasted wordsand still no poems
lovemy joy in you was short livedmy sorrow everlasting
the open roadthe road beckonsand I will answerI will ride Highway 65until my gas money gives outand leave my tired Buickin a soft ditch with the kudzuI'll walk until I finda place that touches me a soft patch of cool grasswith a view of the whole big sky a quiet placewhere I can lay myself downand no longer weepwith wearinessthe stars will shine downfrom the sea of nightand I'll smile whenI close my eyesknowing I can nowrun onforever
Tank Away 11The winter solsticehas passed. Winter nights will shorten,hearts warming with hope.And from the soft, hushed darkness,a new sun begins to rise.
running errandsit's not theeggs or milkor breadthat I'm afterit's the soundlonelyis quietand whenthe silencescreamsI mustfill itwithother people'snoise
dreamerhe's goneever searching forgreener pasturesand she droopslike a flowerin the rainwaiting againfor hisreturn
incalculablehe's good to mewe eat at nice placesand never arguehe's gentle in bedbut he isn't youwe lived onpeanut butter,ramen noodlesand the world fadedwhen you cameinto viewdisappeared utterlywhen you took mein your handshe loves meyou almost killedme with your leavingbut if you roared backinto my world tomorrowhe'd be forgotten bythe time we reachedthe highway
lightlesssince you've goneyour memory lay upon my worldlike a shadow across the suna point of impenetrable darknessfor which there isno remedy
revenantsome nights,dreams aren't enoughwhen the acheruns deep,I need more thanremembered embraces,imagined trysts,more than hopesof tomorrow, next week,next yearI want the truthof your bulkbeside me whenI turnin the dark,the realityof warm skinnot my own,the unknowingof lonelybut you're not here(and no one else will do)so I willtoss and turnin the cold armsof my dreamingonce more
YieldAutumn cloaks a darkling soulIn half-truths of vermillionCrimson, scarlet, amber, goldBeneath a blue pavilionAutumn hides its old grey bonesIn cupboards filled with snail shellsSkeins of birds and garden stonesWhere every half-lit secret dwellsAutumn’s guise is gossamerThistledown in parachutesRushing waters’ dulcimerAnd reed-song veil its bitter fruitsAutumn’s spirit is occultMelancholy, insidiousIt offers balmy days’ exultThen turns to storm, perfidiousAutumn’s altar smells of rainLeaf-mold, woodsmoke, rot and rustI yield to darkness in the veinDisease, decay, and ruined trust
rain angellie down on the smooth footpathit has been warmed by the sun formany hourslie down and feel the heat againstyour back and the ants that beginto crawl through your dry hairrelaxand read the skyspread out your arms on the footpath andgaze aheadinto the roiling black heavensjust wait there, wait until theyopen upon yougentleand warmand humblingblotting circles pattern around you until the sky and the path are painted the samebut for a smiling rain angel where you liesheltering beneath youand that strong, heady scent of petrichor that surrounds youcomfortingeverything becomes wetcarbon, concrete, chlorophyllthe tickling ants run for shelter and youbecome freelet this all-consuming deluge wash you awayforget the nuances of a crowded, bustling lifemoney, jobs, responsibilitieshuman injusticefor just a few minutes while the warmth fadesyou don't need to be afraidyou are a child of the earthsmilejust breatheand free your mindwhen you are done and drenchedrol
Low Newton-by-the-sea, October 2014 (18th - 24th)a)(i.e, Day One)Egg seaweed;Ocean burst firstfrom eggs called seashells.The Kraken, a baby prawn.Ceramic fans from pre-Japanopening up the primordial pearl.Sedimentary rocksoftens to pub-food Swiss cheese.Barnacle pastry breaking, crackingopen to reveal dinosaur-wells,excavating the latticework of the sea.Neptune’s portcullis.Underneath are the oceans that separatedto rock pools. Rebel lakes whocut the murk-mahogany woods underneathwaves. One such “weed”,an octopi’s maple leaf,lies shipwrecked on a driftwood-dry shore.The stalk of a crab, breathing outdeep blue treacle from its crimson roots.The beach thins to a kitchen knife,stretching into a submerged pointbefore everything becomes liquid.Cutting awaythe foamy fat.b)(i.e, Day 2)The sun lumpeda dollop of overexposed butteron to the sea, blinding meto go the other way.It’s a mini Gobi,sandbox Sahara,wet desert safely nearthe Blue Drink.The wind shoves me forwardto shak
Sunny DayIt's brightThe cool breeze runsAround meTo remind myselfThat it is alright.A gentle hand toGuide me through the daySmiling at me from above.The warmth is a blessingCleansing myselfOf the impurities I feel.Nature is a sweet blissWe take for granted.
imitationbut the night sky isnever black, it's always navy blueand i don't know ifthat's the moon's doingor the streetlights'
O'sObscure Octopus Often Ogles Omniously
Rise and ShineRimmed in darkness,the sun edges overthe horizon and shakesoff the remnants of night,a bright orange plate ona dark blue tablejust in time forbreakfast.