I Will Not Write Today

I will not write today,
I will not write this week, this month or at all,
I will not scribble or scrawl
my feelings are not new or original,
my thoughts and musings hackneyed,
my hurt is felt by all,
one time or another,
my brother,
my sister,
why not just this time
let it go?,
let the feeling fade with my thoughts?
not immortalize it,
in failing words and inadequate verse.

The Life and Death of Music

Plug in,
boot up,
lie back,
listen.
the conductor’s tap cues you in,
tap,
 tap,
  tap,
the melody begins.
the first strains of music alude your ears,
until high above the cosmic chatter,
a simple strain of notes sound high above the ruckus,
the whole world listens to this fledgling note,
enraptured,
waiting in silence, breathing in, out, in, out-
thump, drum and stick join,
they beat out a rhythm as two lovers,
two made for each other finding unity,
connecting in wild ecstasy,
they lead the procession,
as many others entwine,
in a glorious cacophony of melding sounds,
that lead you beyond human boundaries ,
into the pulsing ebb and flow of bliss itself,
floating to the membrane thin edge between life and fantasy,
forever in limbo entranced by the cascading euphoria,
but slowly line,
by line,
note,
by note,
the intangible notes fade,
leaving a pale ghostly reflection,
that ebbs away with the applause,
blank you turn,
click,
lie back,
listen,
the conductor’s tap cues you in,
tap,
 tap ,
  tap,

I feel like we are just waiting for something to happen

an entwining glance

eyes bound by the possibilities

a smile breaks the surface

the white whale

dazzling across my vision

an omen

drawn in

we are cut-off

we are alone together.

alonetogetherdrawnindazzlingacrossmyvisionasmilebreaksthesurfaceanentwiningglance

an awkward glance

eyes locked in thought 

I see nothing

the void

perfect in its block white

an omen

pulled in

I am cut-off

I am alone.

alonepulledinperfectinitsblockwhiteIseenothinganawkwardglance

I glance

she wilts beneath my eyes

A grimace scars her face

A black cat

smirking at my hope

an omen

forced in

cut-off

I am nothing.

Reflections on Self

I

he was born, 
delivered out of the hands of a stork,
into the manicured hands of his nurse,
the messiness was over,
here he had only to live,
to walk,
speak, 

eat,
learn.
with his amniotic parents bracing him
until he was truly birthed
at the forefront of originality
where the planning unravels
and he is known
to all but himself.

II

she was born
excreted out from her dying mother
onto the cold hard cobblestones
she was plucked from the depths of the stone
left to die day by day with each new mother
where she walked
spoke
ate
and learned
within the filth from which she was birthed
already abandoned, broken, at the steps of reality
she was pushed forward
unplanned and unwanted
she is unknown
to all but herself.

Denizens of Self

               On the outskirts of un-reality, out of time his
hair grows, each inch a landmark of living. Eyes open
                   only the ghostly light of monitor bathes
                his sullen body, which has sunk into the
             recesses of his shattered psyche. Dead,
                         to all but his fellow leeches of
                      the utmost despairs. Who see
                          oceans of turmoil lurking,
                         hidden, beneath the dire
                                 flesh of innocent
                                     unliving men
                                       mirroring
                                      themselves
                                       and laugh.

A Moratorium on Dreaming

Madcap dreams of long lost ghosts,
twisted visions of a face reveling in glorious sepia 
these memories a fog,
for future laments and past loves.
Who truly is the ghost?
I the grief-addled crater of a man?,
or he the face that flashes across my view?

madcap dreams of the merest of touches,
twisted visions of melancholy, once love.
love as real as the bed I rise in,
shaking,
crying,
willing myself to be lost to the sleep.

I wonder,
how long before I lose the memories?
and I am left,
with the bed I rise in,
gasping,
paralyzed,
willing myself to be lost to the sleep.
to madcap dreams of a single look,
twisted visions of need and want, for me alone.
but the tears taint my memory,
leaving only the wisp of a former beauty,
long faded,
but not long past.

This one is another reflective poem which I wrote in a fever-dream day and night my hands tapping away my petty emotions, but I hope you enjoy regardless of my cliched emotions

Starve, Go mad, or kill yourself.

I have lost myself,
each stroke of my pen,
each click of a key,
merely lives to extend your memory.
My thoughts extend to yours,
I think no longer for me but you,
your loves,
your hates.
I hate-
love you,
you stare at me with inky eyes,
in the reflection of the pixel dawn,
I see you looking back,
eternal in word and memory.
me?
I am hopelessly mortal,
and I choose to go mad,
staring into the centre of a bittersweet daydream.

Hi all, I haven't updated in a while, but I figured I would with one of my favorite poems I have written and it is dedicated to those who can't be with us in body, but are in mind.