Category: My Poetry
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Obsession
Obsession When I am fully wound, When I get going, When I dig in my heels and spin my wheels When all my ducks are set in a row And my batteries are charged, All I ever drink is cold coffee. No time for coffee. Focused as a hound on point, As scattered as a…
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Shattered
I am broken, Worn by ages And poor choices. The pieces are all there, But not in their accustomed place. They are unruly and misbehave. Is this voice still mine? The story I told you yesterday Is not the story I tell today. Is this hand still mine? Pulled by geppetto-strings They appear ghostly as…
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May I?
May I? Step onto the floor and dance with me For sheer joy of being together. Round and round all night Until the morning’s Intrusive light.
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Style
Lines erupt in staccato bursts Of bullet holes stitching a rural sign With rusted violent circles Heedless of the command to “STOP”. Each line adds to the cadence, Cadence becomes my metre. The metre is in the phrasing. The phrasing serves a purpose; To give pause for thought, Ideological parentheses, Encapsulate an idea And earn…
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Abra-ca-Dabra
What appears as an attempt to obscure Is really an attempt to reveal. These lines guide by misdirection And lead with double entendres. I juxtapose and interpose, I transpose, expose and compose, I propose many things I oppose many more And dispose of the rest. You’ve heard it all before But I want to tell…
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Shape Meaning & Memory
Shape Meaning & Memory SHAPE It’s a rock. Just a rock. An oblate spheroid Of unremarkable colour. Tiny shards of quartz Wink at me in the summer sun. Grains of sand still cling and Tiny creatures scurry from the cavity Where this rock once sat. If I turn it just so, It fits neatly in…
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What Shall I Tell You?
What Shall I Tell You? I would tell you about the things that I see. I have no profound truths to reveal, No wisdom of the ages No pronouncements from on high, Save a few insights and an occasional glimpse Of something that might be profound. But I see many things that others don’t. I…
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Not 9 to 5
Not 9 to 5 Poets have a job to do. It’s hard, frustrating work And it doesn’t pay well. The hours are erratic. The atmosphere is tense. Projects never end, Timelines are a joke, Management doesn’t care, And people come to laugh and stare As we scribe and scribble To no acclaim And little reward.
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Danger!
Approach with caution! This ice is thin And rushing waters swirl beneath My deceptive surface. This ice, once much thicker And able to bear the weight Of winter’s burden and yours, Is under siege. The sun above, the water below, This solitary bridge remains, Yet, it is mine And all that I have. I will…
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Moments
There are alarming moments When I hate myself for what I do: The pettiness, An unforgivable streak of mean, The desire to hurt instead of heal, A moment of blind obliviousness To a cry for help. If it will rise at a mere provocation, The slight ruffling of feathers, Then the most damning truth Is…
Palimpsest 