Category: My Work
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Prose Disguised As Poetry
Prose Disguised As Poetry All this time I’ve been fooling myself. What I thought was poetry Was simply prose in pieces, Phrase-able chunks of idle fancy Reduced to tired sound-bites That looked pretty on paper. As poetry, It ranks a pretty solid F-. Although, I am my harshest critic. When looked at through the filter…
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How?
How? How does one become a poet? Where does this arrogance arise That I would propose such a thing? It is a label bestowed by others, not mine And fraught with much unpleasant baggage. Effete and dilatorious dilettantes Playing at sophistication Spouting free-verse nonsense Only to become the fools Consumed by their own passions. But…
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Nonsense
Nonsense All I do is write about writing, A task I find most inviting. I will stay at my work Tho you call me a jerk And continue my Palimpsest citing.
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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…
Palimpsest 