Tag Archives: writing

Kindling

Back to when your bright, tinder eyes

stimulated the syllables to seep from my lips.

And when

the current of lust shocked my lips.

Addicted to the taste- we lock.

You untangled my hair and pulled me closer,

your other hand traced my jaw and stroked down.

Warming up, neck tilted and tickled.

Lingering.

I shake my head.

 

 

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Paranoia Never Retires When You’re Blind

A nocturnal songster whistles through the air.

I cut off my own ears in hope of some silence

but the torrent of white noise, with the piercing chorus, still rattles.

.

I thought that the bitter shower would wash away

the trodden paths in my mind.

Scalp-scratching and scouring my skin crimson -so raw- to strip the stress.

Terror bleeding from my skull and contouring my fragile frame,

flushed through the plug-hole.

.

Feeling frozen, I trembled into bed.

The thin fold of skin scratched my dry eyes

and the scars on my cornea altered an ugly collage

into something much more cursed.

A faceless shadow crawled across the ceiling

to laugh in the face of anxiety.

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That Swine Who Jammed The Rusty Gate

The gargoyles protect my silver crest-

the one that is tucked in a trinket box.

They whisper.

.

The piercing voices sew my mind.

And then they notice.

.

It was the bleeding that gave it away.

The bleeding of thoughts that seeped through the faulty key-hole.

And when it accumulated and poured,

like a stream of screams,

they stopped taunting.

.

Their attempt of mopping the clots off the page was more like

stabbing ink and scribbling words.

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Waiting for the white

The lilies that appeared

at my door

prematurely

didn’t wake

until I stopped

watching.

As I turned

my back,

they looked out of the rain-trodden window

and waited for my eager eyes:

to return; to massage the cold pane.

I’m waiting.

I must

until the lilies whisper-

when the gentle whisper turns into a breeze.

I’ll turn around and bathe in the aroma

of the soft, pure petals.

The nectar-filled, cordovan bananas balance from the arm and

I’m thinking of how the nectar will

stick to my palms like syrup,

how it will stroke every wrinkle of my hand.

I want to create a collage with my ox-blood stains.

lily

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Disorder

coffee

That caffeine high.

Coffee o’clock

insert creative fuel

#coffegasm Shhhh…

seduce my delusional heart.

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The best of two beautiful storms

The best of two beautiful stormsA little festival

between us.
This great invention

to display our emotions of wanting:

to turn pain on Earth

to make you smile

“I’m here for you”

you understand

there’s nothing left because you knew.

 

 

 

…I’ve posted this poem about 10 times and each time I post it the format looks awful. This is my final attempt of posting it so please forgive my poor soul if it appears shit.

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Vulnerable Creatures

A little bit of poetry before I rest and it becomes Monday.

20140629-232736-84456490.jpg

But we are all just daisies
waiting
to be plucked.

Even the most beautiful things are
damaged
and crushed
into oblivion.

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