Category Archives: tragedy

Esoteric Ablutions

Hiding, secretly, covertly under the stairs, you think of ways to wash yourself. Sitting there, on a dusty mattress, pondering your cleanliness. No matter how many times you wash your hands… How can you be sure? Please enjoy the poem, friends.

Interregnum

Peridot and periwinkle,

pox and pax romana,

pleat and pedigrees,

all words that come to mind

and rest within that little wrinkle.

I do so miss

feeling that feeling,

the one I knew

could never last.

Perhaps you’d like to study

that peculiar way a heart shatters,

how the impact velocity

and momentum

change the shape of shards.

Maybe then you’ll find

what it is you’re looking for.

It’s funny,

in that funny little way

that things always are,

the way I know.

You think I don’t hate the way my mind works?

The way it bends and twists

and flexes and breaks,

over and over and over again,

spiraling down into the abyss,

locked forever

in phantasmic bliss.

Fleeting and illusory.

Perhaps two words

that in practice

would be found contradictory,

for how can a thing be fleeting

when it didn’t exist in the first place?

To be loved

is surely so

to be lost as well

upstream

without a paddle

heading towards the falls,

only there is no river down below,

but blackness

stretching down and down.

Throw a rock

and you’ll never hear the sound.

Love One, Love Lost

Morning, friends! Have a poem today that should hopefully evoke powerful feelings and forgotten memories. It does that for me, rereading it the once or twice that I have since its writing. This one means a lot. Please enjoy.

This Was A Home Once

This was a home once,

where haggard hands caressed tired thighs

and heavy lids covered tired eyes.

I still remember the feeling of the last time

when i held you into the morning.

Like we always do,

we forgot the time again.

I still remember kissing there,

where our lips touched so sweetly

as if to make the world melt away

like butter on the softest, warmest piece of bread.

I remember the bites

and the “I love you”s,

the ones you’ll never remember.

Those memories branded upon my gray matter,

their brilliant, beautiful marks

searing into my flesh.

I remember little dogs and fireflies

passing by the whites of our eyes

like the perfect porcelain of your skin.

I am but a man of stone and dirt,

trite in the face of such a sight,

your beauty and your grace

and those little blue eyes at the top of your face.

A woman of fire and gemstone,

alabaster and ivory;

how could I hope to fill your heart of gold

when I am but granite in the cold?

Wake Up! It’s Feeding Time!

Morning, everybody! Getting back into the groove after still feeling a little out of it. The poem today is one I think you’ll enjoy: a rhyming scheme, dark undertones, hopelessness, etc. I wrote it last night for no particular reason. Please enjoy.

Cavern

Under the soil

where men have toiled

something… roils,

sheathed in oil.

The black beast from the depths

comes to wake you from undeath,

and find the man who once swore

never a harm to a loved one’s door.

Failed did he

and suffer must we

for trespasses done

and battles not won.

His love once known across the sea

and carried upon the backs of bees,

now crippled and withered,

cut to pieces

by quite the scissor.

These sands now hear only buzzards.

Salted earth, like briny waves,

binds a man to dank, dark caves.

His mind in irons

and heart a siren’s,

he longs to see the sky again.

Feeling Sick But Doing Fine

Good morning, everyone! The poem today is one of my favorites from the past couple weeks. The way it comes together is like a forlorn love letter, brimming with nostalgia and pain. It twisted my heart to write it. I only hope it helps you feel too. Without further ado, I bring to you…

Munchausens – An Eleven Letter Word

Do your eyes grace the pages

that fill beneath my pen,

every inkblot a kiss,

every stroke a love letter,

just for you, my dear?

~

Does your mind wander

on over to me

where I fill your head

with lovely and sweet things,

always bringing back

my amnesiac?

~

Alas, my love,

these starry eyes,

in all their seeming candor,

bely that feeling most unkind.

~

And then you see

these tired eyes

and their bags of lies

Filled all to the brim with flies.

~

To feel rotten inside,

a feeling most sour

and nigh unfairly dour,

it eats at the psyche,

the ego its bread

and the id its cheese.

~

It makes a man unwholly holy,

and perhaps leaves him feeling wholly unholy

with but a sprinkling of that reminder

of being wholly unwhole.

Shifting Sands

We exist in a constant state of change. Any attempt to avert or subvert will only result in the same or another change, much like a single individual and their attempts to divert the sea. No matter the effort, no matter the expenditure, no matter the time, it continues. There is no such thing as a constant. Please enjoy the poem, I think you’ll like this one.

Those Deserted Places

A diary,

worn and faded,

old and tarnished,

its mothballed pages

and belabored words

bely importance lost to time.

That one whose thoughts lived between the covers,

in the binding,

and at the margins

now withered and old.

Closer now to dust than bone.

A child then,

so pure and true,

alive and well,

ancient now,

so cold and blue.

Those feelings

and those motivations

now part of the sand

that covers this land.

What secrets might be found in the dunes?