Sometimes —
In a world full of sirens and
clatter,
a perfectly timed silence,
that pause in the chatter,
speak louder
than those injected sounds of
violence.
Category Archives: poems
Repetition on Repeat
I love repetition; I can really get into it.
I love repetition; I can really get into it.
I love repetition; I can rarely get out of it.
Repeat…
Noisy Whisper
Those choice words; from under breath, you told.
Then, from over yonder, someone screamed, ‘who the f***?’
It was a perfectly timed coincidence, but your blood ran cold.
Days Are Numbered
My days are numbered
But I can’t count on it
Even though one is alone
Two’s company
Three’s the magic number
Four can be dirty
Five can be high!
Six can be nine
Seven is somehow lucky
Eight likes its own reflection
And for some nine means no
Tenfold!
Jack and Gillian (No letter T)
Jack and Gillian progressed up a hill,
For a pail of H20.
Jack fell down and broke his crown,
And Gillian came nose-diving behind.
As a consequence Jack ran home,
As quickly as he could.
He was wrapped up in bed, plus a bandage on his head,
Soaked in vinegar and brown paper!
Gillian laughed aloud maniacally!
As Jack curled up like a ball.
Gillian cried, ‘We’re very ill you see Jack!’
Jack said ‘Yes, I agree… And my name is Paul!’
Firesky!
At an aggressive speed
I was losing my way
I was feeling so alive
Seeing what could never be
The atmosphere burned red
And so I thought of what will be
…from now on
I noticed then what I never see
Chrome slithering roads and bloodied sky
With all moistures weeping in blue
Rolling, cruising, endless
On and over flattening mountains
This is what I’m telling you
Those slow buildings in green
I’ve finally found out what I almost lost
And sensed what I had never seen
All around while dissolving out
Through and into the Firesky!
You, I’m Not Yourself, to Me.
I’ve been told,
repeatedly,
by you,
that I don’t know who you are anymore!
Then you said yes,
yes I know!
and that I’ve told myself that,
many times before!
The First Flight of the Flightless Bird
Dren is a bird of that he knows and that is all.
He has no wings and his beak is useless and small.
What makes him a bird is his willingness to fly,
He dreams only this before it’s his turn to die.
As he looks to the heavens he sees robotic flight,
He reads up on his finding for endless days and a night.
Dren takes a test and now a pilot he can be sure,
This is a remedy to his miserable life of before.
As the plane goes up he remembers he’s a bird and sings
Then he opens his hatch and shits on my belongings.
The Sigh
You’re shallow breather,
and your thoughts are without tongue.
Once, your eventual sigh blew the leaves off a tree,
then you said,
‘It was just a breeze!’
Old Rain
Rain,
a sister to her brother
mercury,
tapping on my windows
like tiny bombs,
with a message that’s simple,
‘It’s raining!’
Naturally, I understand,
as clearly as the water itself,
for silent prehistoric rain
gains no respect.
I Eat Let.ers 