Category Archives: poetry

Night and Day

poetry, Uncategorized, Words, , , , , ,

The day is the same as the night,

Except at night there’s less natural light.

And so the night is the same as the day,

But the day lends itself away.

 

Then if the day is the same as the night,

The night hides the obvious from sight.

Only the moon outstays its welcome,

Hanging there as a forgotten kite.

 

Not can be said of the moon and the sun,

The moon controls the night and tides for fun.

The sun is the day and directly cannot be seen,

Improves your mood and raises self-esteem.

 

Without these forces then where would you be?

Are you a tree hugger or drawn to the sea?

Do you have a connection? Receive power from the moon?

Will you run to the sun, be a shadow by noon?

 

Frog In Fog

creative writing, poetry, Uncategorized, Words, , , ,

Do as I do said a frog in the fog,

and he flopped into a pond.

How lucky was he,

for he couldn’t look beyond.

Do as I do said the frog in the fog,

and he leapt out to dry.

How lucky was he,

for he didn’t even try.

Do as I do said the frog in the fog,

and he swallowed a fly.

How lucky was he,

for his word is no lie.

Do as I do said the frog to a toad,

suddenly some lights; dazzled, he froze.

The toad belched, you’re in the damn road!

The frog in the fog, so it goes.

Halloween on the East Coast of Nowhere

poetry, Words, , , , ,

In the descending fog, someone’s getting lost. Late night tales are telling, Hell-o-ween, I said! How’s my spelling?

It’s the trick and no treat, that slow knock on the door, from no-one. Those masked, silent at your gate, come on now kids, pack it in! It’s getting late!

Do they celebrate death and worms? Tell me what you heard, what you saw? Now tell me again, ok, prove it to me, I want the gory details, do you see!

Because, everybody in the house might scream! And something in the house might go arrrrgh! One by one in the house they will go!?! Hello? Anyone left?

We love the scare; we love the violence, for it’s a full moon tonight, how nice – (silence).

Untitled Morning

creative writing, Flash Fiction, poetry, , ,

I awake from sensitive sleep. I’m out of tune to the bed-sheet; like magnet

against a magnet, not yet fully formed to be part of this new day.

My right hand is a cutout, a hole; in shape of a hand on the edge of

substance.

I attempt to grab for my duvet, but my hand sinks through it; as if softer.

Then, like warm sands engulfing cold, ancestral rock, my hand slowly returns to

me, as I watch it closely re-generate; appreciation of owner-ship is fulfilled,

and it proceeds to move by my own accord; to turn off the irritating alarm!