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I Died Yesterday...

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I died yesterday

With a pen in one hand and a diary in the other. 

The latter's pages were inlaid 

With prints of my curry stained fingers, 

And splotches of tea, 

And smudges of ink, 

And spools of memories,

And streams of ridiculous cravings. 

I fashioned the contents with the loose threads 

I'd been stockpiling since forever. 

Vibrant, prismatic, but half-completed...

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artdeathdiarymemoriesPoetrysecrets

Tired and Weary I Exist like A Journey Without End

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My imaginary friends comfort my loneliness. To say they are imaginary isn't quite right but I have no labels that fit.

They sit with me and watch my dreams as I sleep. 

Nothing can truly satisfy my desires. So I try to rest in the place that they are born from. 

 I feel so weary with life. The possibility of being incarcerated or persecuted a constant shadow. If I gave up drugs and alcoho...

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aphorismsdiaryFragments

A Day in 100 Thoughts

10th October 2018

 

The radio speaks, it's daylight, I'm wakened

A momentary pause: consciousness beckoned

Sunlight on the trees says late Autumn Summer

More news on Brexit and the policy's dumber

The bins must be put out for the lorry

I had better get up, it's late and I'm sorry

There's news of a flood and a broke coffee chain

I'll email a poem to friends up the lane

...

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100 thoughtsdaydiaryeventsthoughts

Poetry is a Mediocre Diary


There is no good way to really start a poem
and by far
This is the third time I've tried to find a line to begin this
Which will never be the line that could best cooperate with myself
to get what I want. 

 

So I could start my push
into talking about several things
Like how literary poetry is so different in nature to slam poetry, and why I think
both are good
But one is fine art,...

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AbuseConnor LannesconsiderationDiarydomestic abuseThoughts

This Book Is Bound In Leather And Writ In Blood

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This Book Is Bound In Leather And Writ In Blood

 

this book

leather bound

once soft skin cover

now weathered and beaten

into cracked and ancient hide

that smells of cedar wood

 

once tightly bound

now coming apart

at the seams

its pages yellowing with age

some dog-eared

well worn

with a tracing finger

on the memories

others

stuck together

wi...

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a lifebiographydeedsdiarylibrary of heavenrecording a life

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