Poetry Blogs (2019, mortality)
I'm a cliché, a subtle curve in the great cycle of life.
I hold the same importance in the grand scheme of things
as a drop of water or a grain of sand,
yet an integral part of an ocean,
or a monolithic mountain boulder,
a particle of mist in a hurricane
Perhaps we take the form of a hybrid,
Thursday 27th June 2019 3:15 am
Fertility varies from place to place.
In my hometown, cilantro would take over
The yard if you weren’t careful. Some
People don’t like the smell, but I loved
The fragrant flood of mulch and pollen
Whenever I mowed. (It was the only joy
I found in mowing.) A cilantro haze
Always encircled by volunteer chilis
Standing as spicy sentinels guarding
The perimeter of the lawn with indifference.
Wednesday 15th May 2019 6:58 am
On a snowy day,
In a dimly lit street,
An ailing girl, utterly dismayed
Perches under the canopy of an enormous tree.
Looking towards heaven,
Her eyes well up a little.
Perhaps she’s waiting for someone special,
But all that comes to her are snowflakes, frosty and brittle.
She digs up the icy earth
With her gloved fingers.
And buries a white rose beneath the...
Wednesday 24th April 2019 6:39 pm
Mortality stalks me
like a jealous lover.
Breathlessly follows me
wherever I go, incessantly
banging a gong,
it won't be long,
come to me, let
the pain end.
My eternal soul sees
this game of mortal gods
and challenges me
to go where mortals
fear to tread...
Meditate in silent space
past the black hole,
to that ...
Tuesday 9th April 2019 5:35 pm
With eyes closed
I'm morning mellow
Survived another crash
the screech of a derailment
isn't mine this time
but it only gets later
in the day of my life
my luck must be spilling out
soon to all be spilled
Morning mellow, with eyes closed
at thirty seven
Beyond the pane
summer wind rips
licks at the glass
makes me feel small
and safe, for now
Tuesday 19th June 2018 11:46 pm
I see him at my window tonight.
The moon, full and bright
Casts his dark shadow onto an icy wall.
A familiar silhouette, unmistakable,
Pressed against the pane.
The cold melts his breath into feathery diamonds
Running in thin veins down the thick glass.
His face, hidden and veiled in black
Glances my way and nods;
I nod back
The glass no longer divid...
Monday 14th January 2013 4:43 pm
hear the sound of every rusted, blunted mace
as they greet and meet through gravity’s lack of grace,
each at thirty two point two,
the fateful rate of this heaving season
where fruits misplace a summer’s trust to kiss the dirt
and, where they fall, corrode and stall the wheels of love
for those we find untouchable
while yet our hearts may still enmesh, b...
Sunday 30th September 2012 10:27 am