Poetry Blogs (2020, loss)
Echoing words through my head
Of all the sweet things that you said
Of times and memories of what we used to do
Just a little thing to see me through
My dear, it's clear
We aren't what we used to be
My dear, I fear
That’s the way it’s supposed to be
Blurred lines are once again made clear
It’s you with her
And me with him
That’s the way it should be in ...
Tuesday 18th February 2020 3:44 am
The greying morning
Barked like a dog
Trapped in a well
A sound so hollow
It shattered glass
In the cabinet where
She kept her memories
Tied in knots
The braying moon
Shone silver needles
Into the face
Of the weeping child
Screwing its hooks
Into soft flesh
Making the lanterns
Quiver with rage
In the ragged garden
Tuesday 11th February 2020 12:08 am
The rain falls
My soul weeps
All the secrets we keep
Thursday 23rd January 2020 5:02 am
She was a spectacular tree.
People called her the flame of the forest,
for she was obviously striking, vivid and classy.
I need not narrate the superlative majesty
of the flame – tree, for one time or the other
we have all been breath-taken by her peerless glamor.
What matchless artistry!
I am here to quickly share
my ruminative gloom for that lovely assembly
of flower, leaf and wood, which grandly stood
Wednesday 22nd January 2020 2:44 pm
Is it still love when the cracks fill with lies?
And you know that you shouldn't crave their presence,
But they make you feel alive.
Is it still love when you long to break away?
But the notion of their absence compelles you to stay.
Is it still love when you try to forget?
But nothing will fill the void that they left.
Thursday 9th January 2020 10:21 pm
it’s 6:21 and when I look out my window from the corner of 29D,
there’s a subtle hue of blood orange outlining what looks like the perimeter of
and a breeze of clouds, lighter than feathers, so thin, as if it forgot to carry the mist it was designed to pour tonight
but that’s okay, because it found itself a new purpose:
your shrewd orange spirit is now perf...
Sunday 5th January 2020 6:22 am
We track the oblique, sly fireflies
that keep popping fitfully by.
While life swarms invitingly by the side
we remain rabidly hustling
those brusque cracking stars
...shifty, deceptive, volatile
in onyx-bronze, raven nights
We: the tenderfoot novice
bulldozed on many a graceless trip
half-cocked, peripheral, stoned
and profoundly ill with pitiful
Friday 3rd January 2020 2:57 am