metaphorically speaking a kooky dream bounces between erotic romance turned gripping taboo restrained, repressive struggling to contain her destructive rage, she falls unkempt in blood slightly deranged a killer on the loose
Posts Taggedpoetry
I’m not dreaming
This isn’t finished, but I thought I’d share it with you anyway as a sort of working out loud post. Plus my brain is fried right now. I can barely string these few sentences together….
in a view that looks the same
in a view that looks the same nothing changes except time the rain washed away the early morning silence leaving in it’s passing patches of white like tiny barren islands are all that remain of…
On the fate of gods and men
Is it true all men must die? How many faces will you meet before you meet your maker or your fate? Faces of me Faces of you Faces of each other as one because we…
On Damaged
Isolated by my own strangeness I try to bridge the unbridgeable gap between us You with your good looks and blonde hair, ice-blue eyes that beguile bewitch behead those with courage to look longer than…
A Kiss Is
I’m sure if we closed the distance between us we’d kiss. And that kiss would be the beginning. And that kiss would be the end. A kiss is never just a kiss.
Stroke My Terror
You don’t want to go where this leads I dropped my airpod on your breasts You never give me your honey but the coffee you serve is the best I stroke my terror to find…
And that’s the trouble with poetry
I awoke this morning to the hammering sound of rain. Just what you want out of your Monday morning – dark, wet, gloom. I made a batch of strong, dark coffee to match the mood….
Some things change; some things stay the same
I’ve decided to blow up my blog theme again and try something new. Actually I’ve had this theme for a while, just never used it. I’m undecided as to whether to do full blog post…
Nightmare hooligan
I wasted many years chasing windmills and waterfalls. Now I finally act my age, and my friends feel uncomfortable when I’m serious. So I play the clown, the eternal court jester, the fool. I’m a…
Emily Dickinson
I finished reading a selected work of Emily Dickinson’s poems. She wrote over 1800 poems in her lifetime, although only a handful were published while she still breathed. I found it helpful to read about…
One more wink
A lone car rumbles down the street the morning yawns you pretend to sleep not ready for the hustle just one more wink
Something new
I’m dog tired tonight. Weekends make you weak. The only thing keeping me awake right now are three pieces of spearmint gum and the promise of watching Walking Dead later tonight. I have some neat…
A different kind of war
I felt like reading some Bukowski over lunch. I landed on the poem Mademoiselle from Armentieres. It’s a contrast between old wars and new wars. All boys like to romanticise war. There’s something in our…
reminisce – 1st draft
She reminisced in my name. Fire, meltdown and the sanity they let lose in a tangled abstract fantasy of post apocalyptic let down. She reminisced in the attic for the wind, the damned, and the…