07First the bold, brash, brilliant liar – Face embellished with alien stars, Tongue as soft as spider-breaths (my own insipid contours are unendingly inadequate).07
Second, the elegant reflection, Languid eyes plated with gold, Limbs loosened to chase, catch and consume – A death concerned with etiquette.
Third, in prime of place, The queen, the bishop
06All that all have ever known Is gradually unpeeled, And all that I might ever know Could never now be real.06
Dissect and disinfect my mind, Smoke out all my senses, Until your scalpel-hands have climbed Past all my defences.
Purge all mine to purity - Motionless in white -
Until you find such purity Has drowned in deepest light.
05I.05
The bees picked up from my garden In the swelt of an August noon; To leave such loose blossoms behind And fly – Pallid in death, As they swell in their race To touch the tarpaulin sky.
I watch them lumber, now Through air congealed With ghasts of smoke And a meagre scant of sorrow. And my heart might stop for fear of a future.
II.
Such love was like a fire – A touch that scarred a blazed redemption; Pleasure in pain and raging glory. Such a violent anguish &n
Chess game
The ClicksThe ClicksThe Clicks
Click. Click. Click. That was always how the dreams had begun for Robert. The clicking of a car along cold steel tracks accompanied by anxiety attacks (mainly due to the lack of seatbelts) had haunted him for three years running. Every night with the click click click and Robert had just recently contemplated taking a jump out of his window just to make it stop. Click. Click. Click. He tried once. One foot out the window and his best friend Amy walked through the creaky apartment door. She coaxed him off of the window ledge, but soon after, all he could hear out of her mouth was clic
Poems are one of my favorite things in the world. It's easier to praise things you know about than those of which you know nothing, and I know nothing about writing poems, so bear with me.
Your poems are breathtakingly poignant. I'm envious of your ability to write gems like you do. Does it come easy, or natural? It must, at least to some extent, when you assess your work.
Honestly, don't stop writing.
I hope you'll keep your poems coming! You're very good.
(I'm going too add you to my watchlist.)
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