battling a wooly throw
In the midst of a major battle fighting the longitude and latitude of a wooly throw I opened a package of Maryland cookies & all was well -- all was good
January 2020
the specifics
I have forgotten the specifics why I no longer saw you fit, fit to be the mother of my children & my wife in the eyes of the church I have forgotten the specifics why I no longer trusted your sight, the insight into finding value in the meager and the bleak of night I have forgotten the specifics why and to whom concerned, concerning the bereaved as much as the dead now adjourned I have forgotten the specifics of all which came to pass, this night now almost beyond us & and the dread from which we run I have forgotten the specifics of why I cannot be, if becoming was the purpose I have failed -- spectacularly
to break from traditions
there are days when the light, as perceived at the end of the tunnel, is more akin to surprise than sheer blesphamy this message, regardless of you faith, is a true statement of my intent, to support the heir royal in their pursuits of independence; and ultimately, their neverending happiness of wonders With H, and M and little G; why should we not support their move to break free, to break from tradition, from the chains of birth I for one hail them and their new pursuits
an open casket
a seasonal & good intention of a friend
to promote my writing ambition
providing another means to pen my intimate thoughts to paper
this night though I can only see an open casket
a celebration of that which could have been …
without tears shed —
the ink stains
with every passing
With every passing night, the king-sized bed I inhabit grows; in length & in width & the icicles therein extend beyond the frame of endeavours of possibilities.
With every passing drop of blood, the bottles I reflect in shrinks; in size & contents & the source of all that is becomes less the matter of fact than the truth of dreams.
With every passing remark I choose to silently suppress; the not said and thus unspoken: oh the blessed, the blessed words of silence lingering: begone you fickle being; begone and stay gone
my words are stewing
My words are stewing, words left rotting in a laundromat without coins; without value and time to dry To the core and beyond I compare me; me to thee and failure is all I perceive Nothingness will change into something-or-otherness & I will grow Grow beyond the words, the failure and the nothing which I am I bleed without shame of words & emptiness
2020 Blog Train!
2020 poetry blog train!
Every once in awhile it’s good to start a new blog train because a lot of accounts tend to go inactive or deactivate and we gotta stay up to date!
If you’re a poetry blog or a blog that reblogs/posts a lot of poetry, like & reblog this post so that others can find you and the work that you share!
I no longer regard this a poetry blog… I write, arrange letters into words, sentences if you arrange them further… I am not expecting much & therefore I do not receive as such, but when I do I live for another day; safe in the knowledge that I am not alone in this world
For the purpose of my sanity…
For the purpose of my sanity I do wish to express: my love for you I did possess, but somehow I forget… Forget, forgot to make it clear: to make the point, the point, the point was not as such particularly clear. I regret the lack of expression: of the love I did not convey. No doubt you did not notice me, as only silence lingered there. But now when all will never be told I do wish it to be said: that all I ever wanted was the you my heart held dear. So for the purpose of my sanity I hope I have made it clear: I once did love and that love was yours, & thus: it has been said
At Runnymede & Dundas
It was that time of year; of snow and hailstorm and abandoned tears, it was around the time you opened your mouth; no, not the yawning at the corner of Runnymede and Dundas, I found a growing sense of purpose just then and there; an awesome urge to stalk to follow to never let go I was found wanting -- forevermore