Author name: Hayden Veil

In an earlier incarnation, Hayden Veil enjoyed a successful career in software engineering, writing late-night poetry in pursuit of sanity. On 2 February 2020, the world of Hayden Veil changed: Ghosts became real and with its soul laid bare there was no turning back from the perpetual path of poetry.

Poetry Drafts / / By

Death rode in one blustery morning
Marking the coming of Shame,
The horse limp and striped
— tick tock & so they went

Barking up the write tree
Where ink no longer fade,
In sunlight their words stayed
Unstained,

Taintlessness in ambiguities
— and the uneven echo of history
Repeating itself as Death spake
Gingerly

‘Is there a House of Pleasures?’
‘It’s Limpy – needing a rest,’

The emphasis tainted by moonshine
And a red bottle cap
Left by the wayside
Way way desert way,

…

‘I only need a bath, and a pen
Cil
Cut
Sil
Ver is the House of Pleasures’
Death asked and Death stared
Down a barrel

Of a new beginning
Where wee Clouds of Shame
Saunter alongside savvy Selfies
Tapping along to trumpets
Blowing out their own ass.

Death rode in one blustery morning
Marking the coming of Shame.
Alas, no horse just a wannabe bronco
Z could have found some fame
Knowing Death — and the poetry
That could have been.

Poetry Drafts / / By

The poetry was only found
In the unwritten,
The omitted
Words carried the burden
The dead donkey
Left behind
.

Poetry Drafts / / By

Outstretched, like a beggar’s arm
The red rod dangles glistering keys
Enticing an abandoned kingdom of surprises.
The prickly path of the piscatorial
Points towards rainbow’s end
A box — alas — unlocked & looted.

Outnumbered, by slippery silver shadows
In a deep and shallow dance
Of artistic abandonment
— Oh, such bewilderment!

Outwitted, … …
… … *sigh* …
… like a breadcrumb in the sand.

Poetry Drafts / / By

I Lvst

I lust

Lust for the marginal
Being on the same page,

Teeter slowly
In a dance of aging tethers

Weep as slow slacken threads
Wither and pray

For another page
To curse

Poetry Drafts / / By

A Feigned Resignation

A sad congregation of Pretenders
Strutted across a summer’s stage
While the silent morning mirror reflected
The lone pretender
Gawking,

Gawping
Into space
In a Feigned Resignation
At Summer’s inevitable End,

*guitar solo*

‘I am not on fire,’ the boy of eleven said.
The Four Firemen of the Apocalypse disagreed,

The Hose of Infinite Squirts
Slaked the source of all powers
But but but the Hug of Infinity
Floated away in a soapy bubble

Towards no end.

Poetry Drafts / / By

Blotchy Beige

Life – an endless stream of rehashed thoughts

Thought dressed in virgin white

Brown hashed thought
Left sizzling & discarded
Thoughts festering
In the lining of a virgin’s coat

Life – an endless stream in blotchy beige

Poetry Drafts / / By

For aeons I wandered
The wilderness of fools,
Roamed the ragged roads beyond
Never questioning the goal.

Faceless — speechless
Beside a faceless crowd
In a silent shadow dance
Along a winding promenade.

Now I see only familiar faces
The haggard and delineated traces
On friendly aging faces
And a recognition of my own

My rocky road is closing
The circle made complete
Returning to the seedling field
For roots to spread — with hope.

Poetry Drafts / / By

My life —
Contained in 53 boxes
Brown recycled boxes
With sticky tape
Brown sticky tape
White sticky tape
Careful handling please
And sticky fingers taped
Brown sticky tape
White sticky tape
Wrapped around pulsating fingers.

My life —
Contained in 53 boxes
Is moving on.

Poetry Drafts / / By

Back when we first met I said I wanted to read Dale Carnegie’s How to Win Friends and Influence People and you questioned my moral guiding principles, the state of my current health and suggested no remaining wit. 20 years later the book is still unread and you spend you days vlogging trending tips to the credulous.

Poetry Drafts / / By

They said we were like two peas
In a pond, large enough
To never meet
To never greet
The other pea no matter how sweet

And so started the year of painful jealousy

They said they were like two peas
In a pod — but we were swimming
Our independent strokes
Made waves in a pond large enough
To never meet.

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