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.

small request

Poetry Drafts / / By

I am experimenting with using pictures instead of plain text for my poetry postings on Tumblr. The main reason being the never-ending text formatting issues on Tumblr and the restricted tweet size on Twitter. 

The pictures will be automatically generated for the format to be consistent in all posts. I have already made a few postings and would like some feedback on the current format. Font / font size / decoration … good? bad? I already know the content needs improvement 😉 but feedback on the aesthetics would be much appreciated.  Send me a message or leave a note on a post if you prefer. 

Cheers!

a morning like many others

Poetry Drafts / / By

Mirror, mirror, face anew
Upon blue skies an eye of
                                    gold,
Mirror, mirror, face awash
Renew this day my lust for
                                       life,
Mirror, mirror, face of old
Those fading eyes seen much
                                   and more,
Mirror, mirror, faceless fool
Prepare thyself for your darkest
                                       thoughts

Craving No More

Poetry Drafts / / By

The little boy in a candy store 
a faded sign saying closed,
after hours; after dark
his mind craving more

The young man in a public house
a faded sign saying closed,
after hours; after dark
his mind craving more

The old man in a bottle shop
a faded sign saying closed,
after hours; after dark
his mind craving more

The ghost of a man at heavenly gate
a faded sign saying closed,
after hours; after dark
his mind craving no more

Poetry Drafts / / By

sailing in silence

…

silence. stirring. silence … silence.

…

“ALL THE WORLD’S A STAGE…”

…

and it never became more than a monologue, even if the stage at times were filled with ghosts of those that I abhored …

…

…

To count the ages, a single hand did not suffice, I used my two and then broke off; two thumbs and a bird in flight.

…

…

It became apparent; to those that cared to read; I had come the full circle; I had sailed the seven seas.

Poetry Drafts / / By

The shit doesn’t have to

stop.

Let it go;

let it flow.

The pipe and the easterly breeze,

I carry dice

but never roll.

The shit doesn’t have to

stop.

But the Now; it has to

Poetry Drafts / / By

I am becoming more worried

about not being at all worried

about giving up a lifetime of working

about money coffers eventually dry out

about mortgage payments needed

about the inevitably of rough sleeping

I am becoming more worried

but not a lot else

I’ve given up the fight

I’ve given up on dreams

I am becoming more worried

but not a lot else

Scroll to Top