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.

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I’m sorry but I can’t relate to that

a response I use more and more frequently.

Is life not suppose to make us grow? Not just make us feel inadequate and somehow missed out on all the fun?

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The only drawback with writing too varied and too unstructured is that people in general tend to dismiss the writing as being all the same, which could in fact be the case but rarely is…

me // thinking about writing with a cup of freshly brewed java. It is yet another Sunday almost gone.

Blue Bells

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Blue bells

beneath the apple tree

I climbed

In childhood dreams

Windfall

Ripe for scrumping

and pie

unfinished poem #1

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imperiallefty:

What were we looking for in the fog of each other’s eyes?
What were we reaching for in the mists of our pasts?

I have to admit to having a soft spot for Mist…

A

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The Arts

The ever encompassing (f|t|p)arts

Compelling as the mist at dawn

The sunrise over a desert mound

The divine infinitude

Embraced

From dawn the ghosts arises

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Their lederhosen

Whip

Whips

Whipses

> > > I AM

Scarred // bleeding // waving !!!¡¡¡!!!

One-eyed Jack smiles (*)

The single knife sharpened

Chastising my limbs

Chirping with open arms

Embracing nichts

The bird of pray

The Lord’s final

Measure

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