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.

Catatonic

This Poem suffered catatonia
at first, tried to hide in a corner
of my mind, screamed for them
to be left alone, unexposed
and
Oh, look. Look. Scarves. Yarn. Leave Us Alone!
safe.

This Poem suffered catatonia.
A shared hell in a dwelling
of their solemn choosing
and the place
of my ultimate demise.

Dissection

Every book dissected,
every paragraph on every page
scrutinized,
parsed, paused and pondered
on sentence structure
on the writing in the spaces
between and below
I saw their flaws
like shooting stars on cloud-free nights,
sparkly like the diamond I gave away,
I saw their flaws and failures bulging
like a tin of fermented herring;
dissected, dismembered, dismayed
I deemed them –
geniuses.

The Letter

Wingless and chained,
you detached yourself
handwriting a leaving letter
in my scribbling notebook,

rattled and rusty
I still keep it,
my attachment still remain
to you and your final words

which one day I will force
down my throat
to break your curse
that stuck like lovers’ lips embracing,

force them down my throat
to find courage
to find another
bird of a feather.

The Happy App

Search, search, try to find
the happy app
the sustainable solution
to solitude.

Search, search, try to find
benevolent breadcrumbs
left by others on this shared path
from solitude.

Search, search, try to find
measurable meaning
once found in abundance
beyond this rigid purdah.

Search, search, try to find
the happy app
the fictitious act
of belonging.

Lust for Life

no steaming calzone
no empty calories
can sustain my starving souls

no lingering smoke
no uncaught coughs
can dim my vacant sights

no white pellets
no seasonal sanity
can sway my straying corpse

no back-alley bright enough
no seductive sea calm enough
to rekindle my lust for life

Unsung, my song of hope:
feed me
find me
free me
from these grey demons’ control.

Summertime Madness

In summertime the trees are full of song
and under golden rays I do belong,
like finding once again my long-lost ball
the target now before the nightly fall
to see again her dancing down the lane
and hold her hands as lovers always do
exuberantly,
I chase her down like many done before
but fall upon her swaying skirt a fool,
a girl no longer wanting to see me
I dream about tomorrow’s trees in song.

The Shadow of the Tail

Away – my only direction is away,
far far away
from this, from now,
from everything before the next
fall, the next rise to pursue
the shadow of the tail, to get away
from a self – in constant pursuit.

The Klock & The Klown

The old creaking rocking chair,
like your silent childhood clown
would never stop swaying,
never stop squeaking,

never become more than
another trusted old friend
the unwound grandfather clock
would abandon,

as the child sought answers
where no bottles were allowed,
where no pipes would remain unclean
for long,

and so the child sought and searched
in every cranny and in every nock
in every port of creation
only to find a wailing wooden horse

with a drunk clown upon it,
desperate to alight and find comfort
in the billowing smoke as the sea swelled
and the child soaked

in the last bottle left open.

And the Bell Tolled

It’s a quarter to cremation
it’s half past life
and the longer I remain here
the further I float,

with my eyes open wide
my beck becomes a river
white and purging my scarred skin
from any traces of a lucid life,

and the river becomes a lake
and the lake becomes the sea,
and freshwater fish turns salty
in this my reality,

where the quarter bell tolls
just in time.

House of Pain

Is it still there,
the green chirping world
beyond the grey window panes.

Curtains,
I remember curtains fluttering,
an invisible hand of fate tracing
the lines of black and white;
I remember soiled curtains,
maybe grey stains – and a Dragon’s Breath.

Is it still there,
the salient sign of life beyond the creaking fences
dividing us
from them.

Carpets,
I remember soft carpets slowly coming alive,
becoming sentient and hating everything;
I remember soiled carpets,
magnolia on magnolia
maybe magnolia stained – and a Shark’s Tooth.

Is it still there,
the spell cast, the breadcrumbs left for you
to find your way back into the fold.

Door,
I remember the open door,
the keys dropped and your one-line note;
I remember a door now closed –
with only a fading memory of someone
once loved.

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