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

Morning Coffee

Ah! The smell of morning coffee,
unlike her cheap perfume last night
it makes me want to see
another day, another way
ahead.

Ah! The dripping from dunking
this stale bread, like our conversations
it softens with time.

Ah! The whispers under white sheets,
like raging torrents in the pine forests
made of sterner stuff than I
am.

Ah! The dreams again find their way
into the grey matter, hard as rock
like the place of my solitaire for you
presently occupied by another’s.

Ah! The smell of morning coffee.
Without it, what would I be?

Poetry Drafts / / By

Snakes

I fry my madness in lard,
charred pieces awaits you,
yummy yummy you,

I toast my sorrow over virgin fire,
sprinkle thinly on melting ice cream,
sweet sweet betrayal,

I down my final pint, drown on dry land,
my cheers and two-finger salute
greet no one, gulp gulp bittersweet,

I wait for a stir, a moment of hurt
deep enough to crack the shell,
enough to raise me up to greet,

I wait, but nothing moves,
in my jungle nothing moves
but snakes.

Poetry Drafts / / By

lydiateasedale-deactivated20221:

2. [ Doll mode activated ]

smooth plastic limbs

change by the day.

new scars, general wear&tear;

both occur most frequently

after an activation.

blood makes Doll

think she’s human.

blood tricks the eyes.

… blood makes Doll

think she’s human.

blood tricks the eyes …

Poetry Drafts / / By

Mirrors

Mirrors distort
essence, our perception
of self, of self …

Mirrors … turn us into another,
a not her , … , a careless callous
biped seeking nothing but

But, but …
the cracks
will show

Even more as shower fog descends
and her writing clears,
her essence turn sideways

Finding nothing – but fear.

Poetry Drafts / / By

No Cheese

and the man, who once were a boy
woke to find a couch nibbling
on the late night crackers left –
without cheese.

and the man, who once were a boy
saw a sign: EXIT, near an arrow
pointing left: the stage unlit
and no whispers.

and the man, who wished he were
that boy again,
found neither reassuring; the mice
scurried in the fading future dreamt.

Poetry Drafts / / By 
I claim a faulty fabrication, there must be a defect, a design flaw; this device intended for breathing turns into a tap, a faucet of never ending drips and drops and drabs, just as the sweetest of summers arrive. 

I want a refund.

Spaces

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Hidden in white spaces 

a life in empty lonely lines,

beyond the full stops
where once green forests stood

like mighty pines and firs
snowcapped silver birch

no silent storms roar,
no need for more

than space, more space,

you called it space –

your freedom.

A Crime of Passion

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Your golden buttercups alight,
like starlight on a dreary day,
the scene of the crime, of adventure:

I chase red ants in a blue striped suit,
slow sandy socks rest
in dusty patent leather shoes;

I crawl and trawl the murdered grass
seeking to reassert, to reestablish 
dominion;

I dive and swim your blue ocean
until your grey sky becomes my dread,
my fear of drowning without escape. 

Your golden buttercups
spread thinly on wholesome toast 
with blacker than black Joe, 

an open window and a lonely lark,
and that smile – a crime of passion 
un-punishable.

The Swift

Poetry Drafts / / By 
To fly beyond the red brick wall,
a minor misdemeanour, the sin 
of a slender swift. To fly beyond 
the red brick wall

like a self’s desire to flee
to escape its confinement:
the chains that stain every white sheet
every fabric of future freedoms,

carried high above the rules of men 
on polished wings it found its freedom,
a swift swallow, a self proclaiming
a desire to be free

and to fly far beyond
and never to return again 
to the red bricked wall
a sinner.

Poetry Drafts / / By 
The burning, burning sensation
of failure to fully comprehend 
all previously written words; 
like Shame simmering on low heat
far too long, served with bread 
stale like grass; cheeks on fire,
woes from weary words
turned prosaic.
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