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.

cntx

as I took the truth out of context
out of the realms of really rudely being
the honey badger raged
standing tall on her rear hinds as if
I did not matter; unmattering of
everything – of all that is

as I took the truth out of context
out of her comfort zone
void of zane and zizzzzzz
offering none the less a fiery
funeral parlour amiss

as I took the truth out of context
her smile became and I
fell; the castle of sand my mirage
of fortune

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smakkabagms:

the fairies no longer visit,

empty winds have ground the 

river to a halt

dreams churn like crude stones

among the bones of so many orchards

rue, now lipped to my wrist which

dangles a pale bone and withers

regret, my body

unfolded soft and drunk with silence,

consumed by the leech asleep beneath

my ribs           and somewhere, blunt

weapon 

the crushing failure of words, the sea 

a blue membrane of something secret 

and forgotten 

it is a chamber bloodied with the self,

the soul, broken instrument, fueled

by the illness of longing

what names do I call? Elektra, Kassandra,

the poor, embittered Helen

each garden I have loved but have never seen,

each fountain that will pass as my life passes,

and how one must slump

and stumble to guess at death’s constancy

so the willow paints its dark, whispy fingers

against the breadloaf of a heart, crushed

and repentant 

if only to glimpse, for a moment, the prayer

of between-world mist, fertile

and full with strangeness

When read out loud, wow; wow; … wow

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trixclibrarian:

wondering if
the neighbors woke
the hens
noticing the difference
between being in
community
or merely a member
{fractal dickhead}
of the audience

wondering if

the neighbor’s woke,

the hens

noticing the difference

between being in

community

or merely a member

{fractal dickhead}

of the audience

She Wallowed

She wallowed among the inbread.
Behind the shadows of sameness
She found no comfort, no reason
To refuel the depleted cells of
Vanity. His last touch had felt final,
Like an expectation of finding a
Bargain among the scraps, of
Something long lost; now

Rediscovered.

Talons

My talent, a lucky charm beneath
Skies of open fire, a solitude of
rain in dissonance with my subtle
Future rage; of powers drained from
Solid State Batteries as if they really
Mattered to me

Hear me now
Naked I stand before you
Naked I stroll nimbly
Naked talents; underdeveloped mischief.
My lucky charm a
Talent wasted,
My rage against the
Times like these,
The unfounded upsets &
The scores of treacle
Dripping, like the days of us;
Kitchenless children in

Hibernation

The Present

There is no day like the present.
Dancing along the boulevards of
Saké, picking up the leftover dreams
From the ones that crawled before
Us, not needing the scissors to
Cut the ties that bound; that tied and
Limited the life force given.
I accept my destiny as set in stone,
The magical word is --

Presence

Ghosts: poems in black and white

Ghosts: poems in black and white

Q & A

There are no answers
To the worry I frequently feel
Of running out of words
Of no longer finding air
To breathe
To fly
To be
Another

There are no answers
To the silence behind the white space
Between the tabs and unpunctuated
Patternless drivel of lunacy
La Luna shrouded in
No mystery

There are no answers
As no questions are really asked
Of you
Of me
Of honest folk
To carry us forward
Beyond the calling of the dark dreams
There is more of us
More of truth —

in stories

The shipment of stories bound

As the wind of destiny blew the

Curtains wide

I stared down the spinning wheel and

The offering of time

~

In the shallow waters of the ancient well

I saw your truth as you did tell of

The fire, the love, of death once

Mourned

No longer our glue, no longer our

Moment

~

We prayed to gods of parcels

For those waiting to receive

Our minds aligned to the delivery

To the magical — unboxing

~

And so the story ends

With a promise that today

The shipment of stories bound

Is coming your way

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