Poetry Drafts

I purge true meaning from my mind,
seeking only truth in the empty page,
the white, the red, and the yellow
pages like yellow snow, red herrings
and pure innocence; stories
told to guide and lead
towards writings less truthful,
less sincere, less divine
than the scriptures quoted
in a Sunday school quire.
I purge true meaning from my mind
as my quill kiss my parchment.

Fortune favours the brave, no!
Fortune favours the bold, no!
Fortune favours the old
and greedy; snakes slithering
down slippery slopes
leaving offspring tossing snowballs
aimlessly at fortunes passed
to others, at love wasted
on black holes hovering
above the treetops
of a burnt down forest;
Fortune favours nobody
deserving a break, nobodies
roam this earth only wanting
whatโ€™s fair. No โ€”
fortune favours the old and greedy,
the ones least deserving.

The last remnant of joy lost,
the white powdery bliss
tickled my nose;
the eyes seeing clearly
for just a twinkling of time;
blessed be the creator of joy
the provident provider so coy
leaving nothing behind but remnants
of a snow storm.

The pursuit of love is endless,
tiresome and wrong; no quest
worth pursuing only to fall
face down. I heard him say
she said that they said their love
was not right as they knew him
and she did not; though he had said
that they had said she was
too much for one man to carry
as they knew better, and best of all.

The pursuit of love is endless
face plant or not, caffeine helps
as does chaperones and luck.

I want to hug a tree
but none comes forth, none

small enough for small arms,

I bark up the right tree
but no one speaks:

no one plain of loss
of bark shredded
of bark planed
off;

I want to hug a tree;
but none comes
forth.

I need so little
yet nothing is not enough,

the yellow fluttering wings
of a sunny spring approaching,

long grass on naked legs,
a scent of strawberry fields,

petals, freckles
a touch of rose hip by my side,

so little and yet



so so so far-off

I could never be a simple man
nor a straight and simple woman,
doing simple things
thinking about simpler ways
forwards.

You said I should be a simple man.
I heard those words faintly
through the haze of intoxication
you said to be unlike them.

They who came before, lingering
in your memory for time immemorial,

I said maybe.

But Heredity.

But Environment.

I could never be a simple man
nor a straight and simple woman,
I am still an alien on four legs
trying to walk upright
and understand.

Iโ€™m not cursed, itโ€™s all bad luck.
Fuses blown and nails breaking,
foggy eyes scratching down truths
of curses ; ; ; ; ; such is the luck
of the innocent, nails against concrete
walls unpainted and striped cats
pawing;
I wish my job was blown.

Destiny never opened a door,
kept them all shut without keyhole;
I dance with blunt skates across
blue ice turning black;
Destiny never worked
in my favour.

Pitching to the Batter

I will ask them if they enjoy baseball
and the swing of the bat;
I will tell them we went clubbing
seals for fun in our youth,
I will ask them if they enjoy baseball
if they realise their likeness to cubs;
I will ask them kindly, before I swing
the bat.

Scroll to Top