Poetry Drafts

Poetry Drafts / / By

Barcode Barbies

Ich wohne ohne
Deinen Liebe,

but with every frequency I search &
every channel I scan
I get closer to finding
You.

Anrufen โ€ฆ Antworten โ€ฆ Bitte โ€ฆ

Boxed, tagged, and left to wither;
I scan the labels left behind:
You are all Mark III, selfless, strong,
fearless in your programmed minds
and relentless in your pursuits of truth.
Gott sei Dank!

Ich wohne ohne
Deinen Liebe,
but hopefully not for long:
I will carry on my search,

my journey far from done,
as the first snow falls
on the silent lands

Deinen Liebe
is all I have
in mind.

Poetry Drafts / / By

Cinnamon Crust

Cinnamon crust of days lost,
burnt buns embrace the faint echos
of some thing once resembling life

Broad brushstroke waves,
black on black,
delineate the life of night

Vibrations from a vivid world
far beyond the battlefield
fail to penetrate the void

Kisses from strawberry lips,
virgin desires spiral down
the abyss of the unimaginable

I am a clock without tick or tock,
an umbrella on cloudless days,
a shoemaker for a skylark soaring;

a cinnamon bun, black as black,
the unfinished painting
you never get to hang.

Poetry Drafts / / By

In Silence

He, she, it, or they
pronouns matter not
as sadness has no gender,
our scars, our burns, our
longing are painted in the same hues:
we suffer all โ€” in silence.

Poetry Drafts / / By

Forever Feline

Pen and paper
Thoughts that matter
Time and Space to scatter
โ€” words.

I suppose we are the lucky ones
having access to pen and paper,
having thoughts on all things that matter:
small or large, we put pen to paper
virtual or actual carries no matter
little or naught โ€“ six words short
or attempts of Milton impersonation
so long we keep the words flowing
the patterning going
the imagery moviโ€ฆ. No.

No. Pen and paper confines us.
Thoughts bind us.
Time and Space a mere illusion.
Our words though, in all confusion
โ€” forever our own.

Glue.

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Slow motion, please. 
Iโ€™d like my next life to run in slow motion; 
no more races, no more running 
towards an edge of a world 
no longer โ€” wanting
no longer โ€“ needing 
no longer 
- caring.

Slow motion, please. 
Iโ€™d like my next life to run 
in slow

motion

where the traces left behind 
become more than traces
of a single life abandoned 
for the idea of a better life lived 
โ€“ โ€ฆ alone. 

Slow motion, please; in the next life 
just add 
โƒ glue.

Caged

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Wishing is not enough.

A self protecting a self from itself 
is unfair, any part of a self is,
or should be, uncaged 
and the self itself free 
to do all it desires: the harmless & 
the harm it deems appropriate 
should know no bounds; know 
no limits. 

Wishing is not enough; for a self 
โ€” caged.

A Well Without Reflection

Poetry Drafts / / By 
A tingling tongue 
A head in the clouds
A solid stream once overflowing
now silently rests โ€“ dry as salt

Too weary to weep for worlds lost
Too lost to find their final words,
Too deep the well without reflection 
Too real the reflecting of idle ways 

A head in the clouds 
A tingling tongue
Licking every lasting wound
And bitter pills to follow.

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Vintage Carpets
Words, like creaking stairs I slowly climb
Only to stumble and tumble, and fall โ€“ only
To break every bone; ink scatters and splatters 
Across vintage carpet floors: rustic red vinyl
Hides my fallen cause. Head first, my descent 
Towards a life of broken pens โ€” I dare not wish
For a better ending.

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Compassion: a leaky bucket 
carried across dusty plains
scorched earths and deserts,
leaving desiccated wells
in its wake; crumbs lefts to bake
a tart dry as bones โ€“
no remorse, no real home. 

Bucket: an untamed unicorn
trotting across the unloved plains 
through the tingling truths
of white flour hands, crumbs of life 
โ€“ left behind.

Poetry Drafts / / By 
Soliloquy in D-Minor
Oh, this setting sun of darkness,
words once belonging now rest
in silence;    words once hovering
now wingless โ€“ scorned
like scorched earth at nighttime:
no shadows form from words
fallen flat; sinking 
sinking 
with every revolution the pen sharpens 
only to break
the mind of the sharpener. 
Oh, the gravitas of light. 
The gravity of darkness.
In Voces Intimae I seek the snare, 
and the rising sun
of virtue.
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