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These are poetry drafts. I consider all my poetry in a constant state of drafting, some with revision ongoing, others merely gathering dust. Some have been published but will still be considered drafts.

N.B. When these posts were imported I noticed some of my reblogs also got pulled in. It should be ovious from the contents that they are reblogs from other writers. I am in the process of removing those posts.

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By -

Dulcius ex Asperis.

Maybe Death comes knocking
when Time has left you behind,
when all hope is gathered
in a pile
awaiting E10 climate-saving petrol
to infuse
and succumb to the Eternal Fire,
if ever a light or spark be found…

or

maybe Death comes
looking for the low hanging fruit
left as Time withered and waned,
unknowingly pilfering the last truth
known to man: a fruit – any fruit
tastes sweeter when picked;
Death knows only bitter ends
to birth, life, and our ultimate
sacrifice: like fruit, our decay
is not remembered, no struggle
or sweet moment recorded
for prosperity, we leave nothing,
heading towards nothing,
no sweet dreams after the struggle:
Death’s an empty bowl of soup,
life without ladle, spoon, or hope.

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By - 
A Nut
Sorry but my head don’t rhyme
exposing oddities like 
my words that aren’t poems
rhyme either not does,
and 
as evident 
the characters lined up 
fail to say anything using 
established literary techniques; so
in a nutshell (not a metaphor) there
is a nut.

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By - 
Age is just Time on steroids, 
a Meter unable to count 
the lawful circumference
of fifteen point nine one
five five times 
a pie too desired 
to consider. 

Age is just a Meter stretching,
just Time gone awry.

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By - 
The Nobel Prize in Poor Judgement
If there was a Nobel prize in poor judgement I would win, hands down I would and claim it with my record as evince, signed and sealed by the magistrates of fate. 

I have no defense, no means to fake my failing flaws, hereditary in nature yet I did not see this coming, did not anticipate rust where no iron could be present; where love came knocking like a vacuum cleaner salesman on a Friday just after lunch. 

Yet I refuse to give up, refuse to give in to the promised land, the green grass and swelling seas beneath the permanently present sky in all hues of blue. 

If there was a Nobel prize in poor judgement, I would win. I would thank them for their judgement, being a being of poor judgement, what else could I do.

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By - 
Lies Intertwined
I intertwined the lies
the spoken and the heard 
with lies soon unearthed,

I formed a plait
wore a short skirt 
and painted lips,

I danced your night away
saw the last coil straighten
and a man slowly reverting,

I let it loose
let it fly
and left my sign,

I unpacked and embraced
your final muffled words
behind the plastic mask,

I dyed it blue
my innocence
in a kiss,

I danced alone that night
along the river of dreams
atop your shallow barrow,

I stopped
and turned
to remember,

to greet a stranger’s smile 
with a twirl and a bow
is a lie worth pursuing.

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By - 
creaking in a blessed night,
wickerwork and cold shower
taps; they made another,
an other spawned from darkness 
of night – and of minds 
creaking.

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By - 
incomprehensible: her words of love
and loving and living in a moment,
he found in there no understanding 
of the magic they shared; words
so eloquently painted 
on a canvas of divinity, of light
where he could only see a moment 
fleeting, a lover fleeing and in love
the ultimate betrayal.

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By - 
no one shares him, no one will
carry forth his stories: the facets
of an unpolished rock
slowly disappearing 
slowly becoming
a desert devoid of mirages.

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By - 
Bad Robot
I blame bad programming,
the programmers themselves 
badly programmed 
by bad programmers;

I blame bad programming,
the operating system unchosen
and low-level language used 
by those inherited classes – fools;

I blame bad programmers,
the parental trap of tinkering,
the unspoken words, the hereditary
misgivings and an environment
unfit for purpose.

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By -

No Stranger

My future is no stranger,
it is the mirrorless face
of sameness, sadness
dancing between blackened trees
burnt to the ground by passions
for someone, something
now eluding me.

My future is no stranger,
Hello Faceless Demon! I see your bet
and I raise you all I possess
to race you till the end
of time, searching for other kind
of mirror.

My future is no stranger,
it was that which always was
and always will be seen
in the cause without effect,
in the mirror sighing.

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