Tag Archives: poem

An Evening Fog

Loud laughter echoes in the night
turmoil ripping through sober thoughts
the tranquil air thus met with blight
to bare the yoke that madness sought.

Beneath this burden I was caught
trying to connect sound with sight
while in my mind a war was fought
loud laughter echoes in the night.

It consumes me with such great fright
threads of sanity frayed and fraught
all the sense and reason taking flight
Turmoil ripping through sober thoughts

the joyous sound reaps what was wrought
as evening overcomes twilight
darkness becomes a juggernaut
the tranquil air thus met with blight

strikes me like a meteorite;
suddenly I am me but not
the truth inside is held down tight
to bare the yoke that madness sought

dim enough to have been forgot
though behind the mind it shines bright
and bricks can birth the Argonaut
just split thine head to release the light.
Loud laughter echoes.

Father

He loved me with an ironic heart
such emotions you could never see
but for what its worth it did its part
He loved me.

Nothing you would ever find on a marque
more a thing felt in the time apart
a gift bestowed on the absentee

Hidden in wisdom he would impart
infused within our morning coffee
buried in machines I could not start
he loved me.

Return to the Earth

The throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out
lay low the day that brought us to such doubts

When we’ve reached bitter end of this tome
and the waters of life have met with drought
the throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out

No matter how many miles we may roam
or to what causes we may feel devout
there is always the same end to our route
The throm of the bell’s toll calls all souls home
an iron melody to draw us out
lay low the day that brought us to such doubts.

Dialogue

We talk to ourselves with fists
a pugilist of reason
faced against years of abuse
the ebb and flow of emotional seasons

Only reason knows when to quit
but abuse will never stop
unloading blow after blow
to make sure no one else lives on top

Anything for that title
we have absently supplied
trading any confidence
for whatever drama we’ve cooked up inside.

With your value undefined
transactional praise given
where else could you we ever turn?
Unconceited, to the fights we are driven.

We can but hope that we win,
our critical self will fall
our ego rise the victor
but victory grants an albatross for us all

Our ego must be tempered
our abuse must die in shame,
either way our value breaks,
time and again it works exactly the same.

Without honesty we lose
the audience inside us
is only there for the show
ring the bell, choose yourself – the rest are treasonous.

Orange

Peel
Burst
Citrus – flesh – ripped
               the gnashing of teeth
     pistons of sinew and pulp
                    thrust against the gums
                              they speak loudly of the burning sun

Stifled by a crumbling damn of cotton
                              fire not tamed
                                   but embraced
                                             made temperate
                           the fruits of violence
                                and the seeds of gluttony
                                      surge forth to their end.

Clockwork

The hands reaching for places they should not
feeling what is well and the gaps between
while the gears stutter over echoed thoughts
drawing out the whirring sounds long and obscene
a betrayal of the bright golden sheen
and the expertly crafted mechanics;
a token of wit and genius pristine
with disjointed and broken organics.

They keep winding, but no one sets the time
Polish and shine but no one climbs inside
as if admitting damage is the crime
and thus the past is where the now resides,
the future an unspoken thing implied
while savage moments spin along unchecked
and give cause for our fictions to divide
until at last ourselves we will dissect.