Category Archives: Poetry

And I Stand Here

Her heart had the ebb of a fleeting sea.
Standing ashore, I wept at the constant push and pull;
How will I sleep,
without the hums of her crashing waves?
So I listen to conch shells,
echoing apparitions
that don’t respond back.

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A Photobooth Reprise

“Let’s look at each other. Spend time. Pretend we mean something.”

*Flash*

“There are others waiting for a photo.”

*Flash*

“But right now, it’s just us…

*Flash*

Maybe if we stay, they’ll forget about their turn.”

*Flash*

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The Lonesome Crab and The Inquisitive Fish

I am hungry.       I sit at the edge of the world, where the cold blue            smashes and dissipates into white clouds.                 Please, fish         bring me your strong fleshy muscles.                      The blue touches my claw            sending an earthquake                        echoing inside me.          Unlike my brothers,        I fear the discomfort.     Unlike my brothers,        I’m a lonesome coward. Suddenly, a fish calls out to me.

I am afraid.         “Hey, what are you doing there?” she calls out.                 I tell her, I’ve been waiting for her.          “Why are you alone?”        Her voice, an entrancing call        her flesh, an iridescent hue of red.      An erubescent red Salmon.             I tell her, I am a Lonesome crab.              I tell her, the effort of making friends,                               I fear the most.                 In words of tinder,  in a voice of flint,              she says “Well, I’m here.”

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Ars Poetica

The desolate road became a second home.

The yellow bars stretch down to the empty horizon;

A painful reminder that nobody ever really stops by.

And my little vending stand shivers with every brisk chill.

 

However, once in a blue moon, a child of figure or mind,

Stops by to take a look at all of my creations.

They’ll pick up a shining glass or a baked good,

And I explain that my love and tears went into this.

 

They smile and nod, reminding me it’s never good enough.

And I push the object forward, assuring of its quality.

But, they’d rather destroy than accept a love given.

And all I can do is drench the sand with the water I shed.

 

This, my friends, is what I am:

The unpublished, the failed salesman.

I wait at this desolate road, trying to convince others.

But my offered heart and soul is yet to be accepted.

 

A Plucked Tree

Hums of the vent drown the bursts of internal screaming;

I grab at the absence.

I love when he holds me in his hands;

his body hungry, his lips thirsty.

I felt the branches of intertwining blades at night;

Didn’t want to wake him.

The weight held me beneath the white sheet surface;

Smothering and alone.

The mirror reflects the war-torn horrors;

And it stares back with sewn blind-man’s eyes.

All eyes on the walls track me;

How I wish I could remove theirs.

So I hope,

With lack of bearing fruit,

Will he always,

Yearn for my nectar.

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