Category Poetic Thoughts and Dreams
A Scorpio snake
Longing for
The white hot desert
As pure as a needle tip
Under a naked flame
As I slither
And scratch around
The dirty streets
Of humanity
Trying my best
Not to bite
Or sting
Down Rue de Bellevue
To deposit the glass
From the previous nights
Of drinking
And writing
and let me watch you
unfold
like the tongue
of a butterfly.
Probe my pistils
and my stamen.
I am
the rarest flower,
the chocolate orchid;
So heavy is my
Soul,
A burden on the
Soles of your feet.
Your curves
Flow like a
River to the
Sea of
Becoming.
How I have abused your
Unassuming welcome –
Ravished receptacle for my
Loss of
Faith.
Spent in a restless night
They come and go
Between turns in light-stars
in the shaded dark
And how many thoughts on my mind
Papers thrown out in a basket and
How much nonsense exists in a sigh
How primitive is
Man at first rising in the early morning light
Celestine is the color of the sky today
And she smiles at the scent of coffee
Poured in a ceramic brown cup that steams vaporously
Today I am no longer attracted by the
Chasing after of a dream
For those who want it
They can go and get it
Today I am alone with my thoughts
In my silence
I have no worries
I am convinced that life is sincere
That death is accepted
I’m angry at my thoughts and all my self-doubt
I’m angry at the people who doubted me, too
But that’s a tiny flame, it can barely reach through
The tunnels and chasms I’ve built around me
But it’s burning, I feel it, and I’m hopeful you’ll see
It well overboard in a simple, brave act
And I would be free
And there’d be no regret
long, grey spirals of dusk
skirr in.
The moon hangs
out of its socket,
dripping.
The lovers don´t touch,
final lies freeze their breath,
a brittle, vertical icicle.
Even if I’ve sagged and wrinkled
would you find me beautiful when I laughed?
Could you possibly recognize what will
be me in so many years, or will you pass me
by? Even if I do not recognize myself?
Will we ever even speak again, like we used
to, like good friends should? Or will a nose be
turned and no words spoken as we walk back out
of each other’s lives. I sometimes wish I knew,
so that the time I waste wondering is not in vain.
And wrote a line or two,
Then read aloud his magic words
To mould the world anew.
A Painter heard the Poet’s words,
Then took his golden brush,
To paint the world alive again,
Down to the river’s rush.
Knowing that nothing in your life is real?
The world, and you, are just so fake,
How does it feel to be something that you hate?
Wake up and dread your existence,
(I know you do)
Burn all bridges to create some distance,
(Life’s hard to get through)
The whereabouts of your mind are anybody’s guess,
Wearing nothing but a smile, you look so well dressed.
What should I be sorry for?
The moon doesn’t apologize for causing the
rise and fall of the tides.
Why should I?
Just because you don’t water your own flowers,
doesn’t mean you get to stomp on mine.
I won’t let you crush what it took me years to grow.
Instead of hurting mine, tend to your own.
Maybe your garden can grow too.
That my head is too far up in the
clouds to watch where I’m walking.
