Category Archives: Poetry

New Poem-The Endless Road

The stink of pot and wet pavement
make walks home like this easier:
my feet tracing destinations beside
double yellow line reveries; lights from strangers
make the shadows dance like old friends
I’ll never see again.
But even as I leave the glass in my heart
and sodden thoughts in my mind I remember
the way we roamed the Henry Hudson trail.
And the way the summer skies were so clear
when our minds were lost, our senses dulled,
but never once did we think those days would
fade like the high from the clouds
now beneath our feet. Sobering
we wonder through moonlit avenues and
hollow skies the bitter taste of
nostalgia on our tongues.


Past Tense

Just wrote a little poem a couple of days ago. Figured I haven’t shared any creative content on here for a while, so here is a little piece of poetry.

 

She holds her head and she counts to ten
but the demons never ran away
And her skin it crawls with the words
I never said.
Smile baby ill be the man you want me to be
When I find myself hiding in the somewhere
the black carpet ill never reach.
You want the roses and the dancing
Of great ballrooms on sunny days.
But the poems on the table, crude chopped words
with some hidden feelings .
Leftovers and a side of guilt,
I can walk you down aisles,
but I wont wear a suit sewn with quiet threads
And discontent buttons
Can we agree to exist within the fabric of my thoughts
where our lips only smile and never speak those
Words that we always say.

Poem- Cloudy with a Chance of Caulfield

Cloudy wordings line the margins
of empty skies on painted pages.
I’ve lost innocence, I’ve found guilt.
I’ve lost patience, I’ve found my faults
drafted across old journal pages
mourning loves I never lost, that I never found,
but illustrated like stale words and hopeful diction.
I walk alone.

Years of love, years of tears, years of discovery.
Eyes locked, but pupils wondering
through old tales and dead drafts.
Bindings beaten and torn, creases splitting
the page in two: thoughts lost.
I’ve lost myself, I’ve found love.
I’ve lost feeling, I’ve found guilt.
Portraits destroyed like Middle-
Eastern statues, broken to forget
worse times, but ominous plots paint
margins like landscapes of fire.
I walked alone, I walk alone.


New poem- Silenced

I was going to post a post about AWP, but seeing as I posted once yesterday and tweeted constantly for five days about the conference i figured I’d give you guys a break. Here’s a poem I wrote in Chicago.
We sit at other ends of the room.
Our throat en flamed with honest things
to say, but we breathe in lies and wallow
where the real things are.
Can you imagine if we had never held hands
in highway gardens- chandelier-like  street lights
guiding our way home? If breaking hearts is
our agenda then let us fracture our cores
and tear apart. But could you believe your eyes
if you never saw mine gleam with yearning
in a half-lit room? Our bodies still hot from our loving
and our lungs lusting for breath- your scent still
lingers on my sheets and your touch on my hands.
But if it’s time to walk away then let us not tread our feet
or scar our minds with bittersweet memories, but we wore
ourselves down and can you imagine that there’s nothing
to say?

Dead Peppers

Another poem which I’m planning to place in the book Letters from the Garden.  

 

I walked into the garden through rows of tomatoes.

Bees dancing through pollen quarries, the soil alive

with each dying breath of silk-green leaves like

chloro-lungs, playing with the air.

Islands of peppers and cucumbers content

in their soils, hungry for abundant growth

And quenched with the loving waters of a

Python hose or white clouds, which forbade darkness

And only reveal sunlight and better days.

 

But this was yesterday.

 

Today, rows of tomatoes clench onto their cages

As if climbing through the tops to escape starvation.

Roots wither and dry as the soil crackles and leaves

Its children to die.

Islands become planes as desolate wastelands become

All that is left of a lost garden.

I hold onto the weeds that strangle the any life

That had once been left in this place. But the fields of

Dead peppers finally gasp for breath and fade to gray

Like the rifle smoke which stains the empty walls

Leaving us with nothingness.

 

What is Tomorrow?

 

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