Tag Archives: poet

a cup of warm tea; and the aftertaste of trauma

Sometimes I feel cold, even paralyzed
My interior world needs to sanitize
I’ve got to step through or I’ll dissipate…

~*~

the bitter of tea, the tang of lemon—and that subtle hint of summertime sweetness, melting into my tongue in one drowsy haze.

paint-stained hands clutch at the warm mug for dear life, and i take tentative sips and let the aromatic seasons dance around my mouth a bit, as if this very dark liquid itself was my final tether to this plane of existence.

perhaps, in some ways, it quite is.

the effect of sleepiness arrives to swoop me back in sluggishly, allowing me to momentarily lean back and stare blankly at the faces on the wall, all eager teeth and pastel craft paper, curling and fading all the way to wandering oblivion; but only a single smile really captured my absent mind’s attention. i wryly picture how it would look against later impressions of dirty blonde and crystalline azure, peeking rather shyly behind deep laugh lines and a few animated freckles peppered across pale skin, endearingly elusive.

sinking in; and sinking still. the effervescent mania that violently grabs me by the shoulders and dares to push its reckless fingers right in the middle of my tender ribcage, refusing to cease digging around until it finally hits something vital. lung, artery—the unfortunate heart itself, perhaps?

but—as i am melancholically assuaged—i am sure it will find only a hollow cavity where a beating organ used to rest. disappointed? not really. i’m painfully aware that already long ago have i been deemed one of the young naivetes who willingly sold it away, to someone who didn’t even know they were searching for damaged antiques. i practically gave it away for nothing.

and yet, where is it now?

is it gathering cracks and dents in someone’s mantlepiece, within a dusty old bungalow? is it buried lost under a child’s messy closet, along with broken toys and past innocence and all their other outgrown things? perhaps, has it already been traded away by its secondhand owner without a brief hesitant thought or a pause of chagrin, in exchange of a better, prettier, newer one?

ah, no matter…no matter. i no longer feel it anymore, anyhow.

cosmic snapshots. a feline grey and glimmering yellow eyes. lilting snatches of an unwritten song dedicated to the moon. murky rain dripping rhythmically from the plastered holes on the ceiling. a perfect pink photograph more potent than any flavour of tea or dosage of coffee, keeping me up well into the witching hours and then some. just another wordless poet. just another tired pen.

your bitter blue. my summertime sadness. the promise of morning, and nothing else.

~*~

And you know
You’re a terrible sight
But you’ll be just fine…

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who falls in love with a poet?

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dead poets

i have a love

for stories

so intricate

and tall tales

so profound

but it’s the

simpleminded

souls with no

spiteful lies

that get their

words around.

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quotes

i’m only

borrowing

inspiration

from poets

that i loathe

because all

their words

make sense

while mine

has no worth.

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Of Bards and Boulevards

I am a poet, and I am here to tell you a story.

But, be forewarned, for I do not narrate. I simply leave mischievous glimpses and equivocal fragments for you to pick up and stitch together on your own. I do not wish to be straightforward; for the better adventure is surrendered on a vertical highway. Instead I provide narrow twisted paths and interminable dead ends, unhelpful road signs and perennially blinking broken traffic lights, confusing directions to nowhere that will lead you to everywhere. It is solely up to you to decide where you shall end up, whether it be a populated city with brightly glowing billboard lights, or a dark narrow alleyway with a fetid corpse abandoned under the dumpster. The exact same steps taken can lead to either one at any given time. The travel is truly yours to pursue, and I am merely there to provide you with what scant counsel you might require, and even then, my offers of assistance might be questionable, and the information given will be more misleading than useful. For I am a poet, not a mere storyteller, and my intricate words are your only guide, your sole map and compass in this discordant infinite chaos of a universe that I have created. Never take them as they are, and pray caution, for they do not want you to arrive at your destination. And neither do I.

I am a poet, and I’ll tell you to get lost.

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Odes And Dedications

I’d write you a million letters

You left me at a loss for words

Halfway around the world, yet

You stole my breaths unfurled

.

I’ll compose until my hands ache

And my quill protests ‘no more’

Until I dried up all the ink I have

And literates stop keeping score

.

I’d write you in ballads and sonnets

Limericks, haikus, and silly rhymes

I’d write you odes and lengthy epics

That shall withstand the test of time

.

And all the troubadours and minstrels

Will speak of your name for centuries

Immortalised between yellowing pages

Of prose and verse and lines of poetry

.

I’d write you a million novels and books

‘Til I run out of words to use in every language

And even then, it still won’t fully express

Just how much you truly made this bard change.

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writer for hire (the sellout)

shivering at

the very thought

of ink and repulsion

as tongues invade

collected silence

with interrogation

i’m simply complacent

just a noiseless

typewriter thereon

so hire me for your

sanity, then pay for

every emotion

let me be your proxy

poetry and your

bastard bard

your ever-watching

eyes, a sacrifice

to be scarred

apathetic sentient

the irony of the

unsentimental heart

but i’d rather die whole

than to endure infamy

that tears me apart.

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An Artist’s Love

may it be piano

or a guitar, i’ll

play it for you

may it be a pen

or quill, i’ll write

unfettered true

no matter how

many fingers i

break or bruise,

for you my dear

i’ll endure every

blister and callous.

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symptomatic sentiments

what makes

people tick

isn’t the

complicated

tricks,

it’s the simple

emotions

of a heart so

s i c k.

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wordpress

i

write

either

to

impress

or

depress.

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