A Shattered Poem

I don’t even know what to write anymore, Abruptly, All of the words are on the shore.   None makes sense of what  An obstructed mind  Would presume.   Im choking on all  Of my raw  Undone Prompts.   That float Above the sea Of too many I don’t think so’s   An obligation, I…

The Literary Chameleon

Poetry is written in the human mind, and is read by the human conscience.  They comprise the metaphysical parallel universe lingering within us all. In the mind rests the conformist logic of everyday life, the unifying factors of all that defines the so-called Human Condition; the common denominators of our essential state of being; the…

Half Baked Poetry

Crossing by a half baked poetry I found it on the pan over Half dried fired woods of words Smoky all around Suffocation of my breathing process Searching for water or  something more flammable I don’t know why, why the point there is me Many paths scatter from there I lift up a pen Pick…

Leave me unseen again

Canvas that can speak well, eloquent See me paint a voice  words splashing to blur, a charmer’s mime    see me, my deprecated star  I still make love, high on a skyrocketing way  See me, my anthropomorphic God diluted in the reddest wine mine, a synchronised heart open to heartbreaks roads that care for women…

Fragrant and Amaranthine

One day I will come back from outer space, by a red cloud and bring giant’s picture scroll. My lines of lightning songs will flutter gold greetings of a prehistoric giant city The mountains that have been sleeping for hundreds and millions of years Will be transparent suddenly and the lights will be brilliant, like five –…

Stains of Blood

Paint me with ignorance, Because I love that pain I get. I’m addicted to it as much, As I am addicted to you. You’re always forgiven.   Paint me with hatred, And I would still look, Into those brown eyes, Which are those like pools of honey, Seen through sunlight.   But now I’ve got…

The Last of Lines

I stand there by the old man that held my hand as I walked down the coast, The old man that never hesitated to put a grumpy face toward me as I run away in haste. I stand there by the old man that never failed in his sense of hospitality, And here I grew…

Small Gifts

The barometer is dropping, skies filled with scudding clouds Which gather into towers, bottoms dark as funeral shrouds Winds, that once were calm, now cause the flags to stand out straight And whip the water into waves with faces dark as slate. The smell of dampened pavement, on the breeze, precedes the rain Then one…

Withering Red Rose

I was a fine red rose with roots not so deep and thorns not so sharp, built of store-bought seeds and the water that the hose would feed. I was not tendered and I was delicate. When winter would come, I would freeze for all that I lacked, And I would become a withering rose….

12345