The book closes, done,Another story complete,The mythic arc ends,The hero's journey over,Yet here I am, incomplete.
Tag: Closed Form
Poetry that follows pre-established formats and and patterns for lines, syllables, and rhymes.
Spring snow in the garden
My garden is white,Blanketed in sudden snow,As the breathless frost,Kissed my poor, surprised flowers,Now, delicate statuettes.
Coffee with sugar
Coffee with sugar,Something sweet to ease my mind,Worries slip away,Swirling into the darkness,Harmless phantoms in a cup.
A false spring true
The morning sunrise,Feels a little bit early,Rousing me from sleep. My sigh is a cloud,On an otherwise clear day,Rising to the skies. Frost rimes the window,Frames the world a wintry hue,Melting into spring. Cat slowly stretches,Yawning away a long nap,Stretching, feeling wild. Old man settles in,A blanket across his lap,As cool air grows warm.
A Sort of Hunger
There is a pain somewhere inside of me,Sharp, sudden, cutting like striking glances,Trivial in the madness of the day,But gnaws on my bones when I'm most weary. In youth we must mistake the remedy:Form soothing balms with rushed dalliances,Or the comfort of endless holiday,Yet pain returns - patient, predatory. While age refines our life's stability,That … Continue reading A Sort of Hunger
Thoughtlessly Waiting
Gray nights and cold evenings alone,A half-consumed cigarette, a glass of dark rum,The radio plays your song, so I hum along,As I wait for the next you, the next The One.
Stormy Skies Remind Me
Stormy skies remind me of your eyes, Breezy highs in the lows of winter, your sighs, Wild flowers you've tended carelessly grow smiles, While music on the iPod blare your favorite files, Somehow the world revolves around your memory, Know now and forever, you are extraordinary.
The last snow
The late falling snow, Melts with the gentlest sigh, Like fond memories.
The Sighs That Remain Still Breathes Poetry to Me
What had become of my friends in this city of memories, Who laid hands to my life and spun delicate reality: Where now goes the eloquence of that wordy smith by the sea? What of that cleverly motherly poet-visionary? My dear brother, and his lovely wife, a blossoming fairy? The venerable old leader's quest, manic … Continue reading The Sighs That Remain Still Breathes Poetry to Me
Betwixt the Fallen Snow
There is odd comfort in our nature's regression, Sensing the veil of winter about to rush in, We abandon all our duties, get back to bed, Sharing warmth between us, playfully playing dead. But the genius that animates our bodies such, Turns chill to so much heat that it burns to the touch, So let … Continue reading Betwixt the Fallen Snow
Discarded Recollections 