The Stage

Failure lurks like sin

Waiting in the darkness

Beyond the broiling light—

Can’t think, the heat

It’s too strong

Where have they gone

All these bodies,

Sunken shadows

Mere eyes that gaze beyond

The boundaries of my knowing

Just breathe

It will be alright

But the shadows cling

Even in this sunlit inquisition.

Alone

I stand,

Cannot stay behind

The crowd awaits

Sink or swim

They may yet know my name.

My latest contribution to the wonderful One Shot Poetry Wednesdays! Once you’ve had a look, check out some of the other One Shot Poets as well– they’re a skilled bunch of poets, looking to form a community and support one another.  Enjoy!

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Draft Notice

Inconspicuous paper,

deceive and demand–

a boy brings in the mail

to find a life in green,

dark script bares

far darker words–

what are my options

as the ink dries on his fingers,

like blood run down,

or casings raining black against the dawn.

Fields in the words

hold bodies broken,

but in the silent flight,

the flickering light–

a slower demise of

loneliness and stripes

surrounded yet

by wagging fingers; scathing scowls.

The smell of ashes

does not abate in breathing–

burn the scraps away

but your dearest Uncle has to say

you still have got to show.

Restless Nightmares Break…

A significantly darker piece than what most of my recent work has been, just in time for the first One Shot Poetry Wednesday. Once you’ve had a look, check out One Shot Poetry, too–a bunch of great poets, looking to form a community and support one another.  Enjoy!

Restless nightmares break,

From wretched slumber do I wake

To a world of endless night—

Thunderous choirs make me crouch in fright.

High above us wraiths now soar,

Men clasp their ears to deafen their roar.

Over hills and shattered streets,

The bands come marching to woeful beats.

A hundred thousand voices cry,

Then all the singers die.

Nothing is as it seems

I woke up early this morning and literally rolled out of bed with this one on my mind. If it was related to dreams I had last night, then it’s probably a good thing I don’t remember them. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy:

Nothing is as it seems—

The old die old,

The young die young,

One perpetuates the other

In waves of maddening

Disillusion not withstanding—

We are players and audience

The stage ours to watch

And ours to play.

But where is the director?

The play plays on in

Such maddening discourses,

There is a plot twist somewhere—

Is this how it was written?

Read somewhere that parents should

They should never have to bury their children,

But the children fight their wars

And the children fight each other

And the old have lived it all.

The mind reflects in odd ways—

Always they remember the old days as better

Days, but they are gone.

Where is the proof?

The mind is fickle, it remembers

What it wants to remember

So the monologue seems better—

There is no difference.

The old are tired.

All they want to do is to lie down,

But they are watching and waiting—

Am I to die?—

But the young are restless

And in their roaming the world

Every moment and monument is theirs—

But they hasten to sleep

And they do not arise,

And the old weep and laugh in terror.