Scribbles 'n Bits

Category: Poetry

The poetic expression of my artistic and aesthetic pillars along with some choice mixed-media.

  • Solstice

    Solstice

    Over the shoulder
    into dawn - 
    a bruised and battered sky. 
    Past the fallen
    teardrops of honey
    so goes the field hands' cry. 

    Through cedar boughs
    melting off entoiling ice - 
    a freshly minted leave.
    In a turning corner,
    past their gate
    the smokehouse grants reprieve. 

    Warm smoke trails,
    "what's done is done,"
    brow's glistening white beads.
    Never again, 

    someday.
    Someday 
    sighs and heaves.

    Earlier version ↴

  • I am Solstice

    I am Solstice

    I am the only thing I’ve ever feared - 
    the force that moves, 
    the enemy that doesn’t. 
    We are Gemini. 
    No bang, no whimpers 
    just birthdays 
    on either edge 
    of the map. 
    Take a bath 
    in a glacier's fresh melt 
    you'll notice the drowning 
    kills you last. 

    Silence 

    in a moment of peace. 
    One minute, 
    one day, 
    one week, 
    same sudsy clawfoot.
    Not the suffocation
    of an airless climb.  
    Not the starvation
    of white pine standing proud,
    rooting through brackish cracks. 
    Not the dehydration
    from walking too far
    and never enough. 
    Hey, 
    let's be friends.
    • I am Solstice
    • I am the only thing I’ve ever feared –
    • the force that moves, the enemy that doesn’t.
  • Reiff

    Reiff

    Viola, you poor, 
    indentured thing. 
    When they say 
    100% cranberry, 
    they **mean** it! 
    A chalk so bitter, 
    the pavement spit it back. 
    Or was that line drawn 
    in sand? 
    No sense,  
    no strings to attach. 
    Look, 
    and you'll nearly always 
    find 
    options for insanity.

    A revision

  • As Always, A Privilege

    A reworking

    They held modesty
    in the threads 
    of their shirts - 
    pretense in laces
    of humble shoes. 
    While gems dripped
    from their mouths. 
    Their scraps 
    could buy 
    a thousand words,
    your daily bread, 
    but would cost you
    your life.

  • five whole minutes

    A reworking


    My esophagus burns.
    It was 
    five whole minutes ago
    I was talking to you
    then five whole years
    as soon as we’re off the phone.

    The most confused 
    color yellow -
    languished -
    clambering switchbacks, 
    for its place
    on your dress…

  • Plunge

    A reworking 

    Her voice is the background music: 
    The pleasant sip of sunshine 
    you get from 
    a remainder, 
    dividing potential by 
    habit. 
    Crisp and loving, but better 
    left behind 
    after falling  
    from your chair laughing.  
    Jumping in beside her, 
    finding 
    a difference of 
    10 degrees. 
    There's plenty more cliffs, 
    I just really liked that one.

  • Right Now Ago

    A reworking 

    If it doesn’t rip me to shreds, 
    I don’t want it. 
    Jaw dropping love 
    all tired and sore, 
    chests heaving 
    with exasperated brilliance. 
    Where do I find the energy? 
    In snooze fests 
    around a warm, 
    gentle lake 
    algae in full bloom. 
    What fun is that?

  • Bottled notes

    A reworking 

    I see your island 
    and I call. 
    Is that true then? 
    An old man 
    with bitter excuses for 
    his loneliness. 
    Beg pardon, imagine please, 
    exiling yourself 
    for pity's sake. 
    Sanctimony 
    where you could 
    love instead.

  • Asking Why

    Edging over 
    my collapsing mind, 
    I see the gears turn. 
    Scanning for candor 
    in a side-profile 
    on your way around. 

    My body grinds - 
    to a halt - gear against gear. 
    Like a hangnail 
    stuck between your teeth. 
    Absolution available by appointment only. 

    Eat your feelings 
    or they'll eat you. 
    As do the cherries 
    sinking down the leeward sun. 
    Leaving pits in my stomach 
    that I grow and foster 
    because I’m fucking better.

  • Swing sweet pendulum

    A pentavalent clamor 
    spiraling down. 
    shink 
     
    thunk 
    Precise amplitudes of waves 
    scroll 
    over grids 
    of fine-bound grain. 
     
    shink 
    These multitudes, 
    fractals of time, 
    furors of me: 
     
    thunk 
    pain, love, guilt, growth, gratitude. 
    Cheese and salami 
    on the bindings that I may wriggle - 
    lose myself free. 
     
    swoosh 
     
    Clean out the closet 
    and let the spring flourish.