Poetry – Page 11 – Scribbles 'n Bits

Laced

soon you'll see 
where lovers dreamed 
dust in the air 
smell of the free 
dreamers call home 
come back to me 
from last light gleamed 
come back to me

Catharsis

My fears do I confess? 
Your tears do I let drown. 
Drops within a sea. 
Times I let you down.

The Perfect

Who is she
and where?
His Clementine 
whispering in his ear.
Anytime there's no one near.
Who picks flowers for herself,
lighting candles for the night.
He turns to see her pretty face.
Either she is quick to react
or,
in reality, has no place.

A Thousand Little Eyes

Either I stood in your shadow
or waited in your shade. 
A fly on the wall
buzzing about things to be made.
Now I see clearly
with a thousand little eyes.
Please leave these words,
how little you keep inside.

Excerpts from Morning View

"For once it was nice:
shedding myself of the most boring aspects of my life. 
Which were, realistically, the most exciting parts
in the lives of others...

Before, I placed all my perception of beauty into wonder,
into imagining great features in great lands,
great feats by great hands.
Now I know,
it is not those who wander that are lost,
but those who wonder endlessly of where they could go."

Coincidence

For Eva, dear,
draw your forever near.
Your black crescent moon,
coals cold by noon.
In ink on your skin,
birds chirp on your shoulder.
Wake you at dawn. 
Lie to your ears.

Once Again

I grow dizzy
with all the flames I've burned,
with all the times
this new leaf has turned.
Waste my dreams
as morning burns into view, 
a painful reminder
I wake without you.
Look over the ocean
at all the fish swimming free;
a lonely sailor 
caught by the sea.

Plea Bargain

To the editor, 

I read the signs:
many long books,
reflections high and low.
For a great fear,
a life without, alone.
Madam, I confess,
of my journey
far and less;
of stars and streams alike. 
Nothing helped me see.
Not the sun behind her, 
burning in her amber eyes
or words within set free. 
I implore you,
find the will.

Maybe not a happy ending,
but an ending even still.

Glance

Around and around
the red blue mind. 
Thoughts creep and whisper
in thin grey lines. 
Music to ears 
as silence to sleeping.
Deposit in years,
a warm heart beating.
Ask me now, 
where I have been.
I answer by staring
in low dull hymn.

Dotted Lines

This is my calling. 
I hear it. 
My life will be spent running to, 
not from. 
The cold wind whispers; 
a compass through my soul.  
Soothing 
and chilling to the deepest rivers of my heart - 
the old. 
While the mountain stands. 
Sentries below. 
Ready, 
ringing to the core. 
I do not fear it.