Scribbles 'n Bits

Category: Poetry

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

  • Low Hanging Fruit

    Far,
far away.
Sittin’ where the apple seeds
grow all day. 
Whistle up a smile
and the branches sway.
Dump out the bath
and keep the baby face. 
Nothing left of leaving - 
only born yesterday. 

  • you my

    My mind buzzes over you.
No use hiding from the truth.
I hope it’s coming,
what we’ve got coming - 
I need it. 
I need to feel inside,
a castle on the hill
with faces in the vines. 
I need you. 


No use hiding every night.
I see something in your eyes.
If you’re not something, 
I’ve got nothing. 
I need it. 
Fuel the fire inside 
a wood burned stove 
with glassy eyed cries. 
I need you. 


I don’t know where time has gone.
Last I seen, it up and run. 
Ah, but nothing,
it’s all nothing. 
I don’t need it. 
A crumbling tide. 
The house fell down, 
nobody inside. 
I need you. 

I need you.

  • TONIGHT’S MENU

    Arms open to the warmth of a kindled flame. 

Wise words encourage the finer things first. 

Swimming free of real naught; realized. 

Low down, twins - fraternal - adore.

Rolling slopes bring a sweet sun to rest

and a goddess to rise.

  • Tumble Cake

    If I could have an ice cream,
I’d rather buy two.
If I could take a walk,
I’d rather go with you.

If I could make a home, 
I’d build it with a view.
Large windows while you’re outside
so I could stare at you.

Whenever I’m alone, dear,
you’re inside my head.
All the things I’m missing
I’d hear from you instead.

  • Hold Cloak, Bring Dagger

    Skepticism in its sheath,
a proverb donned on me. 
Judgement come cloud,
some lost and some found,
repetitious melody. 

Anticipate their looks, 
the mile long stares, 
breeding surreptitiously. 
Eyes bounce and hang;
besieging pack of googlies.

  • Passion

    Perplexed by the utility of love - 
the blunt instrument by which we excuse our higher faculties 
like better judgement and grace.

  • Bound

    Vanished from him
across the sea.
Drying eyes 
with salted air, 
the Northbound man 
set trade winds free. 
A raft adrift 
though lashings taught. 
Emptying his pockets,
scatter rusted keys. 
He recognized one:
strong toothed iconoclast;
a head worn. 
Exchanged tired looks. 
Escape from safe keeping 
or so would seem. 

  • Canyon

    A foreign voice,
bob and drift
yours, 
further down
after years 
streaming
trapped in hesitation. 
and drown
Rusty and broken, 
winding 
“This is me,”
cries
it says. 
thrashing
“This is me,” 
doppler in effect
it agreed. 

  • Encompassing

    Like fresh earth,
roots settled in; 
surround me.
No clear pictures -
how 
why -
rather, a breeze strolled;
a hammock rocked;
hair wisped over a forehead.  
Dug into what grounds me.

  • Bombs away!

    “Bombs away!” 
came the bombardier 
shouting to his captain.
“Bombs away.” 
his captain confirmed
low along the horizon.
“All that 
for one person?”
came the bombardier, again, 
though not one to question orders.
The captain thought it strange,
never one to question openly.
“Do you think”

-explosions rippled below- 

“do you think 
they’ll feel anything?”
For the first time, 
the bombardier wondered.
Only silence answered.
Bomb a building,
a tank, 
an army, 
any of many things;
they feel nothing.
One person, 



everything.