Scribbles 'n Bits

Tag: original poem

  • Memorandum of Overture

    My advice, 
fallen deaf 
on the ears made by 
adjoining symphony -
or cacophony - indifference. 
Splice.
Sew broken 
chord through and thorough.
Fodder for the cannon; 
bows at the ready. 
My advice?
Hold your head high,
an octave above the rest.
And fade.

  • MetaData

    { “class”: “go.Poem”,
    “linkFromIdPerspective”: “fromSelf”,
    “linkToIdPerspective”: “toElse”,
    “nodeDataArray”: [
    {“category”:”Comment”, “loc”:”360 -10″, “text”:”Algorithm”, “key”:-13},
    {“key”:-1, “category”:”Start”, “loc”:”175 0″, “text”:”Start”},
    {“key”:0, “loc”:”-5 75″, “text”:”Preheat oven to 375 F”},
    {“key”:1, “loc”:”175 100″, “text”:”blend: metaphor, soul, abstraction”},
    {“key”:2, “loc”:”175 200″, “text”:”add: adjective, clever; premise”},
    {“key”:3, “loc”:”175 290″, “text”:”cue us; be honest – opaque (K{v})”},
    {“key”:4, “loc”:”175 380″, “text”:”obfuscate”},
    {“key”:5, “loc”:”355 85″, “text”:”chop choice of nuts – no peanuts”},
    {“key”:6, “loc”:”175 450″, “text”:”dash hope”},
    {“key”:7, “loc”:”175 515″, “text”:”delta(h) – set aside”},
    {“key”:8, “loc”:”175 585″, “text”:”let cool”},
    {“key”:-2, “category”:”End”, “loc”:”175 660″, “text”:”Share”}
    ],
    “linkDataArray”: [
    {“from”:1, “to”:2, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:2, “to”:3, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:3, “to”:4, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:4, “to”:6, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:6, “to”:7, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:7, “to”:8, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:8, “to”:-2, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:-1, “to”:0, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:-1, “to”:1, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:-1, “to”:5, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:5, “to”:4, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”},
    {“from”:0, “to”:4, “fromPort”:”B”, “toPort”:”T”}
    ]}

  • S.D.B.Q!

    Fixing
instruments of death. 
A wrench
turning man. 
the author of apocalypse - 
swift rivers’ final breath. 
A demon, 
fears 
of every depth. 
Purged 
of amnesty.
Hedge rows 
trimmed to hypocrisy. 
A lesson, some say, 
learned -
apple rotting on the desk. 
A monster
lamenting only failure. 

  • Bar Setting

    Message from the awful truths 
nothing stronger than full proof. 
Bits and pieces of presumption. 

Little takeaways for view - 
pleasure emptier than the room. 
Rise to the occasion or rise to nothing. 

Gracious notes from old to new: 
scrambled eggs and beatnik floof. 
Flowers on collars and shelves of buttons. 

Let the setting scene
fade to view.

  • 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.

  • 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.