Scribbles 'n Bits

Tag: original poetry

  • Collared Green

    Long swings of outrage
to apathy,
cries the pendulum.
Settling low,
windmills blinking as one. 
The man in the high collar
staring down burnt ends
of a smoke trail,
looks up and smiles,
“Well, now.”

  • Clad

    Give me one more
blustery good night.
More
of a past,
dead silence
spoken from dark moon’s hollow bite. 
Down below
where I like it.
Down below,
an ill fate sealed tight.

  • Another Compromise

    Awakening on its journey,
a smell of slight decay.
Leaves sloughing from the canopy. 
A zombie losing the safe promise
of summer fruits.
Scurry and hurry to the beat
of a sacred, albeit fatalistic, 
yearly routine.
Close to where we started,
but no less sweet to see,
the two by two's; the families; 
their long sleeves

  • better, then

    a cherished few return 

    Friend, I’m sorry,
what even happened? 
Tolerable enough
that "hey" would do.
    
like a boomerang

    I cannot stay, 
only come back.
Tell me what you need.
A wax figure 
constant to the flame. 
How do you see fit?
    
picking cherries out of life

    Husks on the ground,
a shell of a man. 
The kernels rotten,
ugly and obscene.

  • Aequitus Non Forma

    Universal responsibility 
without universal consequence. 
A convenient argument 
for those who never 
slept without food in their stomach,
lived without love in their past,
and never suffered doubt for their chances
or passion to prevail.

  • Filthy

    Leave your scrap.

I am the excrement of the world. 
I crawl to the edge of the trash pile,
salt it with earth
and devour. 

Leave your disgust.

I am the crazy you loathe
and the strange you fear.
I sing platitudes 
like a skipped record, 
scratching the cliff holds for dear life.

Lay me in the dirt.

I suffocate there 
thousands of years
watching the strata pass.

Cast me your stones

and throw me in the pit. 
Belabor your glorious effort
at my humble expense. 
If all else fails, 

burn the witch.

  • Close Your Eyes, Passerby

    Close your eyes:
A tortuous path ‘round leaves,
a smoky inhale,
an acrid, honey exhale
smiling sweet in the pane.
It’s nice, they say,
when your eyes open
and that place you stay...
    The ocean at the end
of the lane, 
out there.
Quietly waiting
with the sun, we stare. 

Digging my own grave
inside a bottle of Jack.
Living life worth leaving
and it ain’t half bad.
Kill me with a smile;
never take it back. 

Don’t know what’s waiting,
passing through trees out there.
A hazy, white wolf 
with a welcome-home glare. 

A knock at my soul
hello to the ones who stay.
Chilling with my friends
fuck the rest away.

  • A Most Patient Game

    A quizzical creature bundled down.
Quilted together, cut,
from the same cloth - 
different scissors. 
Warm until tattered,
somehow catching wind.
A tired, musty dry line sagging
and swaying.
Moreover, the unreachable 
often still reach you. 
Crooked, but as usual,
the only one in town.

  • Honest Tea

    Of all the colors counting
my favorite one is you. 
I couldn't be more happy
if all the snacks were blue.
Statistically speaking - tongue tied - 
vomiting words, 
but all completely true.

  • Forge

    Go, go on 
    Go on comfort 
    Go on pain 
    Go on grip of something beautiful 
    Go, go on
    Go on common
    Go on fate
    Go on hard fought and earned 
    Go, go on
    Go on, love
    Live life like a dying breed 
    Change - my first and last dying need 
    So go
    Go, go on