Scribbles 'n Bits

Tag: original poetry

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Mementos

    Thoughts slip and fall.

Drops off a faucet, oh, 
damn indecent of them all. 
Naked strangers
strewn casually about. 
The world could care. 

drip

Forgive the interruption,
a minute at most.
Sign the form, and step
one toe onto the line. 

drip 

However you make your mark. 

drip 

Please, step one toe,
a harmless piece, 
into

yes,         there
       line 
and 
just 

drip 

       yes, see, 

drip 

never

so
   bad

drip


free

  • Tasseography

    Tired grow the eyes,
yet hunger fills the dreams.
Seconds dwindle daily
while life’s leaves steep.
Words I speak fairly, 

“None too fair,  
the lives we keep.” 

In the bottom,
the porcelain fine print, 
you wonder of the tea.
To smile sweet;
just grudge on,
or change indefinitely.

  • Static

    I count all my hair, 
stinging with electricity, 
ozone on my sleeve. 
A peat bog with water waist deep, 
moss on down the halls. 
Bouncing a voice long gone, 
“How do we breathe?” 
Escaping as we speak. 

Beautiful words confine me, 
a misery of mystery. 
Restless at the seams. 
A prison so lost friends won’t find me. 
How does this compare? 
Another kind of exposure. 

  • Wisdom’s Fruits

    Aimless through the black and white,
among the grainy tops of midnight.
Wander through clear cut lines 
of staunch lit dreams and windless vines. 
Crawl and stretch toward open whites, 
blue or hazel of open eyes. 
Crossing through emboldened text.
Reap and sow tears of crying minds. 
Black and white, 
back and forth; 
whose hope is it to read the signs? 
Among the fields stemming dreams of height,
while as to day, they fall to night. 
Within words so far away
only disbelief will fill my fright. 
Harvested here by those astray,
the tree of wisdom, from leaves that fell away. 

  • Tripping

    Where wild ones play.
In a jungle of laughing and longing.
Built over time
on overgrown mossy ground.
Filled with a soundtrack
of cackles in the dark. 
Strange and unrecognizable to them.
Though very much alone. 
Sounds to which 
they've kissed goodbye
all night long. 
Until trees fall and flowers wilt.
All noise fades. 
A cold, bare apartment
called home.
Never to see each other again.
So it feels.
Something she would call dramatic. 
To say the least.
Sometimes the most
better left unsaid.

  • 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