Scribbles 'n Bits

Tag: original

  • 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

  • Gravitate

    The first came from answer,
a place you'd least expect. 
The last place on earth
rest between your lips. 
A final question answered.
Where every person lay.
A journey finally ventured,
dead silence caught, 
magnificent 
and utterly afraid.

So rudely interrupted.
Destined, 
from the middle  
to the end of a line. 
The story not faded, 
but truly refined - 
a switchback no one knows. 
The last mark of ink.
An ‘x’ between your feet. 
Dig deeper still
until you sink beneath.

  • The Beat

    So rumble on. 
Dignified specks 
across the cuffs.
A stumbled run.
Lives closer, 
standing back, 
than coming from.  
A room of champagne glasses 
painted darkly - 
beating a rogue drum. 
A gallery free 
of ivory canvas.
Deaf fallen hum.

  • Solstice

    Over the shoulder
into dawn - 
a bruised and battered sky. 
Past the fallen
violet honey
or so goes the cry. 

Through cedar boughs;
over ice - 
a freshly minted leave.
A turned corner,
the smokehouse finds reprieve. 

A cliche for all ages,
"what's done is done,"
and again
never comes.
A brow's glistening white beads.

  • A Wandering: The Nuance of Idle Thought

    From a person imprisoned or sheltered within their mind arise pathologies not explored by those who take benevolent residence instead.

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  • The Stylist’s Curse

    Foreword: Though the elements of horror fiction commonly make their way into my writing, it is oddly one of my least common reading choices. The bulk of which, when I do partake, is centered on a psychological component. In appreciation, few other subjects offer a laboratory as free for exploration. I felt, in holiday spirit, what’s the harm? Hope you enjoy.

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