Scribbles 'n Bits

Tag: weekend poetry

  • Benched

    The bench spoke to me. 
I waited so long: 
the daily walks,
the nervous glances,
 - hoping. 
I made excuses, 
now thinking about it, 
to walk by. 
Deluding myself to believe.

No,

I do like walking.

I do like that bench.
 
Around and around
that gnarly,
blood-footed path.

And then
sat, 

“please leave“ it requested. 
An underwhelming introduction, 
but 
chills and flutters
still. 
I walk 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

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  • 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.