Tag Archives: freeform

Poem: Dark One

14 Jul

Dark One

I worry I am too much chaos. You stand there, in your sweet and indeterminable beauty, and you think I am frail because you see me cower. But I am only crouching, trying to hide from you my soul as it glowers.

I am a stormy soul, oh light one. I worry I might obliterate you if we were to crash together.

Insanity so easily swallows up naked possibility.

I’m worried we would go insane, if I tried to swallow you.

But you are so tempting, you over there with your soft breezes and gentle kisses blown at me with a wave. Your fingers chide my suspicion so cheerfully.

I am fearful to wave back; I do not trust my darkened sensibilities. They can so quickly snuff a greeting so bright as yours.

Ah, but you might taste so sweet, as I devoured you…

And the end of what you promised – well, death need not always be a wretched case.

But would it be so easy for me to say that then as I watched you limp away, wounded?

Work-From-Home

18 Apr

Oh dear Poe and Dickinson, I don’t know how you did it.

Work-From-Home

I am going crazy
sitting inside this house.
They call it freelance
but I call it shut-in,
this endless typing of nonsense
onto a dead screen like it’s a friend
because it’s the only thing I’ve got
to talk to,
all day,
all the time.
I will tell you my stories,
dear static of electrons and gigabytes.
I will tell you all these things
inside my head,
poured endlessly
into the wasteland of a blank word document.
That’s all you are, after all –
a parched desert that we try to fill
with the thirst of our souls for someone else,
anyone else.
And so we write stories.
The only breathing
is the rustle of the blinds in a breeze
because I left the window open again,
a forgetful reminder that there’s a world outside.
But I can’t write out there.
Too much glare across the screen
and my fingers lost the quickness of pen
in favor of jabbing at keys in frustration.
Quick, spiteful precise stabs,
anything to flood my message across that empty line.
Lines and lines and lines,
meaningless lines we try to make say something
about our loneliness
but not about our loneliness,
about something else that would be greater
than just telling the world the story
of sitting for the slow-drip torture of seconds
as our life wastes away
down the drain,
a straight shot from the faucet
because all we have are the too-hard chairs
that become our companions
and remind us constantly of the discomfort we sit with.
There’s too much bitterness on my tongue
for me to keep drinking coffee.
We try to say something other
than the sounds of a silent house and road work outside,
because that’s not a good enough story
for a mind crazed by sitting endlessly on the inside,
calling it freelance
but dying from shut-in.

A Storyland Poem

16 Feb

I was feeling a bit crazy and just kind of garbled this out, because I was also kind of lonely and was hoping the Cheshire Cat might come round…

 

The Cheshire Cat

I once sat down with a cat to coffee

(or was it with a bird to tea?)

and the cat asked what was on my mind

but my soul hadn’t yet learned to breathe

and so I asked if I could have some time

and the cat told me I’d had enough

and I said yes, that’s exactly it

you see I’ve had enough of this.

And the cat, the cat poured me some milk

(or was it that the bird tipped some sugar?)

and asked if I’d perhaps prefer a different ilk

to get my lungs again aquiver?

And I said yes, I’d much prefer

a different kind of trek than this,

a different land, a different sea, maybe a canyon

or mountain or few

and the cat just nodded thoughtfully

(or was it that the bird took off and flew?)

but we ran out of coffee (or was it tea?)

and I’ve forgot where I’ve put

that hat or card or book

that the cat had handed me

and so I’ve but this world of porcelain cups

to remind me of the smile I’ve missed.

 

cheshire cat crazy reality