The warm sun burns down
Through cold winds that chill the skin
No leaves for shelter
Category Archives: Poetry
Expensive Drivel
Money speaks to money,
But does money hear the drivel
It’s raised above the drone?
Or maybe money doesn’t listen
But whines at each other, alone.
Aggravation and anger,
Like a splinter under the skin,
Drives us to fix the problem,
But where do we even begin?
Trick Or Treat
Crisp, clear, and cold the wind calls.
It tugs, taunts, torments, and tears
At capes and cloaks. At hats and hands.
Mauling masks and wrenching wigs.
Plucking, pulling, and pleading for its share.
It steals the shouts of “Trick or treat!”
As one by one they parade with sweets
The longer it watches without a pick –
The more it blows with its threatened trick.
Effort & Planning
A monumental task (sizeable at least),
Requiring effort and planning in
A display of dedication, an exhibition of ability
(Perhaps even an invitation for admiration):
Fully prepped and anticipated – then suddenly redirected,
A worthy mission made manageable: effortless.
The plan remained, neglected, dusted thickly
By a vague (possibly unreasonable) disappointment.
The Rate of Change
Can you derive the rate of change in the human heart?
Tracking each tremble as it approaches –
Yet never quite reaches – love.
Even the furthest tangent feels the pain
When the link is torn or cut, and
One heart reaches for the other
Over and over without success until,
Finally, the shared closeness, once so integral,
Fades in time to the growing distance.
A Churlish Cacophony
Like a beating drum, it hits and echoes.
Irregular and erratic, filling the space
With a steady heartbeat, started and ignored:
Startling the true heartbeat to a race
As the hollow thunks repeat at each verge of sleep.
What angle of wind directs them so vindictively?
The Ballad of Caffeine
Brain cells start to churn a bit
But ponderously slow
How I ever write first thing AM,
Believe me, I don’t know.
The Mirror of All I Am Not
Standing before me,
The mirror of all I am not.
As I listen to you
The reflection of my life
Turns tawdry and dim:
Shadows of caricatures
Sketched quickly on
Scrap paper
Or twisted like
A funhouse mirror:
The more of you,
The less of me –
Taunting me with
A me that was
Or once could be.
twytte 