There once was an old pencil made of lead
It could draw everything he never said
When it drew a green fart
He thought it was fine art
Now he wonders if the pencil is dead
Category: Poetry
Am I enough?
Your grace, your charm, your wit;
I don’t like you, yet we fit, we knit.
Life’s so good, so gold, so golden;
I don’t see the glimmer: I’m olden.
I’m rough, I’m buff, I’m so tough;
You seem to like me: am I enough?
A Cliff Dream
A cliff by the sea,
where we once used to be,
there I dream of you once more.
A cliff by the sea,
where we were never to be,
here I dream of you no more.
Words Then, Words Now
Words were spoken, they never existed before.
We talked about change, difference, radical noises.
Our speech was louder, clear convictions, true directions.
Words are spoken in guarded tones, censured.
We talk about survival, sleeping in, making sad noises.
Our speech is quieter, muffled opinions, limited directions.
Kadota
Whispers from you haunt the
places and spaces we shared.
Winter winds whisper words
once spoken from your lips.
Wishing you to stand beside
me and say my name kindly.
Winter winds whisper a name
once yours; then, then Kadota.
Whispers of you linger as the
snow falls from my heart.
Poetry Days
Slumped over the desk,
creeping fatigue lingers,
and haunts poetry days.
Exile
When we touched,
you were the one.
Longing for fingers,
dancing southward.
Together too long,
fighting over nothing.
When we fought,
I was in a lonely exile.
Longing for you,
wishing it better.
Together too long,
too long together
to let this love go.
Hidden Kettle
An aversion to
the kettle in the kitchen.
Hidden from my sight,
a cup of tea calls to me;
the kettle sits in the bin.
Emotional Totalitarianism
A world devoid of emotion,
the only colour to wear is grey.
They stand in a single file,
waiting for their daily rations.
Just one look he stole for love,
a look she returned for life.
Locked in a totalitarian world,
walking to their execution.
Phosphorescent Prints
steps are taken by
leaving phosphorescent prints
on the forest floor.
soft whispers stir
taking the noise of the night
into still music.
the forest holds
her breath waiting for the shift
from the moon.
she steps towards
the path of starlight as the snow
begins to fall.
C & K 