There are triggers, even today, more than 20 years later that create an uncontrollable reaction. When triggered I become some strange Quinton Tarantino character acting in one of his famous satirical non-linear story lines. I just want to beat my head against the wall until all I feel is the wall’s unmovable strength and all…
Did you know I have read some of my poetry on soundcloud? Yea…against my better judgement, because I hate my voice. However, I do feel like sometimes you get more from hearing than reading. Sometimes you reach people who would never read a poem. Why am I telling you this now? Because you should listen…
Helena sent this to me one night via email. I had to share. So many of us have been in this place… Written by Helena Hann-Basquiat Blink and you’ll miss me Turn away and I’ll be gone What am I? This isn’t a riddle it’s an identity crisis that for lack of a mirror…
I cut trap doors into your floors Sinister cracks hidden by daylight As I wait for you inside obscurity Waiting for you to mess up, give up Until you decide to let go, give in Come, And fall into my dark Come, And get infected by my night Let me confine you for a bit…
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2014 annual report for this blog. Here’s an excerpt: The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 56,000 times in 2014. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 21 sold-out performances for that many…
How come nobody told me The fucking edges are liquid There are no solid ledges No lingering to look down No safe place to rethink Because the edges are liquid Calming from a distance They ripple, roll and wave Eventually pulling you in Lulling you into a dream But once inside fantasy The edges…
I’ve been here Well… Here and there But mostly here And I am tired Monsters chase Demons follow Consistent bellows From the gallows Sheeted ghosts Worn out Torn holes Becoming rips Leaving me here Trying to decide If I should continue Not just here But there as well Some days I am the sheeted ghost…
I miss the way your words calmed me How we used to write so eloquently Blinking cursors dancing together Creating symphonic stanzas in verse I can’t do that anymore… ever…. Not without you anyway… never… Because important pieces are missing And nobody could ever do the replacing For a short while you braved my storm…
I wanted a perfect ending. Now I’ve learned, the hard way, that some poems don’t rhyme, and some stories don’t have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity. ~ Gilda…
Self-prophesied aches chase me Like they are never going to stop Ghosts from the past materialize Wearing sheets stained long ago Moaning From the pain I’ve caused Forgive me future for I have Forsaken the dwellers within Creatures created from my thoughts Expectations and condemnations Appearing like a phantom symphony Bellowing life from distended…
