Category: POETRY

The space
between ear to ear
seems so unreal
when its filled
with synapses.
miss firings,
here and there.
Leaving the question,
Oh my, what was that?

Jumbled up reasons
of figuring things out.

I have frayed about
on an empty page,
leaving black symbols,
which I try to understand.

The presumption of it,
just pisses me off.
So I remain reticence
and all filled with metaphors.

What are these creatures ,
which form upon the paper
in long black swirling paths,
or now sometimes across the computer screen
in pixels and dots.
But what are these things?
They try to convey what we feel inside;
What we want to say
think we’re saying,
and hoping people will understand what we’re saying.
We use hand gestures and expressions
Actions and motions
These syllable tapestries we call words
Each word as simple as father
Brings meanings that are different with each person.
We use words to try to explain an experience
Or A feeling such as love.
however only a picture of this can be expressed.
One hopes when her eyes look at you,
That she understands.

Being strange to one person is a bad word
While to another it’s a compliment.
As I sit out hear I listen to the birds
hear ‘em sing,
the water running over the rocks
and I see words in my head form into pictures
and those pictures are memories.

Watered shattered
Battered
Time glaring under the ocean
Devouring
Pages of water,
Time became speed
Effervescent colors crossed the water
Rain drops—cruel drops
Slumbering clarity
Perverse love

While you were fooling around
I was falling in love

Murmur of waves breaking

Fugitive words

My sad tenderness

Even your breasts smell of it.

How you must of suffered getting accustomed to me.

My savage solitary heart or soul.

I loved her, sometimes she loved me

The dead are drawn to sound

I don’t know, I’m ignorant, I can hardly see.

Words are not my friends
They trick me into thinking, I understand.
Then she goes and changes the meanings.
Why did she have to go and do that?
Each word:
a single match, burning solo.
Each time repeated,
rewritten
changes meaning,
leaving a slight hint of sulfur.

Words are not my friends
They expose.
They are cruel,
frightening
tear,
and without reason they cause me to care,
to love
then turn right back around
and cut.
 
Words are not my friends.
So don’t speak, my love.
Don’t tell me you love me.
Or that, it’s just your love is different than mine.
Don’t say a thing
Don’t try to explain.
Dragging out all those memories
and souvenirs.
Just turn around;
walk away.