Savory Things

dewdrops on eyelids and spellbinding black kittens

ascension on alabaster clouds and shameless admittance

auburn leaves in windstorms violently rustling

these are a few of my savory things

.

chalk colored spirits and cream in my coffee

string quartet sunsets and possessions with apostrophes

ravens that fly with full moon on their wings

these are a few of my savory things

.

Men in white collars with red paisley neckties

his finger tracing softly up black stocking’d thighs

blessings abundant, for we have our rings

These are a few of my savory things.

.

When you take things for granted

When you get in a cycle of drudgery

When you lack common joys

Take notice of your list of savory things

and life will be more enjoyed

Advertisements

Skyfuck- A haiku about something we humans will never experience in this lifetime, and it’s a shame.

(by the way. I really detest haiku. Nevertheless, I am too lazy to write a real poem today)

dragonflies mating in tandem

riding the wind, in rhythm with the currents’

air like coaster hills

No Rules

I don’t follow the rules, here.

I make it how I want it, see it, feel it…

This is a cosmic little galaxy commandeered by yours truly. I am the creator, and every speck that exists has come from within my own vision. There is very little in life we have control over. This small kingdom is all to my own. If you’re reading this, consider yourself a deep space tourist. I encourage you to leave a comment about your stay.

If you come across a word that you don’t recognize, look it up. I do not intend to misspell, but sometimes I bend meanings or fabricate words to suit my own personal fancies. Why? Because I can, and it fits what I am thinking. If you want a definition of my made-up words, just ask… Have fun in here.

The Dead Dyad

My friend, he came

to drag a boy

to my doorstep

sure that we should

know one another

And so we did,

from the tips of our very souls

to every ripple of our brains

to the soft curves of our hearts

It was history

in our own books

like a hieroglyph

of important events

“The world is atrocious”

we would say

Together, we piled

our soft clay emotions, views

melded into a lumpy heap,

working, forlorn, as one unit

towards the formation into something

functional and beautiful

The pain, the truth

which could have nearly paralyzed us,

exercised through poetry and song

let us bleed in monochromatic synchronicity,

a freedom from the bulging strain

in our adolescent brains

from realizing the repulsive side of humankind

We discovered a golden force

glowing within, an ability

to forget our woes

and accept every fleeting moment

as a euphoric one

Many magical moments followed,

steeped in ultra-cognifizance,

a sparkling wonder of intense awareness

I have had to let go

of him

and the puzzle

as to how he could just

walk away and be

the antithesis of

it all-

all we felt

learned,

lived,

loved,

discovered

as if all along,

he was just an imaginary friend

Good morning, Dark Stalker

I know a couple

lived so long

long enough to know

 

.

as all the parts

start to fail

that soon it’s time to go

 

.

I can’t imagine their living

with a reaper

stalking their every step

 

.

waiting for their pump

to quit

or the draw of their last breath

 

.

How it leans in intuitively as they hack

hoping to drag them into the black

 

.

The reaper sits in a corner chair while they sleep

when the snores grow silent, nearer it creeps

 

 

.

It peeks as they shower,(do not slip)

soon to be his if they break even a hip

 

.

Oh, the young,

they don’t know

how long they will be

 

.

Hell, a reaper

could certainly

be stalking me

 

.

Those octogenarians,

poor dears,

he follows them everyday

.

It must be haunting,

CHILLING to be

at the ripe end of decay

Here Kitty. Nevermind.

Ensnared

Tip-toe to the loo

careful not to disturb…

Trickle scalding bubble brew

a flicker votive

foxy motive

 

Roll the Cocteau swirling lullaby

cue the dim revelry

dip and dunk, slip-in, sunk

cherry toes

and flesh mangoes

 

Like moths to flame

or squirrels to snacks

He comes creeping, eyes peeled

to Venus’ trap

for the snatch

 

The rhythmic tide of captive boy

caught in some sweet sticky mess

in strumming stride with lady ploy

waves unfurling

frothy churning

 

Pucker (in so many contexts)

let it slurp away

from the bottoms to the twined necks

no need to seize

what can be lured with ease