Posts Tagged ‘prose poetry’

Quiet down now, beautiful little bygones.

Your melancholy harmony was you greatest allure.

When I walk away like a cowboy into the sunset, you’ll miss

The point, and that’s something I’ll have to live with.


I’ll throw around words of distaste like boulders,

Looking for the golden ruling, but I’ll never be able to speak my heart.

Down by the water hole, I have reflected more than a man does in a lifetime,

And I’ve found just as much, because there is only one answer, every time.


The past is Four Roses on the rocks, And after a few,

I’m drunk in memories. Though it’s easiest to forget.

Strangers will gather and help me sing this song,

That digs me deeper, closer to my grave.


The Aces of life I laid on the table doubled its value,

But the dealer knew better and rigged the river,

And all that time wishing for the jackpot,

Left me with nothing but kindly banter from the others being played.


Yes, the fear of untimely change can make a man’s paunch ache,

Biting fingernails and sleepless nights, snappy judgment, blind eyes,

Rest assured, everything will be alright.

But first things first, get through the night alive.


Today I’ll ponder mortality; tomorrow I’ll fight it.

And that’s the answer, every time.

Today I’ll drink and toast. Tomorrow I’ll find a new town,

And call it my own, until it’s time for my sunset again


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Oh, Holy Night Oh Holy Night.


I wake from rest to the dull rain and thunder,

Scraps of space stoning Mother Earth.

From a window of my capsule,

I am pierced and split like ripping paper.


Debris and chunks of rock with flaming wings, Plummet like raindrops into my homeland,

Asteroids with mass of buses plunking into the seas,

With anger, with authority.


The world tilts off its tilt,

And begins to rotate faster,

Spinning madly like an unstable top,

Rapidly pulling everything, and me, closer.


My vision goes staid, conic, and swirled.

My head swells with pressure,

All blood running from my face.

White- knuckled. This is the end.


But I can only think of the 8 billion people

Laying flat stomached on sidewalks,

Basement floors, or those that do not know,

Waiting for their loved ones to come home,

Sleeping forever, learning in school.

All surrender to the inevitable price of existence.




Day by day, night by night,

We built into land we knew nothing of.

And when we discovered what that was,

We remained ignorant to the thought

That someday, even we will die.


Darkness ensues me.

48 hours later, I jerk to life from

The deepest cavern of where my mind could take me. And immediately, I begin to cry.


Through my poor sights; One half of the planet,

The sun turns ablaze land and dried sea,

One half is encompassed in a globe of black

And I know nothing more.


Trees, water, life, displaced and eviscerated.

I wish I was on that planet with everyone else,

That was how it was supposed to be,

Here I will madly spin on beyond my existence.

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I need to finger-paint

Like I used to;

Go fucking crazy.


Fire hydrants the color of public pool floors,

Shimmering in the sun,

Dotted with flecks of flaxen

From teenyboppers, splashing,

Framed by myrtle sidewalks

That melt off the canvas.


I want to smudge her face

Of mauve clouds absconding from

A single cracked mason jar

Brimming of rose petaled skies.

Drench my hands in bubbling color and

Drag my knuckles through her oily eyes.

Thwarting a limit until

I add a drop or two of

Violet, milky tears to finish the picture.

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