Poetry

One sliver

One sliver
Of an inch
So close
That you could pinch

Its toothy
Fleshless face
Devoid of
Any grace

Its breath of rot
And sin
That vilely
Beckons in

You thought
That you could win?
You thought
That you would ace?
You thought
That I would flinch?

Standard
Poetry

Awake

Step by weary step Ι plodded along
To the dull beat of a monotonous song
Then in a flash
My day and night crashed
I took my first breath and awoke

A new spring in my step, feet as light as rain
Bouncing off the concrete in melodious refrain
I can walk upright
My smile beaming, bright
Standing tall under a gentle yoke

Standard
Poetry

Night

I don’t think it’s my thing to rage
Against the dying of the light
When I have reached the final stage,
I know I won’t put up a fight

I’d rather let the night caress
This body I’ve worn thin
I’ll have a sip of wine, undress,
And gallantly sink in

Standard
Poetry

When words fail

When words fail
The world seems to end
And life loses all meaning

For a while

When assurances are of no avail
When reason fails to comprehend
Life goes careening

For a mile

But up ahead the road is smooth and straight,
The world restored to its primeval state

And then you’ll smile

For a while

Standard
Poetry

Twenty years

Twenty years ago
I was shooting for the stars
You pulled me down
Back to earth
And I grew roots
Became entwined with you

I then discovered
That beneath
Lies a place I never knew
A nurturing depth
Which makes one grow so tall
They reach the stars

Standard
Poetry

I know

I know I shouldn’t love you
But I can’t help myself
Can’t bottle up my feelings
And put them on a shelf
Where they will dormant, quietly
Lie in their sweet repose
While I look on as silently
My life turns into prose

Standard
Poetry

The tides of March

Drop after drop
Dripping and drooling
Spilling and spooling
Spirals and spires
Mud pits and mires
Cleaving and cloning
Drowning and droning
Hasting and heaving
Blessing, bereaving
Treading and trudging
Kneading and nudging

Then swiftly, a stop

Standard
Poetry

A stillborn season

A stillborn season is but a season still
What does it matter if it lasts a year
Or ends after a week at will?

And one that flounders is but a season too
Why should we harshly judge its trembling gait
Or gripe that no grapes grew?

Rather than blame the blight and slur the season
I offer thanks for life and reason

Another night has come, another day
Another season dawns
Well, come what may

Standard