stonepoem : poems & poetry

I am the sigh

only lovers hear

listen

I am layers

stretched between indigo

see

I am scent

on powder wind

breathe

I am the question

always longing -

answer,

me.

Heads up,
it’s a bad moon day
I woke up late
teeth like slate
must be all
the stress I ate
think I’ll choose
another fate
a bell was wrung
a clock was wrong
my zombie state
my crawling heart
each step a guess
too late
and now I’m looking for
another gate.
Heads up,
six-thirty’s eight
and truth won’t wait
now trussed in toil
like chess piece bait
I think I’ll lose
this course debate
the well is stung
the locks stay strong
on busted crates
I’ll lose this haul
with fumbling hold
too late -
I think I’ll fight
but without hate.
Heads up,
it’s a bad moon day
but all should know -
you and I
can still be
great.

Below the ripple sway
polished dark like night
above, a silver stream
time lapsed rushing by
smooth, as melting ice
hello says the curling sky
pressed like frosted bacolite
in love? the elders dream
through moonlust eyes
and truth like sifted rice
so low, now winter days
relished not as if by right
a shove sleeved scream
rhyme hatched and rushing by
and proud as wish-tree ties
and still in awe of morning rise
am I.

Only on the edges of the edge
will you truly feel alive.
so said the brutish souls
grubbing through the mud and oil
spitting blood and drowning
low in anger flood.
sneering at the lonely stride
the boneless trudge
the spineless push
towards a vacant ledge
like aimless grudges bent
before a shameless judge
the honey thieves are out of breath,
and chicken sad with thoughts of death.
one step forward then we’re all gone
one turn back and everything
survives.

It was a wise machine that wound
this ball of string as tight as season rings
somewhere it started and somewhere it will end
the whirl of things not right nor wrong - just reasoning
yet ’somewhere it begins’ feels like pretence -
footsteps wandering round and circling lost
halls of uncrowned kings yet no choirs sing -
again not right nor wrong - just reasoning.
Words; the thrum of strands within threads
tight-wrapped filaments beyond permanence
time is now to untangle their intent
entwined within their turning firmament.

There’s a big thing I have to do
Can’t say too much but it’s time,
time to be a grown-up for awhile
if I hold my breath for long enough
everything might just be O.K
Tomorrow could be different
the toys of life could be in their trays
and I might learn about responsibility -
practice process before ways.
It’s very introspective of me isn’t it?
Thinking, thinking this might interest you
expecting you to understand this too
but I wanted you to know
there’s a big thing I have to do.