Category: writing

  • eyes play

    Photo by Nikolay Hristov on Unsplash
    growing at distance
    eyes play watchmen
    observing in steel as
    a hand strokes in time
    with the machine

  • sudden summer

    black wooden fence on snow field at a distance of black bare trees
    Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
    sudden summer rain
    calls to the napping
    of grey dark the room
    i still ache to dream

    winter tales,
    winter song

  • crash

    Photo by Stephane Gagnon on Unsplash
    distractions become bliss with
    the fever of fingers dancing
    in the darkest shadows and
    a kiss before that small death
    where stars blur and blend
    slipstream into one present
    into rising waves of pasts
    beyond remembering
    to crash into you

  • etchcarve

    Photo by Dylan Whoriskey on Unsplash
    i carve the etch of me
    all whalebone & darksea
    a riprap black taking
    all wavecast offerings
    adding to that nightinked
    & lowing in underwave,
    that etchcarve of me

  • tossing a rune — 16jun25

    mannaz
    tangled on wyrding
    bonds stretched to strain
    cairn flags flutter in
    the winds set aflame

    Another rune poem of mine, where the rune is selected at random.

    Today’s rune is mannaz, which has a core meaning of “man”. The extension of the rune also includes “mankind” or “human”. Going further, some have interpreted this rune to mean rational thinking, family, social order and self-awareness.

  • stranger am i

    i stranger am i
    unknown to be
    i stranger am i
    fatigued to be
    trial as k
    no answer find
    weary talking in
    wandering warrens
    of stranger am i

  • there be lions

    That is what one gets when one listens to rumors.

    Rumors lead to hope. And “hope”, as the song goes, “is no good”. You would think we would not learn to base our decisions on hope. That is what we get for thinking, as my grandmother was fond of saying.

    Better to put that bear to slumber once again. Help him to hibernate and sleep this long, cold winter of the soul away, away.

    We can try to explain but the words come out all wrong and we speak of pain, people think we like it here. Ever the tears to hide, slip on a smile — wooden and hollow — and give in to the dreaming on.

    Even if… there be lions. Ever and hungry.

  • underneath

    Photo by pedram ahmadi on Unsplash
    the peopling ages raw
    meat hook hanging
    — don't pretend to kiss me,
    this savage morning hurts

    let me dance the razor's edge
    the deaf talk my broken digits
    the blind point my way home

    underneath, i weary stone

  • toll

    Photo by Alla Kemelmakher on Unsplash
    how lonely the tolling of
    the bell sans clapper
    as come those mists of
    yon forest vale

  • fireys

    there are days i wish
    i could be all fireys
    and toss my head away
    so that i could
    get all chilly down
    and think clearly
    for just one day