Tag: poetry

  • synaesthesia

    your winter taste
    in dreamkiss
    paints me in din
    let this shamble sing
    in threes without waking

    i never want to leave

  • if only

    Photo by Massimiliano Sarno on Unsplash
    having gone to drift
    through silt grit flowing
    and glaring being strange
    on whenever the wind goes

    left at the car burning low
    under a stormfront rumble
    the first fat raintears at
    the mourn's thin passing

    at cigarette's ruddy glow—
    sleepwalking the story's end
    how we wish, if only...
    if only

  • tides

    to sit of moon and indigo
    waiting on her pale and ebon 
    beyond the veil of sleep

  • seems

    standing stones
    Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash
    sometimes the then seems
    are not really any things at all
    but other seems unconsidered
    that beckon with their call, so
    now back to the la-z-boy and
    the rocking and the nights, dreaming
    new oaks from acorns alone
    but no, no, don't let seams show
    keep all those seems deep inside

  • tossing a rune — 15sep25

    dagaz
    she waves at the threshold
    waiting to close the door
    until i finally show sense & cross
    over to her stone winters within

    A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.

    Today’s rune is dagaz, which has been translated as “daybreak”, that transitional moment between night and day. By extension, it might also be interpreted as “twilight” and is representative of liminality, transformation, the space between worlds, and suggests walking in both the material world and otherworld.

    Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.

  • broken days

     turning towards headstones
    these broken days we, under
    the curtains green falling
    & lost in the dream

    stolen kiss on the cheek
    in the nip of first frost
    woolen the warmth
    given your arms around

  • larking

    another nordeast night
    chasing phantoms
    through busy streets
    hands in hand
    feet never touching ground
    as the crowds gather 'round
    for the samhain fires

    would the i could
    i would be larking
    there still

  • redemption

    a path in the middle of a dark forest
    Photo by Wes Hicks on Unsplash
    i wonder if a part if me
    is lost there on the path
    seeking blaze left behind
    either to or away from

    recalling both nervous
    and tremble hands
    she wore over coffee
    at the allnight café
    cigarettes smoke
    staining the dim lights
    as stained as either's
    reputations unsaved

    i wonder if this dying
    had any point at all
    save for another branch
    lost on a meandering path
    leading towards
    redemption or none

  • stone twilight grey

    Photo by Cornelia Munteanu on Unsplash
    dead or not dead
    does it matter?
    these are ghosts lost
    to the mists of time
    filling in the wake behind
    i drank river water
    tasting of whiskey
    so very long ago

    with autumn leaves
    i skitter towards my
    stone twilight grey

  • echoes

    these words are just echoes,
    pebbles thrown to the pond—
    brave sakura riding the ripples