Sorry
Mistook you
For a sinner.
Shall we
Transfer your soul
Into that rock?
It shall feel
More at
Home.
Life In The Pacific Northwest
Poetry became part of my life decades ago. My first memory involving poetry: a creative writing class from seventh grade. Poetry and writing remain crucial parts of my life to this day.
I find my inspiration in the commonplace, in everyday experiences, in current events. My daily meditations grant me a great deal of clarity, which comes in verse.
Currently, I’m focusing short-form poetry. Predominantly I’m writing haiku/senryu with some tanka. For the past few years, I’ve worked to post a haiku daily. Though not perfect, I’ve been able to stick to that schedule pretty well. Some longer forms come to me, too, though mostly in free-verse.
Sorry
Mistook you
For a sinner.
Shall we
Transfer your soul
Into that rock?
It shall feel
More at
Home.
Souls freed by horror.
More bodies dead then alive.
Chaos, war, madness.
Death, dense,
Beyond neutron stars.
Black holes where
Nothing escapes
Light itself,
Impotent.
Light, space itself
Warped by the power
Of this empty absence.
All nearby, changed,
Bent, disformed.
Eternity.
I know
Staring skyward
Sky’s uncaring coolness
Without emotion, save wonder
Beauty
Night upon wings
Darkened streets, dreamlike
Motion. Blurred sight
Hidden aims.
Both nefarious and innocent.
Life hidden from sunlight.
The angry glare.
Racing mind
Fears awakened,
Given voice,
Speaking loudly
Into murky peace of night.
Dreams unrealized,
Yet still dreams.
Voices of neglected
Priorities. Reminding
Me; deepest values.
Empty grave
This frantic life.
Delightful sense of purpose
Untethered to accomplishment.
Illusions of effectiveness.
Self directed rage
Unuseful, empty sounds.
November’s east bound
Wind pushes still,
Fiercely, chilling.
Flash,
Hand lunges.
Strike!
Momentary grasp for power.
Momentary…
Power touched; flees.
Power’s gone, mist:
Angry vacant god.
Emptiness returns.
Desperation’s emptiness
Resumes its
Ice cold
Fury.
Fragmented beauty,
Soul shards lay motionless
Upon a steel floor.
Darkness lurks upon the farside of my window.
Orange red splotches force through the murk,
Showing much too little.
Too much hidden for those seeking safety.
So much away from the accountability of eyes.
Sometimes selfish longings,
Sometimes the drive to cause pain.
Whether avoiding guilt or capture,
Night’s blanket an ally.
Failure’s abrupt edge,
Perhaps not downfall, rather
Rebirth of my hope.