The stream (all workshops)
If melancholy was an ocean,
I’d be drowning, with names of forgotten souls weighing me down
like they do in my memories
A remorse that can’t be told.
I skip the wakes for the things I helped die
from time and time of neglect
A guilt I can’t escape
For joining something I could easily forget
A remorse that can’t be told
I’m pained when I oversee the obvious
my oblivion always reigns supreme
people’s efforts go unnoticed
as their dedication is dismissed
A remorse that can’t be told
you don't have to scream
i am standing
right here
next to you
and you know
despite me
i can be
the type of boy
that comes closer
to hear
a
whisper
from
afar
i have this voice too
steady
like the roar of a machine
but getting tired
with this factory life
and through the windows
(that I somehow never noticed before)
i caught a glimpse of a darkening sky
and through these openings
i can smell
the smell
It's a message as old as the hills
And the trees are the first to get it
You see it in colors of the leaves
Before eventually they fall to the ground
Winter is coming
I hear its footsteps in the morning mist
And in the early coming of the nights
The last of the birds are flying north
Leaving me with songless mornings
And eerily quiet, empty days
She sits serene, so statuesque,
not posed like dancer's arabesque.
Her features form a faithful face,
like goddess of a long-dead race.
She sparkles like the silver moon
on summer nights in flaming June.
Then sheds her lustre and her light
upon my dark and dreary night.
She's silent, sometimes, as the trees.
Unshook by breath of boisterous breeze.
Her heart, that’s of a tender kind,
is merged with melancholic mind.
Up in the night!
relegate the daylight
to something hidden from sight
night terrors appear
then reappear
you can't put a fight
you've just got to get out of here,
but you can't remember how
in a flash it comes to you
just open up your eyes
and quick, turn on the light!
The distance on the calendar
tamps down a gentle sadness
that still resides in my home.
I sometimes feel it as dust,
easily disturbed by currents of sorrow,
only to settle on the remnants you left behind.
With some effort,
I sweep delicate memories of you
into a bin that is never full,
so you won't worry that I'm okay.
A lonely poet swallows his tongue
his words can cast him into oblivion
a widow is mourning her loss of the broken
her replacement
is far more validating
The widow meets the poet as she believes he is singing a siren song
although
his rhymes are not written for performance
she has not yet placed her foot on the second step
A thousand parasitic poets
disguised as trinkets
hydrated
from the widows watering eyes
Her irises
capture
the drama
of the trinkets' wars against time
I made a deal with the devil
And sealed it with a demon’s kiss.
My soul for his love
It was conditional.
At first, it didn’t feel real.
It was unlike any love I’d ever known.
Full of life and promise and purpose.
And that’s how he gets you.
Slowly and slowly
He drug out my soul.
Piece by piece
He chipped at my heart.
And before I knew it,
I wasn’t even me anymore.
My passing-by has drawn out a lace monitor lizard
Which, startled almost from beneath me,
Goes racketing across the litter of fallen leaves
Until its tense, squamate length
Scales the trunk of a spotted gum tree.
Its vertical climb is swiftly addressed
By its cater-cornered sprawl,
And its sharply-nibbed claws punctuate its path,
To leave the tell-tale signs of its passage
Etched in the wood in a careless scrawl.
Blow wind blow.
Take the misery 'way with you.
Leave no pain on the earth,
bring but love and lots of mirth.
Blow wind blow
If Spring it is or if Summer,
I think it doesn't even matter.
I know you wish oft to please,
so breathe incense to our seas.
Blow wind blow.
Then be back with heaven's cheer
to embrace our darling sphere.
To free the tears from blurry eyes,
kind enough to bring cool smiles
Blow wind blow
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