Posts tagged poetry

Demeter on the Beach

Demeter on the Beach

With every breath, I drink in the old day
the riptide of emotion still, for now.
I skulk along the shore, this vulture’s prey.

Upon the glass and letters I won’t allow
to drift on out to sea: a message borne
of the last night’s detritus. This beast hath
eaten me from house and home, prickly thorn.
Each step sinks deeper in his plotted path.

I wake this morning with the mind of pain;
I know just what awaits: the wire, the mask.
Endure the sleep, the shock – the monster slain!

In evening, now, to sleep is no small task.

The beach awaits, and carrion for meat.
Each word is culled; the waves engulf my feet.
The broken glass is sharp; that peace, so fleet.

He pulls the strings, will not admit defeat.

My salted wounds will call him to my street,
feed him his work like milk-gold from the teat.


Photo credit Compfight stock photos, Creative Common use

A Dead Bird and His Words

A Dead Bird and His Words


I shared some words with a dead bird today.

So full of sin, the sounds wound up like smoke,

tar stench and coil. That broken beak delayed

my march to bed. I breathed in each clock stroke,

each name it echoed. ‘Round inside my mind,

he whispered words that I had not forgot.

Found each apology empty, each time.

His feathers soaked with rainwater and rot.

It was a treasure hunt, those hearts and hands.

And in these shoes the means are just for ends;

I’ve lost it all within that timeless span

where my heart breaks with each knee that bends.

Too cold for flies, the branches hung like lies.

All wet black scars that cut the clouded sky.


header image photo courtesy of Lock & Stock Photos – ‘Sleepy Hallow

Thank You For The Scar


ecririons_post4I am cold, wet and dripping from recent shower, as I stand here, looking at myself in the foggy mirror.

I feel the lust to take a good look at myself, glaze and view my scars from over the years.

These scars are not the ones under my chain or the long one on my right leg, they are ones I can see in my eyes.

The ones none visible to the naked eye, yet the ones that run deepest and left the most damage.

However theses scars should not be hidden in shame, after all they are the ones that makes me who I am.

As I stand here looking at these scars I think about the people who caused them, not with hate but with a desire to thank.

I think about the friend from the dark ages who sparked a lust but created a nightmare, she was the first and the hardest fall.

I wish to thank her for destroying me, only for me to be rebuilt with a greater and wider vision.

I will never forget the girl who had me chasing her on and off for so long, that even we can’t quite agree on how the story goes.

I want to thank her for teaching me a lesson on behavior and let her know, she has an eternity place in my heart.

Someday I’ll raise a glass to the golden, yet crazy butterfly for giving me a great time as long as it lasted.

I will thank the butterfly for showing me good from bad and letting me move on.

I must not forget the many flowers I passed by before I found the right one, each and every gave me a new advice to live by.

If I ever met one of them again, I’ll shake their hand and say my thanks for preparing me for the one that counts.

I hope one day I will meet the black sheep again under different terms in a different time, until then I will always have what she said to thing about.

I would like to thank her for giving me insight in what to judge on and when to back off, may all luck be with her.

As I stand here dry and cozy, I think about all the others that I never addressed but know they have my thanks too.

Thank you for these scars.

(Header: pixabay.com)

Heart Made of Clay

A Clay Oven for the Heart


No one told me that love
is not an equation, nor linear
our hearts are like plotting points
the x-y axis
Positive three for the kiss, negative four (a bit too forward)

we dance and prance around the grid,
sometimes we forget that home is zero, zero.

I would be your desperate ballerina
your green light on the dock
a manic pixie dream

in slow motion, the blast is beautiful

I lost myself in a bar parking lot,
staring at stars and speaking the gibberish of broken tongues.

I ached in the inches between two leather chairs.

In the dorm room,
I cried unblinking in ecstatic rage.

Under a ceiling of acoustic tile,
I looked up, away
from your turning head of chestnut hair.

My heart has traveled.

Chaotic routes across the map,
from a southwestern corner to a cold north lake
into shafts of gilded light through branches,
through green leaves and a tiny castle,
in post-tripping waves of nostalgia.

I have been years of love, compacted
to the third-floor space of a week.

I have been an instant of love that never died.

I have been the immortal beloved,
I have been the beloved heathen, released
returned to the wild to prevent further damage.

I have been abandoned by the wooden cross,
I have been sustained by the weight of gold.

My love flew one-way across the ocean.

My love was a wager,
traded for self-satisfaction and a case of beer.

My love, I drank the cheap red wine in your wood-paneled room
and lit a bonfire upon friendship mistaken for something else.

I could do most anything to you

I turned up the thermostat,
I was always so warm and ready
for the hands of these men to shape me
because I was frightened of mirrors.



Italicized lines from ‘Somewhere a Clock is Ticking’ by Snow Patrol

Photo Credit: Compfight stock photos, Creative Commons use

Crazy Stupid Love By J. Bjerre



Once there was a young boy who just wanted to be taken seriously.

He knew this girl and feeling felt for her but she already gone and caught feelings for someone.

Someone else with their own feelings caught in a completely chaotic mess.

They all chasing something and they don’t entirely know why.

But ain’t we all chasing that someone?

Because of this damn love.

It got us all mixed up.

It got us all looking like a fool.

It got us all going crazy for reasons we quite don’t understand.

All because of that crazy love.

Teen girl on her way to becoming a woman, got herself stuck in classic love roulette.

The man she loves, loves someone else and both fight everyday for that special one.

But she’s isn’t it for him, that she knows but I bet it still hurts like a son of a gun.

She still wonders why things went as they went instead of something else.

But don’t ask ourselves that?

Because of this damn love.

It got us all going in circles.

It got us all hung up and blinded.

It got us all doing stupid things we regret and we will do all it.

All because of that stupid love.

A lovely couple which had their magic starting to fade for mistake they both regret.

Picture perfect love story would become a bitter fight for air for both of they.

In the end neither of them never stopped loving so why were “we” so close to be an “I”.

Once the figure out their mayhem, they can wonder what happened.

But I guess we all wonder that sometimes.

Because of this damn love.

It got us all going mad.

It got us all on our knees.

It got us all forgetting everything else than what we see.

All because of that.




(Header image: unsplash.com)

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