Something about 6 thirty
A.M.
Coffee calling
Birds beckoning
You
Something about 10 minutes
Absent-mindedly
Clutching comfort
Begin burning
Me
Song at the ready
Matchstick in hand
In harmony
Afire for it
We
Tag Archives: Poetry
Lost Lover: A Haiku
Song I wanna send
To ears these lips cannot reach
Talkin’ about heav’n
Ketchup
Every moment spent on edge
Feeling on the fringe
Shouting matches in our minds
Calm asks where we’ve been
Know there is a fix for this
Truly, there’s a path
Go to your knees, finally
Seek His face and ask
Mist Unknown
Should we leave
Into the ministry unknown
Fine day or misty
Knowing
Our thrill lies there
Fearing
Sediment building here
As brain fog
As ankle chains, of sorts
Hearts at risk, lives at stake
Apathy and anarchy abound
Should we stay
We Eves: A Haiku
Doris, known to me
Classic, we women of yore
Allowing these men
Original Thought Credit: “To the woman, God said…he will rule over you.” Genesis 3:16
Known Unknown: A Haiku
I, on an iceberg
Were it sunny, could withstand
All treacherousness
Why They Walk: A Double-edged Haiku
Unpause
What if my blink lasts an extra beat more
Unintended, I cannot explain
What if while this, my inhale I implore
Is reality seeking to feign?
Gravity, come, take your match by the hand
Ether has waited for this
Fluttering eyes, staccato breath
So much words culminate in a kiss
Sleep Demons
It’s not our fault, the night
Racing in to become the pace car to our heart rate
That it might conquer
Why weave these words, darkness, ’round our ankles?
Utterances we used to need to hear, that would have us walking tall?
I can’t say your name, but your number, I know
‘Til my last breath, I call you the liar you be
Your wishing to blackmail
Your attempt to bruise
Reality we now enjoy
Ask us to wrestle, and wrestle we will
For you have lost us
To flowers and fauna
Forever to smiles from friends
Again
And over again
Aching Sunday
Tremendous love, resides inside
As an aria
Weightless and burdensome
How is it that such fullness
This nothing less than aching
Arrives and leaves me
Walking
Feeling
As a ghost on Sunday
An otherwise fine, fine day
And there are no ears to touch?
