My Name is Lost

I am resigned to the thought,That one day I will be lost,And the final memory of my name,Will be the stray recollections of a cat,Eating beneath a picnic table,Where our my name is carved,Made by fumbling hands,Too drunk to care that,"It's such a cliché!"Egged on by your teasing,Commemorating these little moments,That quickly fade in time,Until …

Patchouli Dreams

Patchouli dreams stir old memories,Like pulling old photo albums from the shelf,Dusty, grainy, somehow burned,But that's because one of us keeps trying,Keeps trying to burn this memory down,But I'll save it,I'll remember,Even if I'm all that's left,Of this broken home we built,In an Autumn of long ago.

maple leaves

Maple leaves mingle,With the hushed whispers of youth,Then falling, silent.

Graceful

Gracefully you fly,My dark hawk against pale sky,Never again to return. Broken wings will heal,Just as broken hearts will mend,Time is healer of all things.

Stranger in a Strange Land

I walked the steps that Aramais built,His bones settling still in the dampness of the dream.My mouth was hidden in dry wrappings of the dead,For the shroud hid that which Unspoken covet so.In my hands I carried the only weapons permitted,The pen and book,For those like me,Chroniclers from the Skin of the World,We avoid the …

midland autumn rains

Midland autumn rains,Morning mists growing colder,Summer passes on. Piano keys creak,Old hands struggle with placement,But still, it sounds good. Passing strangers smile,Lives meeting in the stairwell,Never again seen. The scarf on the hook,Made with love by an old 'friend',Still smells of perfume. The painter's wet cheeks,Just enough to thin old paint,Now, let's start again.

The Coffee Blues

Morning coffee blues,Cold cream in steaming darkness,A pinch to wake me. The barista's weary smile,All business, a pro,Small talk is for the depraved,Or those lonely fools,Who mistake a smile for love,And chase their coffee,With pitiful fantasy.A rhythm so smooth,His exhausted nonchalance,Just goes with the beat. This one's a to-go,For this weary vinyl,Is worn out enough.

crack on the glass

The crack on the glass, Catch upon yearning lips, Blood mingles with tea.

First to Move, Lost.

She raised up her chin, As though to balance Her precious fingers, In thoughtful contemplation. He leaned in to kiss The edge of her thoughts, But was justly stopped, By the frown upon her lips. So two did they sit, A duet so filled With wary silence Of the bone-deep awareness, That the first to …

Hold up your hands

Hold up your hands,Stained with pale fire,Until hot dreams ofBright futures grow dim,Cooling against your sighs,Softening like your soul,Trickling through your fingers,As dried streams ofHope haunts unfettered children -These phantoms drawn inAsh falling like snow. Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Ash” as part of their Quadrille Night.