Title, optional.

Fresh cup of tea in hand, I sit down to stare the blinking cursor once again. A simple but none the less daunting task for the individual who lacks the talent. That individual being me, of course. I could ramble about the steam hovering over my mug and burning the tips of my fingers as I test the water. But I will spare you the monotonous details of yet another mug full of mine.

I came across some old poems today. I lingered in the memories of my poetry writing days and missed them dearly. But as my general progression goes, they stopped becoming anything of substance after bashed for containing the mere essence of what they were. I’ll throw in three of my favorites and I will pretend not to be my most terrifying judge.


Too slowly time ticks

with burning bridges aflame

Far too fearful a fix

and sleepy sorrow to blame

Too broken not bent

In a fierce kind of fear

Indeed, a smile is sent

But your smile’s a sneer


I remember standing at work scribbling that one on the back of some receipt tape, trying my best to be discreet. All done during the days when standing post at the self-checkout machines was what I actually did for a living.


Star Gazer

Tonight the solar slumber creates constellations from scars

We are a universal blunder, merely dust of fallen stars.

Do you feel so small, when lost in a star’s gaze,

When a brilliant boiling ball steals worth where he lays?

In a disappearing distance, blind to tired time

I see revolutionary resistance, perfect power undermined.

It’s looking at the ancient, locked painted streaks in the sky

What is time but a fixture, malicious in the mind?

We stand on borrowed ground, grains of salt to the sky,

Underneath a smoke filled cloud, with a constant questioning why.


Astronomy class did wonders for my mentality… when I showed up that was. Too many stoned trips to astronomy and my mind was blown to the point of no return, literally. I never went back to that particular class after half way in to the semester. I couldn’t tell if it was my creeping realization that I contained a despise for college, or the fact that the professor very seriously resembled my Uncle George as a twenty year old man. I always say it was because I couldn’t comprehend the complexity that is the universe and space… which is completely accurate I might add.


World of Glass

I have found myself in a world of glass

Stepping stones show the way

But to move takes sinful skill through the depths of crystal gaze


I can see myself in the flowers

Opaque to the naked eye

Made of boiled sand through the lightning’s thundered cries


I make a move forward

But a shatter shoots the sound

A slice through the fleshy foot I wear on this beaten ground


My step broke a moment

A moment made to tease

I scared away the one good hope in my mirrored broken breeze


I take another step

But my reflection grows through air

My sorrowed eyes have haunted worlds filled with lacking care


Now I have acquired

A fearful tiptoed walk

My weighted step cracked down this fragile boastful block


I’m careful to the slowing

Whispering of the wind

But the scars still settle over my hallowed glass skin.


Also written on the back of some receipt tape standing motionlessly at the self checkout machines. All in all, I am glad those days of mindless machine tinkering are over.


And so goes the best of my poetry writing thus far in my career. I will stay hopeful that the future me holds some abilities not yet discovered in the field of poetic structure. I miss it genuinely.