***WARNING*** the following content contains themes of self-harm and may be sensitive to some audiences. The content below is not deemed suitable for children.

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V.01 "raw from author" edit. 
 

The scene was a collapse of the mind. It was no fit of rage, or some unfounded self-torture; the boy had ...

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The Lakes Have Eyes

Ferrari nails dug into Dogwood bark as August curled in,

And eyes mirrored the lake beyond the petals carried with a cooling wind.

Her favorite spot: atop a mica wall,

We used to go; we used to sit there and laugh; we thought we’d fall.

There was only one day, prior to autumn before the earth cooled

When the sky grew stressed and pelted us with rain, i...

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It’s a bright day, brilliant colors all struck from sunrays

And the night which followed was quiet,

Cicadas ain’t out yet, I’m still figuring out how I hear the same sounds

Miles away and still hearing ringing and shouts.

I could never make sense how the skyline is loud

How the blue feels like it’s fighting the sun in a bout,

I watch it from a window while academic papers ar...

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Red Granite

Listen closely and hear

To know what the dawn needs

Tired eyes and a drifting thought

You must be astronaut sat upon God’s knees

Closer to hear

What the colors of dawn needs

Poppyseed fields at the foot of a valley

The crimson of God’s teeth

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The tree that carries many memories of the act of love faith and sacrifices through the blood that will cleanse the ground of the tree and its memories of the thing that has past

The tree that surrounds them are few but many cost at a great burden of wisdom guidance through a test of faith through the trial of strength through the heart mind body and soul

Many may hide many may run many may ...

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The valley of the light equal shadow of truth an love through the darkest moment   
Fear is a great divider and the greatest enemy are through fear of our mind and body 
Let rain cleanse the darkness through the tear of joy and laughter and love  
The fear of love is the admitting to your heart calling   
The love  of fear teaches us to be careful and open-minded to are surrounding through 5 s...

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On the outside of this curtain there many beauty of the soft velvet an the Line in it but the beautiful thing is not what we can see, feel, hear , smell,or touch but this curtain contain many beauty through it

The most radiance thing in this curtain is the memory it hold from thw year it been there asorbing the memory like water on a beach

There beauty of it lye behind the most painful thing...

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The phantom of the past is a memory of the day that were loat in flame of understanding an love an grief 

the phantom of the past is a shadow the haunt you from the memory you never let go of 

the phantom of the past is a poison of the few an many thing that are hard to swallow 

the phantom of the past is a keeper of learning through the ashe of mistake an power of it hold you to 

the ...

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There was a house on my memory

It was my grandmother’s house

Special and humble Refuge

Where siblings, cousins, neighbors and friends

found cold water, warm food and hot coffee.

The house was big and unfinished

Witness of a better and unknown past

Reminder of happy times

When we used to dream

in the same time zone.

I remember smells, sounds and flavors

Ti...

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More and more
my thoughts turn to you
so aware of time
I’m the age now
that you were
when the pair of you parted
you got that rented house
on the edge of town

We’d stay at weekends
watching winter’s tide sweep in
standing in the falling snow
the garden and the fields disappearing
said ‘throw another log on the fire’
said ‘dad, your house is cold’

At fifteen, I was nothing
lost i...

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Grandad’s Armchair

Strange smelling, mustard brown moth-eaten chair, where Grandad sat on a Sunday afternoon after lamb with all the trimmings.

Like a heaving ancient giant, with his mouth ready to catch flies and glasses knocked to one side, he snores and wheezes, his tongue sissing like a snake.

With a choo choo train I fly around and scream and crash and wallop into everything; as Acti...

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When my mother was alive
Our home was like a bee hive
Full of nector of life
An friendly faces
Now that she is gone,
And as time races
Relationships previously healthy And warm,
Fall to mistrust and harm
Like a string binding beads together
Mothers bring people close to one-another.

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New born, away from home
Strip back, left aside
Brother of mine
Met at the age of five
Father’s ‘son’ was heard in whispers
Brought up
Mothers dead but I see a mother
This is your ‘mum’
Mums at home, not my mum
Age of 10
She ain’t his mother
Want to tell him – kept in silence
His mother? My mum?
None of ours
Brother from another mother?
Indeed, he knew so too
But the women he calls...

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I see you
with sensual sense
like the Na'vi.
Hungry for your love
yet I let your absence starve me.
Living on the spiritual sustenance of memory,
Sliced on loose lips
drunk on truth and Hennesy.

I see you
as I raise a glass to the departed...
to my departure from your life.
How can I tell my lover I'll literally travel oceans to be at her bedside
when I...

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Poem about my childhood.

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