Souls freed by horror.
More bodies dead then alive.
Chaos, war, madness.
Category: Poetry
Poetry became part of my life decades ago. My first memory involving poetry: a creative writing class from seventh grade. Poetry and writing remain crucial parts of my life to this day.
I find my inspiration in the commonplace, in everyday experiences, in current events. My daily meditations grant me a great deal of clarity, which comes in verse.
Currently, I’m focusing short-form poetry. Predominantly I’m writing haiku/senryu with some tanka. For the past few years, I’ve worked to post a haiku daily. Though not perfect, I’ve been able to stick to that schedule pretty well. Some longer forms come to me, too, though mostly in free-verse.
Death’s Density
Death, dense,
Beyond neutron stars.
Black holes where
Nothing escapes
Light itself,
Impotent.
Light, space itself
Warped by the power
Of this empty absence.
All nearby, changed,
Bent, disformed.
Eternity.
Heavenward Cinquain
I know
Staring skyward
Sky’s uncaring coolness
Without emotion, save wonder
Beauty
Nightfall
Night upon wings
Darkened streets, dreamlike
Motion. Blurred sight
Hidden aims.
Both nefarious and innocent.
Life hidden from sunlight.
The angry glare.
Nightbound Words
Racing mind
Fears awakened,
Given voice,
Speaking loudly
Into murky peace of night.
Dreams unrealized,
Yet still dreams.
Voices of neglected
Priorities. Reminding
Me; deepest values.
Empty grave
This frantic life.
Delightful sense of purpose
Untethered to accomplishment.
Illusions of effectiveness.
Self directed rage
Unuseful, empty sounds.
November’s east bound
Wind pushes still,
Fiercely, chilling.
Moments
Flash,
Hand lunges.
Strike!
Momentary grasp for power.
Momentary…
Power touched; flees.
Power’s gone, mist:
Angry vacant god.
Emptiness returns.
Desperation’s emptiness
Resumes its
Ice cold
Fury.
Early Morning Dread
Fragmented beauty,
Soul shards lay motionless
Upon a steel floor.
Night
Darkness lurks upon the farside of my window.
Orange red splotches force through the murk,
Showing much too little.
Too much hidden for those seeking safety.
So much away from the accountability of eyes.
Sometimes selfish longings,
Sometimes the drive to cause pain.
Whether avoiding guilt or capture,
Night’s blanket an ally.
Haiku
Failure’s abrupt edge,
Perhaps not downfall, rather
Rebirth of my hope.
Creativity
Wil Wheaton stated a fantastic idea in the last Radio Free Burrito: do something creative everyday for 31 days. Feeling withered creatively, this seems an excellent course of action. Earlier (this morning), I broke out my Moleskine, grabbed one of my old poetry texts and determined to write from the first form that appeared before me. First on the page was the tanka, cousin to the haiku.
  Collective mind
  Growing within our hands, bright
  Blast of knowledge, linked
  Massive data together
  Knowledge not equal wisdom.
Shifting to haiku:
  Data, data, ow!
  Burns my brain, searing knowledge
  Not understanding
Lastly, and most challenging, was limerick. Not being in the most humor-centric of moods, I thought that, perhaps, limerick doesn’t need to be funny.
  Silliness, sunlight’s love, joyfully
  Exploring starlit air, blue above sky
  Into the park the go,
  Child’s play, just fun, sun’s glow.
  Building, today, a beautiful life of joy