My voice
Lacks rime
Or racks lime
If you prefer
I’m a Mac liker,
A cadaver kid/crave kid,
Chaser of evil drama,
It seems to trip me up
Acid, viral,
Possibly suicidal lemur
Experimenter
Card diva, card carrying chemist
Qi manipulator,
Random word particle accelerator.
A triolet is a poem of the form ABaAabAB where A and B are repeated lines and a and A rhyme, as do b and B. I’m sure I could make all that into a poem but I don’t think I shall.
It makes me think of diamond rings
the house all empty and decayed
a lonely voice, abandoned, sings
It makes me think of diamond rings
All falling and precarious things
An eye so pretty, yet dismayed,
It makes me think of diamond rings
the house all empty and decayed
A day behind again, sigh… I shall have to keep up better with myself
I remember
That day
When you wrapped yourself in my pixels
Sent that poisoned note
Written in my poisoned hand
With my poisoned arms around you
And I told you that those letters
Were each little lies
That they added up to deceit, slander and aspersion
Vile calumny
I poured out words onto the red hot surface
Watched them fizzle and disappear
And I never told you
That every horrible word
Was true
You are
Dark trickster
Hidden in the hollow of the hand
The pill
That opens the eyes
The coin
That flashes across the palm
These feelings
Are not my own
The locus of everything is this little white pill
And you said
That the pill would become a calendar
Would become a star
Would become the world
And now I am trapped
In the sphere
Of this little white pill
Inspired by a part of the Terry Pratchett book Witches Abroad
There are the lost
And the found
And the lost run from room to room
In this maze of mirrors
Endlessly searching for the real one
Watching it craze away in edges of broken glass
Around the curve of infinity and back to a single shard
And the found
Simply look down and say
‘This is me’
This was a green room
But it boiled like red
With spilt blood
Those multitudinous pinpricks
We use to practice our arts
That endless folding and unfolding
Of white like chrysanthemums
I sat in the middle
Slowness in a bubble, surrounded by speed
Circled in steel, I could not run
Even if I had somewhere to go
Even if I had someone to run back to
In fact they never pricked my skin with icicles
In fact they never let me change my clothes
Although someone did wipe up the blood and give me
What we would call a band-aid for a wound
The appliance-tight steel pressed in on my wrists
Or I pressed out against it, I am not sure
Surety was a rare commodity
In that green room
With its strong lights
And strong words
And no anaesthetic
For this type of pain
Finally caught up, half way through the month! Actually I think that’s pretty impressive, given that I was away working for all of last week. I have been writing a lot this past week thanks to Nanowrimo. Thank you, and thank you all for the likes and comments on the pieces I’ve produced so far.
Like a thief
You crept
Into my room last night
I was alone in my too-large bed
Curled up around my books
As a child with its bear
And you planted a single breath
On my face
While I shifted, lilting, between dreams
I never stirred
But in the dream
Your face blossomed like a sudden flame
And I knew then.
What did you take from me
Only something I thought I could never give
And I never asked for it back
Because I never thought I’d need it again
After you
There are no words
No notebook, no pencil
Nowhere to write
You have stolen all this from me
And replaced it with air
Which is not the same
As nothingness.
When we were very young
I made you a promise
Sketched out in the frail skeletons of leaves
In the dry autumn grass
You always said was green
As if looking at the colour
Ready to burst from within
At the first raindrop
And I promised to never leave you
In youth this seemed
A promise that could be kept
I didn’t know about the Brownian motion of people
As they collide and re-collide, break and shatter
Each other, shake pieces off until what is left
Is a smooth stone
Just like those we skimmed across the ice that same winter
And I suppose I never did leave you
As you were among those frailties of leaves
I only left something smoother,
Perhaps more perfect,
But different in the hand
As water is to earth
To that stone you once were
A little rhyming break from other things…
On a throne of gold
In a kingdom old
Sits the king of grace and beauty
He takes his pains
To keep his gains
From making him seem snooty
But while he sits
Or falling, flits
Between this world and that
Upon his throne
This king unknown
Toys with his golden hat
There is infinity
In the smallness of a snowflake
Or the fractal edge of a coastline
In the far reaches of space
In the depths
Both white and black
Of human feeling
When we say something is infinite
Do we just mean
We cannot see its edges
No matter how hard we look?
