I have got the key
to change myself and the world
alas, the wrong lock
So long Kitty-CatSo long, Kitty-cat; the rain has overrunSo long Kitty-Cat by picaroinfinity
Your little habitat.
Your bed in the dark alley, can no longer
Feel the Sun,
But can see the sally,
Of an army of raindrops, marching towards the ground.
I see you peek around, with your whiskered face,
towards the playing ground.
In a mirror you look, tucking your drenched hair with grace,
like an adventurous book,
Steps taken from a deer, with feet trapped in heeled boots,
You glide down the alley without fear.
You vanish at the turn; a magician's trick,
That I would never learn.
As for me, my Universe ends,
At the little piece of road I can see;
Whereas you had taken a sharp bend,
I remain hidden, as hidden as can be.
But beyond it is paper white,
With little drops of great delight;
At times though, they leave a despairing wake,
All the way to the mountain lake,
Whose surface now burns with misty fumes,
No mountain in that mirror looms;
Nor can it, till it stops to rain,
To relieve me from this quiet pain.
And much beyond is but lost to sight
The Hunter's ThoughtTime passes and the day shivers;The Hunter's Thought by picaroinfinity
Not a sound in vicinity.
Pine needle in nude sleep quivers,
White cloak upturned, serenity.
The Hunter's feet are growing late,
His brow entrenched with frozen snow;
Yet, in ambush, he has to wait,
Till gleeful spring makes flowers grow.
He listens to the silence of
cold's espoused vale, in wilful wish:
Why not his talking, babbling world,
Perhaps be quite as quiet as this?
If only winter's stretching arm,
Could muffle tongues, and rumours sink,
And then would I, without alarm,
Finally, get to hear me think.
I do not like you poetsI do not like you poetsI do not like you poets by insomniaplague
breathing into my sorry head
like the air hasn't been wasted a half-a-million times
folding up my lungs
to place them neatly into a wastebasket
how can you make me stop hurting
& then just leave me
a limp lettuce leaf
on the backside of some dirty napkin verse
I am not the jealous type
but I'm going to call up Melpomene & ask her where she's been
send her drunk texts
because I'm too tired of filling up my skull
with cicada skins instead of led
while you make it all too easy
to sleep through a heartattack or two
my pygmalion, my god, my thing of legends
when you were being taught the siren's song
was I writing myself a migraine?
The FallDevil’s mirth, Devil’s mirth
Laughing as we sin from birth
Evil crimes, evil signs
Wicked, wicked, hateful times
We are dead, all are dead
In Hell our souls sink like lead
All fall down, all fall down
Kill your friend and drag him down
Putrid words, stupid words
Fly away like brainless birds
Upon burning coal we trod
We tell ourselves that we are Gods
Right now, if we went to Hell
How would we know we even fell?
Chapel WindowThe parish waits now
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls;
cobwebs align them
like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in a broken window,
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic.
There is a cemetery,
my eyes seek out the sermon,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as rays fall from a cloud,
shear the shade,
heave a new flame to the candle box,
and measure the weight in these empty rows
as pools find where hands still clasp,
but dare not go further
like a visible hush.
I like chocolate, and I dislike cliches. And, I like to read poetry out loud.
"He's a real nowhere man
Sitting in his nowhere land
Making all his nowhere plans for nobody
Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?"
I only write my poetry here. Not, many of my stories. Unless they be for the purpose of participation in competitions.
I'm writing a new novel, please check it out!