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B u r r

Calamity
you've grown in the sadness
lingering
Like a shade of yesterday
through the stair windows

Wander

star guttered
snow fallen
drenched
in its salted
drink
like old tears
spells and fears
shivering
your warmth
alive
in loops
of dreams
where the sun
blazes on your
shaded
forehead beneath
the bangs
your fingers
digging
like fangs
and the waves
in the green
shades
walking
in from the East

Serious longing
I taste the hunger
beneath my weary
spine
and feel the slippery
rains
on faded fleck coat

Find candy wrappers
in coat pocket
recount verbs
you canted

when the winds
chanted

Beneath the halo
of lights
the pale city
rides on its dark
horse

the quilt set
across the shoulders
the shadows
like mourners

...

Editing stage: 

Comments

the way in which you've chained the words in a list like, give the reader no time to break and you feel like you shoul read and read and never stop untill you reach the end
That was amazing on many levels.

❤❤❤❤❤❤

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words
........Robert Frost☺

Follow me
www.instgram.com/rularules1

or train..tram cars trundling past...the flow of them connected...lulling like a heartbeat
like a hit of an attraction be it something dreadful or narcotic like of which love and
the passions are....writers love that...the guile and empathy and madness of mind
numbing boredom and too much excitement...I have some kind of mental stuff
and take meds...issues too far...a wolf with too many passing sheep...going hungry
slowed down which is good lately....collection agency called...oh no..missed that.."Im sorry
Im doing laundry no time to buy anything.." reciever down..damn..run downstairs
and lose train of thought....re read your comment feeling it....I live in my head and
have a hard time translating...books were refuges...living was the distal world
too large or too miniscule at times...picking shells on the beach is not when the
breakers are going..maybe..Poets lives and Writers are exciting.... I listen to Nick
Cave and Tom Waites and Chelsea Wolfe and others....Holly Maezer ..
their voices amazing...storytellers and haunted raw..the way they play ...

the more I keep writing the deeper it seems
intense
it is a list or a level...Like a stack of operating systems
in my head layered
like In boxes with activity
when I read four or three books at once
or walked the dog for many kilometers
a tour a mission
feeling the views..the woods
the moods of light
and shadow knocking myself from
the day to day issues
like all others whom were there
professionals driven
and releasing their pressure
by running or hiking
pushing it into the body
out of their heads

I used to love laying on flat
stones in spring run offs
in the great granite troughs
or rivers placing my flat
hand on the cold water
thundering past on
an almost vertical
plane..a larger stone
blocking to my right
higher up..
been years since that
and I knew many who
lived daring lives
full out in what they
wanted to satisfy
what was within

I never understood
and it took a toll to
sit about with them
I loved the system
stack
trynig to fathom
with not much
technical training

Im a sucess then
if writing makes
an experience of
these writes
what I liked to
experience too
at times when I read
others

sipping coffee
peaceful down here

Thank you for your
comments
Neo has helped me
so much

I live here and yet
have not much
time either
the demands
of the lion tamers
taming me
or are they the lions
whom need
me..

Either way
its exciting
and a rush
but always
a pushing
thing....

author comment

I smell the warmth of sunshine
perfume
cigarettes
like a forest
a warm field
the hot dust
of streets

the voice like an oasis

even in rapid fire
rushes

LIving more in the action
then casual
cafe patron
legs stretched
fingers
examining the ring
I spin between
fingers like a worry
stone
an eye of three sixty

>>

author comment
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