Category: Poetry

Axed

I am finally alone and in my head. Like looking around a room with familiar walls but unfamiliar furnishings. I do not know these thoughts. This is my space, I should feel at home instead of a lost voyager drowning in a sea of unspoken creativity.
It is a stuffy place to be, with no mirrors to show reflections of me, no windows to let in what I need to breathe. How can this be? Who took an ax to the root(s) of my tree—I had named her Life and Longevity.
I want to tell you world, that I turned 32 today, but no leaves of reflection can fall, this breeze sneaking through my window, tickling my toes, melodies cascading through my headphones—yeah I am 32 today, and for the first time in quite a while I am in my dome, reshuffling, reclaiming it as my own.

Break

In the midnight rain
Fast feet stepped and
Stomped—busy perfection
To blue notes.
Wind whipping through
Raggedy coats,
Wet hair clasped
Around bare throats.
Dancing feet reacquainted
With the concrete
Under a tearful sky
Sharing her sorrow
But only at midnight.
–SpkN

Words of Days Past

Often one’s solitude

can be disrupted, polluted

by unnerving tumult.

Strong imperturbable mindsets

may dance around malarkey

of any one flibbertigibbet ,

who kyoodle only because they can

Yet it must be known-must be said,

that the scalawags (with their aloofness)

of society sometimes foment distractions

of the sort that plants seeds

of creative constipation.

-SpKn

Beautiful Belongings

Similes are pretty things-

flowers on a window sill of

a decrepit apartment building.

Metaphors move with violent

passion-

like a boxer dancing

in the ring.

Blue is cliché but

every color is pink.

Commas are the yellow

lights of literature

a semicolon’s shape

is a red-white

octagon.

Like butter on toast,

we belong together.

-SpKn