Confessions Poems

Feline Confessions

I confess...
I'm a cat in 
a human body
surrounded by 
drooling
deluded dogs

I confess...
I spew doggerel
in a poetic
wasteland
as the wolves
claw their
verses
on electronic pages
and howl at
their unamused
muses

I confess...
I hide under a table
or
climb up a tree
as the dogs of war
merrily pant
while
mauling the world

I confess...
I'm guilty of living
in the wrong
country
on the wrong
planet
at the wrong
time 
but will 
soon exhaust
my nine lives
and

Confessions in the 34th Minute

I told the mirror not to answer
but it wept a name I had never spoken
yours. The one with no god,
no grave, only silence for bones.

We made chapels of each other's mouths,
your breath the liturgy,
mine the dagger.
We knelt. We undressed. We bled.

Each kiss a benediction
spilled on the floor of the forsaken.
You called me a cathedral;
I called

Confessions

I've been making confessions to the Solar System
Every night to the moon, every day to the sun
I want to scoop the stars into a cup and sip the milky way through a straw and drink until my body is nebula and dust fills my lungs
 to satisfy the thirst for my obliteration 
to be in

Apophasis Now

Apophasis is such a cool word.
Not to mention how it sounds
like a popping fist and fireworks, 
though I wouldn’t dare suggest
I’ve ever blown things up
just for grins and giggles.

It’s cousin to praeteritio,
kissing cousin to paralepsis—
all of them cool sounding words,
not to mention parasiopesis
which leaves the juiciest bits unsaid—
but don’t get me started on this.

Of course,

Campus Confessions: The Prologue

hold the rope tight, never let go of a safe hand
the journey ahead is far too brutal to make sense
what once seemed fated, shall shatter one's hopes
the idea of love was born from a poet's thought

lover's rose from the ashes to finish their lovelorn stories
heart wrapped in barbed wire yet still beating-
for the one who

Midnight Confessions

First, remove the eyelids—
they hold too much fiberglass.
Grind streetlight into gunpowder,
cut it with gravel—snort the cocaine dusk.
Take the sidewalk like heretic communion,
metal-flake wine, asphalt host.

She blinks razors.
Stars break in her clavicle.
You don’t touch her—you calibrate.
Banana fingers, bruised and humming,
plucking vapor off the fencepost.
Storm-laced teeth.
Voice as hinge,
breath as cordless vacuum 
throat tightrope over a cheap
motel dirty

confessions of clemency

as the rosemary rain
soaks
  pensive petals,
leaving an aroma
of lovers’ betrayal
the succulent scent
  of
   his
    petrichor skin
caresses the midnight
crevices of this 
  meticulous mind,
urging my soul to purge
  tears and ink
   long mimicked
by April’s sunlit rays
  synchronizing
   a symphony of robins
a rhapsody

The Unsent Confessions

I crafted words at midnight, perfect in their form,
Emotions spilled like rainfall before the coming storm.
My fingers hovered trembling above the final key,
These truths too raw, too honest for you to ever see.

I saved them in the shadows where courage goes to hide,
Each sentence held my heartbeat, each comma held my pride.
The things I longed

A Photosynthesis of Conversion

A Photosynthesis of Conversion
David J Walker

The tender plants bow under the 
Sun and dance to the voices of 
Indecisive winds in
A compliance of survival 
Confessions of sins of omission 
And confusion of missions 
Pay for admission to the 
Summer Social

And when called upon 
Singing the sacrament of 
Dissonance in words that
They can and cannot remember

Olive Oil Confessions

The bottle pours too fast,
gold-green streaks darkening the wood.

It smells like something honest,
I wipe it clean
before anyone notices.

A Saint Lucian Erotic Tale

Why mi heart would seh yes,  
When de world might cry no?  
De fire inside mi chest  
Burn hotter dan volcano glow.  

Mi queen, mi gyal, mi free bird, fly high—  
Ah see yuh in yuh glory, nuh chain could tie.  
Yuh skin glisten, de moonlight kissin'  
De

The Confessions of a Tormented Soul

I poison myself to endure the torments of my clairvoyant mind,
A journey littered with catastrophes and irreversible scars.
I chase nightmares I will find in hell,
My face drowned in the fleeting vanities humanity sanctifies.
I am in no rush to honor my appointment with the reaper,
Like a terminally ill patient who still dares to dream.
I am trapped

Confessions to My Architect

My spirit is forlorn, frightened, 
 and impaired.
You’re not hiding here in this hideous hell;
no longer your eyes, are broken in a cataract cell,
instead, you graze in the free fields,
feeding on the flock’s frivolous phrases, 
now part of a buoyant herd,
while I wallow in the ocean's pitiful past,
gliding in my hurricane of pain.
You wander merrily

Scars and Smiles

I am a thread unraveling,
A song fading in the wind.
A paper boat on an endless sea,
Folding under waves I can’t control.
I am vulnerable,
Glass stretched thin,
Waiting for the shatter.

I break
More often than I dare to admit.
I break in silence,
Behind closed doors,
Where tears carve rivers
Through the deserts of my resolve.

Regrets hang like unfinished paintings,
Muted colors of choices

Periwinkle Confessions

 I  remember  Cupid’s scent when December stars sailed,  
above vast seas of scars rippling with past mistakes,  
awaiting the euphonious moon to croon and tune melodies veiled.  

But will the skies in blues be the muse, casting dews of jasmine bright?  
For when shadows rise, darkness looms and

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