Words are enough.
They don't some overdramatized definition of them,
Don't be a fool to explain it to me.
I'd rather die a lonely and cruel death, by my own hands.
Words —
They don't come easy, do they?
The blurry effect on my left iris left me partially blind.
It tears my other eye to see it in the mirror.
Words, they are spat out like fetid, rotting chunder,
Why do they taste so putrid and smell so obnoxious?
When I try to let them out, they escape through my eye,
Leaking and spewing festering dross.
Technicolor yawn mimics the man in the mirror and then
He would call in sick the next day.
As the pus decay in the drought and barren land of my eye,
I was recommended using Ciprofloxacin.
Words —
Words like "I need help" and "why does it hurt so bad?"
I wish I never knew how to speak.
Instead of the infection of my worm-eaten and vile eye,
I desiderate it be my mouth rather.
Words like these are what made me feel how I feel now,
Enervated and debilitated.
Deep in the bush i hear 'the snapping of sticks' a sound that flat toned sits with a
Feeling.. Just so sick.' When did Vice-pol
Really get so bad? No shes just not right.'
Wow the vibes real sad.' I think of their
Estate? unravelling fast now.' Tailing off
Like a dingo's howl.! They have returned to
Their vomit..As will most dogs, eager to eat..At this thought i hear the lyre-bird sob..Its the Sound now of Victoria ..A place now hard of face.' Bereft of exuberance, yet not, yet beat.. And 'with mind on that
shelf' built in twenty twenty and maintained, by this force.? For dan's selfish self'
I wish to exit this museem..Or cell filled with
Much re-morse.' And i'm overwhelmed in
Anger, as the dirge deafening loud; does course..Near as
Much as the bush silence can hold your attention.. All round and God i can't escape this sick feeling in either solitude or crowd'
cardboard mattress
concrete box spring
cocooned within the threads of shame
pillow stained
with dried tears of despair
air pockets
hover with a pungent force
that’s the way I remember her bed—
as I walk by.
Yet again another light appears in the dead of night , Waking me from sleep with a majestic sigh
Yet a sigh I’m unable to grasp, gazing into the light, dwelling while it lasts
But I know the beam will soon die out, the light will be dimmed amidst the clouds
I will tilt my head and stare as the light fades away, wondering why such a sigh can never stay
Once again the night returns before my eyes, no longer consumed by the lies of the light
The deception that captivated my brain, must have been a delusion I made in vain
I’ll remind myself the simple truth, there was no light, there is simply darkness in the dead of night
And yet I know tonight, I’ll stay awake eager to see the sigh, waiting for my eyes to illuminated by the beauty of the light
I’ll wait for what is nothing but an illusion, I’ll stare into the darkness, trees and pollution.
Waiting for a so called “light” to return once again to conquer the night.
Dearie,
So happy you make me,
Yet the sadness ruins my knee.
We met by misery,
All in that nusery
I am livid in tears
But it opens my ears.
To be full, out the real
I try you to feel.
A space of no thought,
And no fraught.
A reality in my dream,
You bring to my realm.
Rejected and forlorn... I come to,
Dejected and torn. .. I leave too!.
My angel keep playing,
With hide and seek, you are slaying.
Dearie,
My thoughts are eerie.
But you make me sane in insanity,
I feel druggily yet so happily.
As I go over the counter to survive,
You counter there in deride.
I find you in a home,
Of all places to clone.
Ha!..ha.. Ha..my love,
Must we play in this grave?
Sweetie.. we go a long way,
Can you spare me a few?
My devil...I..,
What a spur!... I...
Can't leave be,
Yet won't let me.
Are you listening out in Wood-wood' in Balranald do you hear in the Hunter and
Newcastle all round Maitland ix it clear?
From Jamestown, in Burra-Burra and from
Port Augusta too will they stand? speak
Out? Unite..Just do whats right, its time for such to do.' In Wonthaggi and Killarny
Ballarat and Bendigo, across to Geelong town
Get out be strong 'for that is what best' the Aussies do' in Geraldton and Bunbury past Perth and
Up to Broome, at Hobatt Emerald and Coolgardie be
No longer fooled.' In Forbes and Parkes and
Dubbo, in and Coleraine, Kiama too; Crookwell and
Coffs Harbour Australia calls to you.' If
You are asleep in Tumut, awaken' ask A man Johnny
Larter, our everyday Hero just whats on.' Then tell all your mates too.' in
Yass and also Wagga.' I'm sure they'll come along.'
And in coming then will realise, that mateship
Is key; is strong ' let your flags fly high till 'bye and
Bye' you are heard and your villans fall, once again all your women and man will be free, Now will you respond..To your nations call.'
An atheist living soul was floating above on deathbed,
because if he touched it, he would leave this world.
He let the pain out and screamed through his dying soul.
A guy who was once drenched in every bit of gold
comes to him and says:
“I want to make a compromise with your soul and body—
I will save you, but for the rest of your life,
you have to serve me.”
But then suddenly the man who created every bit of the universe
comes to him and says:
“I will save you, but for the rest of your life,
you have to believe I am real.”
Then the living soul thought:
It’s no different. Both are slavery,
but in different ways.
But he thought,
since he questioned God in the life he lived before,
he would face judgment for that.
Either way, he was going to hell.
He was thinking of every possible possibility
that would grant him some life.
But he died in his imagination while sleeping.
– THEBLOODYPEN
THE LAST IN LINE*
~~~~~~~~~~~
This poem was inspired by my favorite Ronnie James Dio song/lyrics, “The Last in Line.”
In the fading light of day,
will I find the shadows of my soul
dancing in the twilight,
or will the light reveal my truths,
as I sift through the ashes of my choices?
I pause, pondering
‘am I the architect of my own despair,
or the quiet poet of grace,
each heartbeat, a question,
each breath, a fragile answer?"
I trace the lines of my existence,
wondering if I am the last in line,
or the first to rise.
In silence, I confront myself,
the duality of my being~
the sinner and the saint
the dreamer and the realist
the last in line,
waiting for the truth now unveiled:
I am merely a human,
lost and found,
the last in line,
waiting for the first light
to guide me home.
*Note: I originally posted this poem at Poetry Soup in June 2025, the deleted it. (poetrysoup.com/poem/the_last_in_line_1740132) This is my original poem.
I wake to the desert, talking to the wind;
its voice is dry and muffled.
Sand cuts my skin as I walk;
nowhere feels like a place I belong to.
The seeming figs glow like a distant fire.
My feet are melting with every step I take.
I lose my balance when I stride;
I am surprised as the light darkens me.
Flames whirl at the edge of my sleep.
Dolores remains there, carrying fragments in her hair.
She murmurs, "Take care of my loved ones".
I turn around, but her stare does not leave me.
Water is only a mirage in my eyesight.
I watch their tiny faces drowning in silence.
I choke my breath as I consume the grime;
I confront myself, saying, "They cannot die".
They illustrate that the truth awaits at the edge.
My fist holds a gun, empty and cold.
Comfort lies in lying down and forgetting:
where living means losing myself in the unknown.
BY THE STREETLAMP
Poem written for SENSE OF TASTE POETRY CONTEST, Nette Onclaud, Sponsor July 28, 2025
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
she hunkers by the streetlamp
wrapped in a tattered blanket
lost in the cracks of concrete
swallows tangy bitterness
bitter brew of circumstance
choking on acrid despair
savoring sweet solitude
They told you the dark was empty,
that space was a cold hush
with nothing to say
but they were wrong.
The silence between stars
is not silence at all,
but a listening
a lullaby wrapped in gravity,
waiting for someone
to call it beautiful.
You, who thought yourself too small,
too broken,
too scattered in thought
you are seen.
You are named.
And the light that shaped you
never forgot.
Even when the world turns away,
even when faith wears thin
like threadbare cloth,
the cosmos hums
with the memory of your being.
Somewhere,
a star holds your breath in its core.
Somewhere,
a planet waits for your step.
You are not lost.
You are not late.
You are not noise in the static.
You are a note in the great chord
still ringing
through the echoing cathedral of time.
And that is enough
to begin again.
There are arches and doorknobs
I feel with my hands but,
instead of pushing through,
around and round
i meander clueless,
my head in a cloud
caught up in the darkness
I coddle to the point
of despair and delusion.
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
DESPAIR NOT
Root not in despair,
be in the reaping of God’s
fruits of healing grace:
Glorified in your progress,
continue plowing onward:-
Amid the fire of twilight sun
I wish I knew my way
horizon’s char and moonlight’s shun
has ashed my hope I pray
for dark cloud constellation to free
a cosmic steed for me to flee gunshot streets
for primrose to steal my yellow jaundice
and burn the itch as its incense in roadside stars
for me to follow scent and sight
and find forsaken door
to open with my key contrite
a waif who’s lost no more
but gods of dirt and sky refuse
this pessimist with optimist dreams
side-of-road primrose mowed as needle holes
grow my nebulae-scars of blown-vein bruises
a morphine horse runs dirty track
while stars in alley air
just stare and offer not but black
expanse —my nowhere lair
The whooshing of threadbare curtains cuts through deadening silence,
while shadows on the wall toy with a hermit's sanity.
The graze of unseen, jagged fingernails scrapes against sweaty flesh,
injecting poison into subcutaneous tissue,
unwieldily setting the stage.
A heaviness of humid, stale air presses down on compressed lungs,
as maniacal laughter bounces off cracked ceilings.
Buzzing flies circle, swooping down
just to taunt—then vaporize into nothingness.
Muttering voices cling to the inside of a failing cranium,
overtaking a discarded soul, slowly stripping away morality.
Irises blacken, then return to sapphire, before blackening again.
Sitting, rocking back and forth with arms wrapped around legs,
speaking in tongues—
the transformation has begun.
A shattered will; possession seems inevitable.
Fighting feels increasingly hollow.
The smothering venom accelerates.
Chattering crescendos
until your body becomes complete chaos,
and what's left of your soul is trapped within a cage,
locked deep inside the pits of demonic despair.
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