Haze Poems

Tangled in Haze

Who am I to be in pain,?
When no blood gushes through my vein?
Why be ecstatic when it rains,
Doesn’t it end up in the drain?
Why am I drenched in disdain,
When I take a trip down the memory lane?

Is it love, or just a glance I seek,
Is the world too calloused or am I too meek?
Made of

BREAKING THROUGH THE HAZE

BREAKING THROUGH THE HAZE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You are not the shadow
cast by your missteps,
nor the weight of regret
that clings like morning fog.

You are the sunrise
breaking through the haze,
a warm, positive light
of resiliency and grace.

Jukebox Requiem

ANGIE, that last slow dance in smoky haze—
you slipped UNDER MY THUMB like twilight’s ache.
The Rolling Stones crooned fate through tangled days;
I tried to PAINT IT BLACK for mercy’s sake.

But YOU CAN’T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT—truth stings—
just loaded TUMBLIN DICE in neon towns,
chasing HONKY TONK WOMEN on borrowed wings
while WILD HORSES dragged dreams to

Years Ago

Looking back on my younger days
and in that summer haze
you were the pearl my girl
in my oyster the whole wide world
so many memories
of you me and how we used to be
but of photographs far too few
altho' we did have a laugh a two
now all growing dim and grey
with the fading shades of day
etched in my

Misty Morning's Whisper

Her warm breath fogs the pane.
She draws a mis-ty veil.
Footsteps fade like lost ghosts.
Her voice melts in the rain.
Dreams ache inside her chest.
Hope hums of might-have-been.


Contest: SOME KIND OF MISTY Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Date: July 5, 2025

Midday Haze: A Reprise

I wait 
for hazy clouds to soften noon—
The world      dims
as shadows 
drag out hues.

Burnt cement stops sizzling, 
sparrows quiet their off-beat chatter, 
my sore eyes shut in relief—
a final note, 
the muted outro—

Until the clouds scatter.

The familiar heat shatters
breezes into embers
filtered through a stinging azure. 

So I sit back and
wait.
In

Purple Haze

Purple Haze
 A melody maker.
 First song, Hey Joe.
 A left handed guitar player.
 Started in Harlem.
 Played songs like Muddy Water.
 The greatest guitar player.
 Died at 27.
 Always played high volume.
 Another song is Purple Haze.
 The Wind Cries Mary.
 Don’t forget Woodstock 1969.
 What a great life.
 He lived in London, England.

Phantasmagoric Haze of Love

“I would rather spend one lifetime with you than face all the ages of this world alone.”
Quote by Author

I want to love you—all of you.
To trace each scar on your skin,
Caress them with my fingertips,
And kiss away your pain.

I want to love you wholly—
At your best, and your most broken.
Till every star falls from the

a haze of confusion

not sure if the haze was inside or out
The view was blurry
but was it the air or her mind?
A haze of confusion

The haze of the South

the warmth in the eyes
is how the mountain outlines
left in me, unspoken 

by sunsets
by the ghosts of what never happened
the echoes measured the distance 

still not having found a form, they wander
just like you and me
through our valleys 

the saddened silence in me
I'll enshrine as an aftertaste
of the grape sun 

look at who you are

Fury for the Masses VII: The Digital Haze

Fury for the masses
a static hum blares 
through the digital ether
fingers swipe
left then right
hearts race
pixelated chaos 
unfurling black flags fly!

An electric storm
of fury?
a parade of images blinding
a pixel 
a pulse
a scream?
shadows of war loom large?

A darkness-play 
on the walls of our minds!

Fragments of lives
broken and whole?

Spiraling through 
glassy screams
each face a mask!

Fury for the masses?
Red

Hospital Haze

In the hospital, the room so still
A feeling of melancholy, my heart will feel
the music of a story, told by the nurse
who hears the whisper, a quiet curse
warm tears bleed across the pages
magazine leaves, in the early stages
coloring the twilight in yesterday’s prayers
the diagnosis, distant as a dream, repairs

colored in grace, the stories, the pages
silent

Firestorm The 'Orange Glow'

Scents of burnt embers flowing over my windowsills
Charred are the palm tree fronds that
once fanned the breeze 
Seized are the pods, timbers     
Torches sparking  shrills

Behold the ashes drifting 
as they fall from my smoke-sooted skies
O but in b 'tween choking and tearing eyes       

Violet Haze

Violet Haze (Sequel to The Raven)

You twirl your hair like Death indeed, 
And like to sit back and watch my poems bleed. 
My love and sorrow, all for you, 
You know I never slink out of the blue. 

But now I wonder all along,
If Death is actually you, my dear. 
And who am I to

The Haze

THE HAZE

Shuffle, I shuffle through the haze; Stopping just short of the light.
I reach up, only stabbing with splinters the tiny fractions of time.  It's this, this, this, and that.
The pieces fall and gather fat-ten-ing, their bits at my feet. 
I pick up the pieces and, here, hold this. 
It's not that heavy, a

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