from the conch
whispers come
dissect
distract
blow upon
scintilla branch to intrinsic thought
weighed down
consumed
overwrought
mattering - so magnified
that I can't turn away my eyes
reach for able hand to soothe
what dread could deed undo, disprove
kisses stolen
by long lost words
explored lactic fallacies
become absurd
til endings are not the body expired
but exposure of every cell and every wire
cathartic grip held in awe
control depletes as hem and haw
til sadly swings
and bridges to shame
call time
I must
on the lugubrious game
A mystery
Through space and time,
A puzzle that riddles minds.
Hope without despair,
Here but never there,
A voice within the air
Heard from everywhere.
Soft, but hardened too;
A nail without the glue;
A shadow in the flame;
A spark without a name.
Truth that can’t be bind,
Left burning in the mind.
Poetry is what I do;
I am ETW
we siphon the sky
with mouths closed
except for feeding
every element of the construct
is breakable
if I just had room to manoeuvre
but once the ground disappears
the steps outside become just a shape
I imagine every which way to fall
most endings lead to discomfort
I could start simple
invert the crank
take the food from your lips
scatter it for foraging
see if stars grow
in between the stones
all my simple starts
lead to complexity I can't control
but I can't sit here
just turning the wheel
abstraction not found
in the ornamental pond
where small things matter
his life’s tragedies
yet joy abounds in
Issa’s poetry
reading the haiku
of Issa Kobayashi
with *one cup of tea
* "one cup of tea" refers to his literary pen name, Issa.
#66 on top 100 new poems list as of 8/2/26
just my cup of tea
is kobayashi issa
a haiku master
with vital language
his personality
so unorthodox
haiku poetry
a diary of his heart
untraditional
love a quiet day
nothing to do but relax
a fly in the house
I have many thoughts
write poems and do some art
the fly has a friend
my garden lovely
me and kitty take a stroll
bees chase us inside
seed begs a flower
to grow to blossom to die
seed coat zips open
magpie dawn chorus
caroles to folks a warning
chac-check-kak get back
leafy seadragon
adorned with saddles of kelp
fish not horse of course
"no matter how far - a journey cannot begin - without the first step" Old Chinese Proverb
although so brilliant
even genuine diamonds
need light to sparkle
so every painting
begins with the first brushstroke
masterpiece or not
Clean away all dirt
For a whole life time then die
Get dirt thrown on you
Purpose and People
The thought of any Poet
Storytelling Soul
Words and Sentences in an instance
Alpha by Alpha reference
Need and Desire
Sharing experiences no one knows
Emotions interlock
Poet key to unlock
From Poet heart to Reader’s heart
That’s where Poetry starts
It leaves a thinking mark
Appreciation for spoken words
A need to be heard
Utterance and tolerance responses
Upon Poet’s highest thinking
Behind the words that readers don’t see
Preparation in advance
Situations that only a Poet can clarify
A Poet’s life
Daily and Intertwining
Around the clock
Morning, Noon and Night
Like a statue being the “Thinker”
Idealistic view
Poet being the craft of their own masterpiece
Alone and accounted for
Purpose Poet the Inspired Poet
I love what I do and I enjoy the people around me:
My family at home, my friends at school, and my work.
I try to surround myself with positivity.
It’s the little things in life that give me a smirk.
There are those times, though, that I need to take a break
And listen to music or sit in a quiet place.
Sometimes, I just have to take a walk by the lake
And listen to the sounds of nature in its place.
Then I am ready to get back to my routine:
Work, then school, then home, and then back to work again.
My time is precious, and my world is a machine.
Positivity is the oil and my zen.
People used to be so dedicated to their work.
They took pride in and had passion for what they did.
It was understood that a job well done had its perks.
That work ethic was instilled in me as a kid.
So, as I got older and found something I enjoyed,
I honed my skills and perfected my every move.
I was careful and knew exactly what to avoid,
But, like everything, there’s always room to improve.
I work at night, when hardly anyone is around.
But, once in a while, you might see me coming.
As I come up behind you and take you to the ground,
The only thing you’ll hear is my taser humming.
shun the encroachment of the dark
focus intently at the task at hand
blinded to peripheral vision
wriggle free of your silhouette
present beyond the corner
circles encompass
captured by crescents
spinning in their circular hold
neither freedom nor imprisonment will ride
reality is just the ache of the dream
the muddled yell & yawn
every emotion a mere numbing agent
sometimes, I think I peeled away the relief
but the block forms are pattern upon pattern
and I'm a diminishing darkness
at the approach of dusk.
I sit at the feet of giants
As I write this
Humbled in the presence
Of cedars and sequoias
Magnificent pillars propping up
An impossibly blue heaven
Tourists trickle between their toes
Like ants from all over the world
On this Easter Sunday
While the ever-devout mosses
Face their northern Mecca
In perpetual silent prayer
A man strolls by
Carrying chunks of red bark
And I can’t help but smile
Because the only souvenirs
I’ll be bringing back with me
Are photos to scrapbook
And the memories of
This viridescent breeze
Its ocean-whisper through
The towering treetops
The glitter of sunlit snow
A velvet-antlered mule deer
Blossoming dogwood
And this poem.
caught by the drift
how it echoes
creating its own walls
a din undone
tying itself up in a bow
boxed and ready
to stare past souls
the substance of reality ebbs
with me amongst it, long lost
screams all at the outer edges
cocoons become brittle over time
yet may still bind those that don't shake free
I'm too tired to ask
if we've met before.
we all brought the spectre inside
making the streets safe to roam
but the sky starless
eternal night
bearable with fallen constellations
the ever present answers
distractingly laid out
seemingly within touching distance
shhh, don't question the few with lamps on
who dim dead light and converse with it
they neither see to believe
or trust tactile epiphanies
let them deliberate on the meaning of dust
do I see all this from across the street
I can't say
denial's reversal leaves me lost
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