I hit the spot.
I marked it with a dot.
It's my spot—
An 'X' ringed.
A bullseye claimed,
filled with jet black ink—
Not a blot with rough edges that seep out,
but one with a sharp outer perimeter.
It's a point pretending it has a yard of space around it,
on its own plot of land, casting no shadows.
I shift a bit; neighbors start crowding in.
"Stop Right There!"
"It's my spot you're on!"
I feel the canvas moving under my spot,
or is it all the jostling moving me — page, plot and all?
Now I'm bouncing in a crowded jumping castle.
Dots blurring into one another.
Stippled footprints mark where spots once stood;
touching down elsewhere — here, there, otherwise.
I've lost the plot; I've lost my spot.
Just another orphaned dot,
set adrift, looking for a margin to belong in.
on a slate, forever being wiped clean.
I clamp down and dig in my heels.
Crampons bite into the ice floe.
Punctuation halts the slide,
puts its foot down—
my comma sheds its tail, and holds.
EROS DART
The water's edge
The night is clear
The weathered wood
A lonely pier
A mooring loosed
I'm set adrift
Without fear
A sea of you
My oars break soft
So like a brush
Feathering
Each night your hair
The salt the wind
Remembering
Your mouth your breath
Surrendering
When all is lost
The storm that falls
Reminds me of
The way you loved
Diving deep
Your waters dark
Your beating heart
Bleeds, Eros dart
The shallow's sun
So far above
I choose to drown
Than lose your love
“The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates, and weeps.
It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles.
No matter what you say about it, there is always that which you can’t.”
– Christopher Paolini
Tonight, a yellow moon,
drifts aimless, on black-blue sea,
quivering on the rippling wakes,
brushed by a shaky, softly sighing breeze.
Gathering shoals of shadows gather in the shallows
where they're snared by nets of yearning,
cast to catch ghosts of echoes, forgotten,
lost in the argent churn of tide and time,
put away lest they spoil the ache
of wanton spirits, wandering adrift.
at the whim of wind,
at the tug and drag of tide,
as welcome pixie-dusted dreamers
set adrift, wanting to be lost.
I'm lost in a riddle of answers.
They never seem to find my prayers.
Drowning in an ocean of conclusions,
my ship set adrift somewhere.
Basking in the light of delusion,
the world gets lost in there.
Grounded in thoughts
that I get to choose when.
To give back the light
I was once given.
Oh poetry,
why do you not feel me.
I was once your poetic percolate,
the assonance to your consonance,
spilling in silver ink,
upon Earth's raw fibres,
but in your quest for perfection,
wanderlust words are now waterless roots,
resembling a mediocre muse,
cursed from rose tinted glares,
exposing pages of bad grammar.
Since the feather in my quill
set adrift with fireflies in the wind,
conflicting choruses echo
in an acoustic refrain.
In this musical merry go around -
I'm only composed as a last thought.
In chapters of contemplation,
wondering if you feel the art of my heart;
I ponder if I am a
vacant vowel in your 'why?'
An unexplained myth..
A rhythm not seen in your rhymes
or do questions only bring bitterness?
But without the reason for answers,
will there be anything left to express?
I'm just an empty cartridge
abandoned from your fountain pen.
Now only aches and angst alliterate,
as invisible ink slowly dissolves.
I'll forever be an unfinished masterpiece.
A long forgotten poem. An anagram of listen.
There is no metaphor for this grief,
so I say goodbye to poetry
and farewell to my muse.
A parade of verdant, floating fields
appear within a clouded dream
idyllic islands in the sky
a tranquil vision, peaceful sigh
of heavenly serenity.
Yet now, the scene is set adrift
by ominous and darkened twists
of blackened branches
that weave and weave
they suffocate and bring unease
within this solemn surreal sight
of stricken trees that die at night.
Now all around these floating fields
sad, lonesome cattle graze
they graze and graze
in an endless maze
how strange and sullen are their ways
the mind is in a perpetual haze.
A muted sky surrounds
with drifts amidst the clouds above
and still below, more clouds abound
within this realm, both high and low
dark solos haunt i
they ever wail and mark the spot
where dreams await their end, their lot
by what is not, by what is not.
I will miss you so, dear August of mine!
When September winds blow and the days shift
Into evening silhouettes of birds,
Listlessly observing from trees that lift
Long limbs, where acorns drop for squirrels to dine.
Many smiles, passionate touches, we share.
In summer script, your diary’s warm words
Shall haunt me into winter. May your gift
Survive when I am lonely. When I pine
Your absent lips, your fragrant rose-strewn hair
Or hold your sweet sachet of jasmine vine
Under my pillow as I’m set adrift.
Sweet August, will you tell me you’ll be true?
Or will the Fall leaf’s shiver, silence you?
In an instant, life can change,
Things get weird, and paths feel strange.
A spark, a flash, it all can shift,
And suddenly, you're set adrift.
A word, a hug, a simple smile,
Can make you happy for a while.
One small thing can change the game,
And nothing ever stays the same.
A storm might come, the skies might roar,
But calm can come again once more.
Even when things seem scary or strange,
In the end, it’s just a change.
In an instant, life moves fast,
The moments come, they never last.
So live it all, no day’s the same—
Life is wild, like a burning flame.
She pooh-poohed his smallish gift.
He looked glum and she looked miffed.
No diamond in sight,
She did not delight.
Her love for him was set adrift.
The time ticks by
As I stare at the clock
Knowing my near future.
Just sitting
Waiting.
No news, no change.
Storms rage,
Confusion, resignation, consternation .
The time seems slower somehow.
Like the whole world still turns but us.
Decisions. Coffee? No coffee?
Who can predict?
People bustle, not knowing, dazed.
Children scream with over tired,
Hot sticky evening air.
All becomes predictable,
We all make a new temporary home here.
As if we are refugees
Clubbed together in our island
Our land of no name
No country.
All set adrift.
Time still ticks by,
Ever slower.
Stretching each second
Elongating the interstitial pauses.
We can do no more.
We eat, drink, shop.
Nothing in those world
Is like an airport delay
Two Icy Islands
Cracks appear in the ice
Become wider but we don’t cross
We each urge the other to jump
To join the other on their slab of ice
I motion to you, you motion to me
Neither jump. Our agonised faces
Watch as the gap widens until
It’s impossible to leap, to bridge.
Set adrift, you go your way
I go mine, further and further away
There’s a million miles between
Your sofa and mine, my block
Of ice and your block of ice
The artic wind wraps around
Us like a shield deflecting compromise
And we drift for what seems like days
Sour faces, argument lost, even
Though we were both right. Both
Just. I’m so stubborn, so is she.
The water warms and our icy islands
Melt. We have no choice but to
Meet in the sea and we cling
Me to you and you to me.
A tropical breeze warms the room
And it becomes a sauna,
Instead of a tomb.
David Cox 11/06/23
I awoke
Alone
In a crowded field
Budding potential
Growing amidst
Disillusionment.
Tossed into the air
Stung by the edges
Of chaffs collusion
Separated
From all connection
To whatever was
Set adrift
On what is
©5/3/2023
Sometimes it seems so hard just to step outside
Great big world and not a single place to hide
And when life's storms come crashing down
There's nowhere to go, no hope to be found
While it seems like all my friends have it made
I'm always behind, always a little afraid
Sometimes it seems so hard just trying to stay afloat
Set adrift in this great big world without a buoy or boat
And when I think I'm finally nearing shore
I'm swept away again and out the open door
While it seems like all my friends have it made
I'm always behind, always a little afraid
Sometimes it seems so hard just trying to find my way
In this maze of a world, it's so easy to go astray
And when a new day dawns or comes to end
I just brace myself and face the world again
Though it seems like all my friends have it made
They're all just like me, always a little afraid.
Everything ends
Even Shakespeare’s works
will cease to exist
someday
when the sun swells
burning it all away
to atoms and ash
every sonnet
every play
every single syllable
he ever penned
set adrift in the void of space
So it doesn’t matter
he will never know me
I will never know him
We will never engage
in deep discussions
of doomed masterpieces
over tea or coffee
in a quiet corner of a cafe
or while imbibing bourbon
smooth and sweet
in a swanky bar on Broadway
served in crystal glasses
reflecting rainbows of light
into our eyes as we realize
Nietzsche was right
Bongo taut resonance
Cornerless bellydance
Schedule of edges set adrift
Lured by translucent twirled wrists
Shimmer and shadow juxtaposition
Ripple wavered rhythm without repetition
Syrup never cool, pool dissolves all granules
Sip of boiled candy stories make tongues tangle
Sequel came spilled ink
Jellyfish stroke olympic
Pink stripe whimsy lifts his spirit
Saccharine capsule snaps weak inhibit
Swallowed by opaque pond, - agile diver
Gulps willing her glitter silver victimising saliva
Clamped cognition, gluey strawberry chew seduce
Bobbed acidic body embalmed calm in numbing fluid
22nd June
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