Short Ink Is Dry Poems

Haiku Book

naked, visible
open, surgical, draws blood
love and ink stain, dry...

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Soon, I’ll stop this speed poetry.
Ink will dry into gun powder.
One last spark fueled by mental friction.
Poof.
Whoosh.
Up goes inspiration in conflagration.
Just ashes remain, unfit to even nourish Sari....

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Caught within a dying art form
a lyricist passed by 
(saying) 
“Music is my lord and master
it makes the phrases fly”

Writing lines of words unwedded
the ink once dry is set
Time and memory freed in song 
—the poet to forget

(Villanova University: June, 2023)...

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Below the clothesline they sit, writing fast,
a spelling test 
by their mom,
each wants 
full 
marks,
mom sits,
scale in hand,
the ink will dry,
innocent reflections linger behind. 


11.19.2020

Image#1

For Eve Roper's "Double Tetractys 6" contest...

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What in this dream invites
a constant ruse
That gently riles the
things that fuse

A thin razed smile, a semblance
fades
A rendered source of
twilight days

Ask them please and let me through
Inside for me, my days, my you

Of this I think
And thinking lies
This ink will dry
and dryness dies...

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I am statuesque
And ink-blot dry
Shrouded black
In the blink of an eye –
An avatar
A figment – distilled
As a silhouette
On the canvas – stilled
And there suspended
By a gleam of air –
Crystallized
In a sunbeam’s glare –
Materialized, sketched and traced
By the shadow’s hand
And the sun’s embrace...

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Come let us go,
One at a time;
Now with a glow,
Toss then old rhymes;
One simple fling,
Urge knows the way;
Reach beyond swing,
Seed a new play;
Ink stains dry fast,
Move beyond sight;
Ply thoughts that last,
Align lost light;
Clown with the muse,
Throw away deuce.




Leon Enriquez
25 September 2014
Singapore...

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When the ink runs dry in the introduction,
we look to the stars for a conclusion.

When the ink runs dry on tear stained pages,
we look to the stars for an explanation.

When the ink fades to scratches,
we look to the stars for salvation.

When we let the pen perish in the flames,
even stardust cannot bring about reconciliation....

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i stare at the walls
blank mind
and paper
laugh back

has the ink run dry
from pen, or thoughts
dried from mind?

i know the motion
upturn wrist
press firmly...
cut deep
bleed free

feel pain, relieve pain,
relive again
awaken my mind
so it bleeds 
flows outward
from within

one thought
one trickle
one moment of darkness
spilling across sheets of white
either way, i bleed again!...

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Lovely Ruins 
I loved you to death 
I gave you black roses 
Maybe you were disappointed 
Our love vanished 
I just wanted validation 
Room too crowded for two 
Another closed door 
What went wrong? 
Shadow pain 
Silence, climbing out of shame 
I guess we grew apart 
I crave your forgiveness 
This colorful journey has ended 
On empty pages 
The bleeding ink runs dry 
Too many years have gone by...

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These straight lines
Convey what words cannot.
A sharp relief from the anger, the pain.
Stare at the dark ink flowing
As the lines multiply
Crisscrossing this way and that
in an intricate web of pain.
Press too hard, and the ink runs dry.
Do I dare, do I have the courage?
Darker, thicker lines appear.
My vision wavers, the pen slips up.
No not today; I cannot
There's still ink left for another day....

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My pen is still,
The ink is dry;
The words have gone,
Have passed me by.
No poems am I to write this day;
The will to write has fled away.

But don't be too sad if I don't sing;
Another day a song I'll bring.
The words I had that spoke of love,
Will come again, and soon, by Jove!

And into my fist my pen will fly,
And I'll list the words that passed me by,
And lush words of love at last I'll say,
And I'll make up for this empty day!...

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The dimly lit sky is everywhere.
An ocean of precious peach and cooling citrus,
Bright yellow splashes of cheesy happiness,
And a sparkling red jewel embedded in its drapes.
The avalanche of red warmth lavishly submerges the scenery into its
onsen perfection.
Sweetness like red bean,
and a tart tang of sour apple.
Gently awaiting the moon...
for the wick to blow
for the ink to dry
And the false sun to leave.

A branch droops.
A leaf falls....

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The soul needs no formal introductions
The writer writes until the ink get dry
The individualism is completed by beliefs
The character is born by faith

The feelings are made by humanity
The sadness is conquered by strength
The richness is represented by wealth
The resources are acquired by nature

The illusion has come to an end
The explosion of thoughts and stability of growth
The strategy lies within the core
The goals are formulated by dreams...

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