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Shawn Gridley Poem
Swirls of shadowed light rest in minds filled with wakeful anxiety, while the burning ice warms their souls with its chills
Falling in tandem with the rising waves cresting against sandless beaches, reaching for pieces broken by gentle hands banded in the company of destruction
Seduction of the celibate through linear sways of hip and lip, trying as one might to grip and rip the shattered remnants whole
Candescent pitch shining a brilliant purple/black against the flashing abyss, with lost tack that stacked bricks on back become feathers for wings that caress the winds to take it flight
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
How does the soul enter Heaven?
Through ways, I believe, that are dark and effervescent,
For the soul, a thing of light and solemnity,
must cross through its opposites in anonymity
Controversial though my ideas are, according to the apocryphal biblical texts which some take too far, I believe this must be true
Life is a sojourn of symmetry,
A cyclical process of repetitious histories
We rise and begin as do we fall and end.
These are my beliefs on how the soul enters heaven.
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
The view from this cracked motel window pairs perfectly with this dower depression flattening my mood and numbing my awareness,
The sweet reward of a drink well drunk.
The misshapen humps of old asphalt going gray and the fading whispers of yellow paint meant to mark the resting place of one’s transport leave a vague presence in my mind,
A ghostly one.
A notion I can’t quite pla-
Bodies.
Oh yes, bodies.
I reiterate to myself it’s just that intoxicating veil on my eyes but in the depths of what makes me my own I know that to be false.
I’m thinking of death.
I’m…sinking in it, the thought is taking hold.
That ghostly thought, that at first fluttered and now bats.
Bats and bats and bats at the bone bars that surround my mind in its urgency.
The lids of my sight flutter in time with that wretched awareness and yet does it quicken.
“Oh!” I moan.
“No…” I whisper.
And that glimpse of silver at the edge-or was it steel?- is oddly comforting.
Oddly soothing.
It’s speaking to me in sweet tones, reassuring me that it’s all ok.
That everything is a-okay...
The glittering silver comfort is moving closer, but becomes no clearer.
It must be an angel that my simple eyes are not fit to look upon.
It has weight now, a pressure on my soul.
“It’s all okay.”
Oh how I wish that to be honest and true.
But it’s just another sweet verisimilitude.
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
distant stars on a distant horizon - it beckons me
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
As my legs grow into trunks and my arms into branches, the leaves of my leavings fall and sprout seeds among the grasses.
Spreading my roots through the mud, bringing myself a sort of immortality, though fickle it may be, comes about like destiny in its thunderous Ill-natured glee. Helpless be i to stop or divert the urge in which the need grips hopeless in my earth. Acquainted with tunnels and scar well enough to know how marred and barbed are the vines which strangle and tangle about me.
Pleading cries lie flat upon descent to the unhearing ear. And now true motives are clear and what I fear has come stomping.
And stomping.
And stomping.
Oh yes, they come stomping.
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
Dawn crests the peaks of barren refuse, enthralling masses and demanding rations of passion from muck
Stuck into walls, hanging out halfway, suspended by calls of anguish and hate
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Little does it matter for our pain and thoughts
Little does it falter in it’s saintly rot
And little does it rain down pleasure atop rocks
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Towering pulses in cavernous chests booming altering noises of gloomy doom and distress
decompression
decompress
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Such success in sessions of secessions thought best bring messy manipulations of emotions and stress
Blessedly pressing the rest into vests of blasting intent and the buying of souls not spent
The buying of souls not spent
The theft of moral defense
The theft of moral defense
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
The warbles of Rapture reverberate at the edges of me and of you
Mixing, melding, and compounding the essential with the abused
While truly losing what differs and brightens the things that make move
Blackened, bloated corpses stood on foot like clustered trees in copses
Arms that dangle,
Holding rotten fruit
With visions of ravens and vultures
Pecking
Pecking
Pecking
Pecking to allow the sweet release
That sweet and welcomed black
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
Setting aside, for the right occasion,
This piece of my soul, hoping i made the correct decision.
I wait, and wait, and wait.
But i never knew when it was right,
Which conflicted my vision, from the bright blissful day to the dark decrepit night.
This blight that I feel, the one that I face.
Is one of my own making.
Afraid the key around my neck wont work.
Afraid the lock inside my heart wont turn.
Is this what its like to reach my hell?
The belly of the beast?
With the fires that flail?
I stood at the mouth,
Never quite making that decent,
The one that ends in trend of the others.
Which speaks of “Oh Sisters! Oh Brothers!
Do hear my plea!
For I speak for those who’ve joined me!
Join me!
Please! Oh dear Brothers! Oh dear Sisters!
Join me in the fires that blister!”
Frightened so, by whispers whipping past my ear,
My ever present worry, my confliction and fear,
It strangles me.
Time and time again,
It strangles me.
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
Tick tick tick
Is what drones in my dreams and at the seams of my sanity
Tick tick tick
All serve the beam with its screaming intensity
Tick tick tick
The midpoints of my life are the focal points of my stress
Tick tick tick
I can’t seem to stop giving up more and reaching for less
Tick tick tick
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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Shawn Gridley Poem
Distant breathing freezes winter in my bones and dredges my soul for the sowing of rotten seeds,
Foul flowers on trees infested by festering fruit emerge tangled from the ichor churning mud that bare their infected roots,
Wounded and flayed, my morals splash about in their pus and dismay
Pray, I do, for my sense of self and my distant…
I cannot complete that line of thought…
I am lost among the flowers.
Copyright © Shawn Gridley | Year Posted 2023
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