Category: Free Verse Poetry

Conversations With Ghosts

“I do.”
It’s a whisper in the touch of his nose
on mine & the way it collides
with my skin;
how he feels like a phantom even
when he’s within
reach. Then again, he’s never
within reach anymore.

Stilled Waters, Serene Scene

The waters of the seas are stilled
And the serene moon
Casts its benign regard
Over the placid scene below
Dispensing blandishments
Upon the seascape entire

The Crashing of the Waves

The crashing of the waves
Pummels the sandy beach
And blasts the granite rocks
As the spray swamps the realm

For Sale: A New Born’s Never-Worn

I clutch little baby hands, his body wrapped in a hospital sheet.
It’s blue and red – much like his skin; my baby.
His face is the image of peace, but there’s something
not right in the silence of it all. They take him and hide him
away from my desperate eyes, but it’s a loud silence
that has my whole chest-bursting at the ribs.
I beg every god I know that he might breathe.
For me.
Please.

In the End

Time, a faithful companion
provides calmly expected answers.
Slow down,
observe the tiny things near to you,
then amplify your view,
move on with speedy pace,
placing your eyes on the wide horizon.
Alter the vision to comprehend
life’s design is never defined.

The Gratitude Poem

My failing to punctuate a sentence is both intentional and inability
Yet times my word power
So limited crept on repeating on the same tree
Like a bougainvillaea
With pale colours
But the critical acclaim but partial yet times
Fuelled my expressive venture like an adventure

It’s You

Your voice is music to me,
The kind that makes you wish the song would never end.
I could travel the seven seas within your beautiful eyes,
And to get lost in them would truly be a blessing.
To love a beauty such as yourself is an honor I hardly deserve,
For you bring out the best of me.

Coping Mechanisms

‘I buy four bottles of hard liquor and some wine
hoping that by the time I get home, I won’t be able to walk
in straight lines. I want to stumble and curse and struggle to
slide my key from my purse. I want to rage against the
door’s lock, so incoherent I feel like it’s a sleepwalk.
The liquor bottles on my arm are an ice storm,
and now gloved hands shoved in pockets
are the only things that keeps me warm.’

From the Kingdom of Ice

As the brute winds merciless
Like a vast river at the realm do rush
For to pick off the feeble and the despairing
As trees and fences fall at the opening salvo
With faces blanched and by much dread afflicted
As to the ground from whence they came
They now far too soon do return
Beneath the impassive regard of the opal moon

Christmas Was Near

The excitement of knowing that Christmas was near
A scent you could smell in the air
That innocence of childlike hoping
To reap all your dreams would dare
The anticipation of Christmas Eve
Of waking to the perfect gift
Of music with bells, and Christmas roast smells

We Shall Meet Again

My asymmetric assumptions, they bury
twisted tales of absurd desires
How I learn to hide my wound and heal
worshipping the new face of the devil!
A filthy business to revamp my soul
coated with skimmed pinks
of the blood moon from your sky

The Hero Within Me and Humour

Sensing the mass of human boundaries
so overwhelming and disheartening,
love dissolves the choking ghost of fear.
Hidden talents hit the surfaces
breaking down walls that should never exist

Broken Times and Budapest

I haven’t seen you in a while, my friend.
But I still remember the time we’ve spent together;
Pictures of you are still vivid in my memory –
A part of my soul will always be there with you

An Endless Eternity and Flames of Crimson

An endless eternity of stars
Blanketed the lofty canopy celestial
Far into unseen mystery
Where swirling lights
A’simmer in a sea of indigo
Washed across the cosmos entire
And vanished into an infinity of glistering dust

Quince Tree and the Abandoned Garden

There’s not much to put the eye at ease
when we pass the abandoned garden;
tangles of string, planks and chicken wire,
a smother of snowdrops in late spring,
a quince tree with lichen, yellow fruit
rotting to brown then a winter black.
Is there a forgotten expression
in the language for which the bleak phrase
‘abandoned garden’ is not enough?
They’ll build a gas station in its place.

Pompeii

Eyes are darting left, at the filling docks beyond but
I stare to the right where the vast
terrain slopes toward the peak of the gods.
The peak is tarnished onyx, scorched with
red anger leaking from the top, slow and steady.
The grime started dusting the air, leaving
a layer of it on my tan skin, but I hold one hand
up and shield baby from breathing it in.

Dawn and the Signature of Sunset

As the hour of dawn
Ever more imminent did draw
The lofty celestial expanse
Eschewed the tired robes of night
And discarded the redundant attire

The Brooding Sky

The brooding sky harried the realm
It glowered beneath an angry brow
Through narrowed eyes
Glistering with intentionally unconcealed rage
Tinged with the betrayal
Of a fleeting mocking delight
At the discomfitted souls below