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I picked up the dead butterfly
lying by the side of the road.
There were many others, too,
with no more life in them.
I placed the one in my hand on top of a flower,
for the comfort of familiar surroundings.
A more dignified resting place to share
its delicate finery for just a while longer.
Treaty
bones and superstition
shush, the book
better an apocalypse is
God’s wish
for a world he loves in
such plenty tongues
to will an end again.
Yet the surface tilts
into the horizon
tyranny waits banally
the city sits on fire
below no other sun
A sense of calm, of hope and wonder
The silent calls, the beauty under
The laps that come between each breath
They glaze and shine into the depths
A single drop becomes another
And then a few to make a river
It settles in a pool of splendour
And sings the song of those most tender
Help help help
I need more sleep father
I got very little sleep
Last night
Help help help
I will sleep in this morning
And I will be up by noon
Every night I go to sleep late
And I am only getting
3 hours of sleep
Help help help
I will try to go to bed early
From now on
Today i was lonely
Searching for a thought
A friend in my head
an open ear i sought
Someone to listen
Someone to care
Someone to confide in
There was nothing there
Fake faces of plastic
Will answer the call
Don't take their heed
They listen in ernst
Then repeat it all
Today i was angry
Had it up for all to hear
Shouting my frustration
Selling my fear
Out of ash and silence, phoenix climbs,
A majestic spark in shattered times.
Its wings unfurl in amber flame,
Etched in gold, as if by fame.
The sky breathes, in glorious blue,
As fire is born, light's made anew.
Each feather flickers with molten light,
To dawn its throne in blazing flight.
Crowds gather, as if in a dream,
Drawn to this golden sky lit beam.
Eyes uplifted, hearts undone,
By this vision of living sun.
"workshop note left in the margin"
The piece was set down
with its own grain showing,
a simple join,
a few gathered parts
left as they were found.
Each time it’s read,
a new coat is offered—
fresh colours,
a scent,
a figure waiting in the wings.
But the work was built
to stand without ornament,
to rest in the plain weight
of what the day provided.
Not every surface
asks for another layer.
Some hold their shape
by staying close
to the first intention.
Let this one remain
as it arrived:
your president's feeling the stress
from the tiger he tried to finesse
now he offers the scum
some ridiculous sum
as they come for their half pound of flesh
On solitary late quiet nights as I lie awake in bed
I find myself wondering about this thing inside my head.
I find myself wondering about this thing that's buried down inside
Under everything else, deep down where it likes to hide.
There's a tiny vacant empty spot that's keeping me awake
An almost unnoticeable, yet inconsolable dull ache.
Refusing to be ignored, it whispers in my ear
"I'm still here."
"Trick or treat, smell my feet,
give me something good to eat.
If you don't, I don't care,
I'll pull down your underwear."
Kevin playing walkin's seat,
another scandal that's a treat,
raising stakes with every beat,
scream and swear, life never fair—
welcome to the house of Blair.
Feel the heat of smoke and tare,
drop your tears like crimson flare,
in the arms of deceit, in witch's care,
spells so sweet, if you dare.