Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Grave Digger



I have a rude habit

Of digging graves of foes

And tumbling in myself

Sprinkling the loose dirt on my legs

In defeat

Sometimes I dig this grave

And offer new light

Laying my past to rest

I plant a seed

To flourish and blossom


Over what was long dead to me

Wednesday, October 22, 2014

Wha...


My brother is what you call
A selective listener
Constantly glued to the computer screen
As if it was a necessary element to his existence
Eat
Sleep
Breathe
Computer
“WHA…” he shrieks
Whipping his head around
To see if his name was mentioned
Unaware of the intensity of his voice
Usually
It was nothing concerning him
But it wouldn’t matter anyway
For his attention slips
Before you can give

An answer

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

The Storm Drain

So much depends
Upon

A small storm
Drain

Flooded with street
Rivers

Beside the crumbling

Curb

Treasure



Spine of the book turns bowed
Where the readers cherish and savor
Spine of the book stays rigid

Where the readers ridicule and debase