It matters not how strait the gate, or charged with punishments the scroll/I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.
About My Poetry
I write obscure, odd stuff usually, and when I’m not writing stories it’s what I spend my time on. I put together a whole book of it the other day, and I was amazed when I realized how much I’d actually written. I hope you enjoy it, even though it’s strange.
“Ocean of Noise”
The ocean of noise,
Rings like a bell.
The men on horseback ride from the dark,
Spilling their fires,
Embers and sparks.
The moon’s a silver crescent,
And the stars are woven in thread.
Through the hands of trees,
Glows a tent, under the black,
Close your eyes and go turn back;
The ocean of noise,
Is singing like a bird.
In tones of brightness,
The cold wind blows
In shades of paleness,
The dead tree grows.
“Cats and Stones”
Sometimes I feel like a stone
Tossed in dirty hands, back and forth;
Through a windowpane, spreading shards of glass
Until I break the silver-blue surface
And come to rest in a bed of weeds and sand
Sometimes I feel like they are cats
Strutting up and down the barn’s sun-bleached ground,
Their tails flicking behind them, back and forth
A metronome to be followed by the eyes
Of all the lesser beings, standing idly by.
Sometimes I feel like she is a lamb
Held in loving hands, with eyes that see with love
And she looks back and feels safe;
And then the lion’s shadow appears
So the lamb has a taste of death,
She has never understood it, but now she
Sometimes I feel like he is a snake
Curving cunning paths through high grass
His tongue flicking in and out, in and out;
The coiling of his dry scales hissing softly,
He is always sure he can kill the beasts;
But then they turn their sun-sharpened iron barrels down,
And dust to dust completes the turn,
And the snake’s cool confidence spurned
In one single burst of sound,
Which leaves him to fall silent into the caressing ground.
Often I feel like we are ants
Insignificant, except we can lift cities on our strong arms;
We move about sure of our own worth
We kill who comes last,
And we love who comes first.
Never do I feel like we are gods
Of sun and sky, and sea and land
We are puppets and beings of solitude both,
We are nothing, we cherish
Only once at the end what we should cherish most;
We are snakes and lambs and cats and stones,
We hide in the shadows and end up alone.
“The Stone Cabin”
I hid from the world in a cabin of stone
Where no one could find me, and I was alone.
And if anyone told me that it couldn’t be home,
I would hide myself farther in my cabin of stone.
If it started to snow
I would know where to go
And hide deep below
In my cabin of stone.
I would make a big room,
With a view of the moon,
And I’d fall asleep soon
Hearing a familiar tune.
In my ears is the song
‘I will always belong,’
‘In my beautiful cabin of stone.’
A furnished box rests on the floor
A golden lock to hold its door
Wrapped around with marble bind,
It is titled, simply,
This Is Her Mind.
A small and fine brass key does sit
Atop the box, a perfect fit,
Into the lock, and open wide,
And look in wonder at what’s inside.
A swirling mass of colors,
Pictures, dates, and times
Dig amongst the chaos
And see what you can find.
Tis not a box of order,
Tis not organized,
Tis a paint-by-numbers gone awry,
So enter thee her mind.