cherokeeghostwriter

[cherokeeghostwriter]

@syntaxandsemantics

these words are bones rattling in my fist, pennies tossed in faith - i used to believe in  something after this, broken promise, another life  now post-modern thoughts almost kisses on cold reflection,  breath is relative, love a dead relation i’d wish back  if water was the kind to give to hope, live again in these shaky hollows resonating with how i’m made of, countless little pieces

#poetry

[cherokeeghostwriter]

sun-sets

such worries, when things will be what they ever, will come down, come down with me see the world going, still don’t miss me now, behind the sun when day is, done

#things behind the sun #poetry #old poems

[cherokeeghostwriter]

#eclipse #through clouds #taken by a friend of a friend in texas

[cherokeeghostwriter]

i don’t write poems anymore.  i think about it, but it never happens. i still collect words here and there, just in case, but, i have run out of language to convey them. this new reality feels insincere, clinging to me like an indolent child. i’m left with a profound sense of sadness -closing the door.

#poem #gone fishing

[cherokeeghostwriter]

turn

almost done  becoming the older generation  everyone i’ve ever known seems to have wandered away incrementally straying to parts unknown  living and dying, without a word

we’re all orphans eventually no place to rest our unattended heart drifters passing through ghost towns  -our days of ago, a dalliance  just around the next corner

#poetry

[cherokeeghostwriter]

Patience

Beneath the patient weight of Another days dutiful obligation. I rest my mind in the quiet streams Of a wordless contemplation.

And though my hands are made weary, With this endless energy spent. My soul has settled  among the stars, and holds my heart content.

#poem #2014

[cherokeeghostwriter]

watered down moon light into mercury grey, a midnight pools  the charcoal pavement  or silver afternoons  reflecting rippled memory  the soul of then, of now -of summers lost when hearts were broken much too soon

#poem

[cherokeeghostwriter]

tender

nest me now soft into the day ease the morning light the fresh

opens my hands  palm up releases that which is not mine wasnt mine lets it go

sinks into that which i love and that which loves me

[cherokeeghostwriter]

 incidental  art.

#my daughters room #ashley

[cherokeeghostwriter]

Here's another shot of this evenings sunset. I've never seen pink fog before. No filter -cell phone.

#personal #pink fog #waterloo alabama

[cherokeeghostwriter]

Sunset through the trees. Waterloo AL.

#personal #iPhone no filter

[cherokeeghostwriter]

To January

I am four hours of sleep meets, uncounted cups of coffee meets, my fascination with the rain dripping from the roof I have finally given in to January with its thirty one small surrenders and its thousand shades of overcast bartered, from the sun

#poem #time for this again #january #old poems

[cherokeeghostwriter]

promise of spring

these januaries are stacking up. i've a pile in the corner. they're imperceptible to everyone but me, and i have run out of ways to ignore them.

i do sometimes manage to forget, manage to overlook the relentless calendar - flapping its pages fluttering, mocking me with a naive promise of spring.

#poem #january

[cherokeeghostwriter]

Woke up to this. Would rather have had this on Christmas morning.

#personal #snow #obviously #waterloo al

[cherokeeghostwriter]

we're all falling. some more than others. plunging toward nth degrees, ensnared by fashionable ideology, chasing the unfamiliar to its obsolescence.

voices clamoring repetitive, crowds of conjecture in sync. the faces move lifelike, but i no longer listen. re-creations made in their own image, self-replicating multitudes -heedless.

#simulacrum #poem

[cherokeeghostwriter]

I’ve begun to suspect that most song writers only have one song most poets one poem- striving over and again to get it right

#a tune for each heart #a poem for each soul #poem

[cherokeeghostwriter]

I expected to wake to a frozen landscape this morning, but instead the gods of winter moved along somewhere to the north. It is cold, and it is wet, my least favorite combination of weather.

I have been attempting to write a poem this morning while there is still time. Time enough before my quiet space becomes filled with the noisy demands of this regular, everyday- day. I’m not feeling particularly creative this morning, and writes about cold rain with frozen toes, really don't seem worth the effort. I’m unsure who this pointless ramble is meant for, or why I am bothering to write it out at all except that- all of these things I write- We write, Feel like messages in bottles, tossed into the ocean. My expectation is that they never wash up against any discernible shore. Or if they do, then it must be some deserted island awash with unopened bottles.  

I didn’t win the Lottery again, even though I dreamed I had the winning numbers and jumped up in the middle of the night to quickly scribble them down before reality snatched them away from me. Afterward I sat there on the side of my bed trying to hold on to that feeling. That feeling I used to carry around with me all of the time. The feeling that anything was possible, at least until you checked the numbers.

#personal #never check the numbers #winter