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Old Poems

Some of the pieces you write,go into a book or onto scraps of paper,and get put aside,because you think they’re brilliant,only to open them years later,and realize that you weren’t quite as okay,as you thought you must have been,and you feel sad to think,that those words were so very important,to the person you don’t recognize as you,and you just wish you could give them,ahug.

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#Change #Life #Poetry #Sadness #Self #Time #Writing

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It's Just Stuff

Layered in the house,taking space inside your head,but you can’t let it go.

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#Clutter #Home #Life #Minimalism #Poetry

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Old Books

Is the reason we like old books,that they have some extra value,or that they are better written,or is it just for the looks?I think it has something to do,with the time that has passed,and the hands they have passed through,on their way to becoming some of the few,To have survived the test of time,in the back of someone’s house,ignored for years on end,forgotten and left behind.

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#Books #Poetry #Time #Writing

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On Falling Behind

I keep a journal sometimes,and other times I feel bad for failing to,because it seems like those days are just gone,as if they fell out of the record,and are in the pile of lost time,that gets larger and larger every day;I suppose there are thousands of those days,spread out through the memories,that sit in the back of my head,peeking out everyone once in a while,making me wonder,if they’re not…

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#Diary #Journal #Life #Poetry #Self #Time

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Drizzle

When it drizzles out,it’s almost more annoying,than when the downpour,empties the clouds out,Because I would so much prefer,to be wet and cold and rushed,than to be vaguely too warm,and feel the rain deferred.But we can’t always get what we want,as we go into the great outdoors,because the sky will make its own choices,about our springtime jaunt.

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#Nature #Outdoors #Poetry #Rain #Weather

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Ache

I don’t know what hurts worsethe stress that makesmy stomach acheor knowingI make it worsethan it needs to be

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#Anxiety #Pain #Poem #PoemADay #Poetry #Stress

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Just a Bit of Ink

Words on a page,in an old notebook,grow fainter with age,as they sit in a nook,No worse for wear,than the paper itself,save the lack of eyes to stare,on the dusty old shelf,It’s sad to see them go,to a place we’ll never know,as they take with them time,that we’ll never be able to rhyme.

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#Books #Ink #Poetry #Time #Writing

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Ode to loss

here’s to all the poemsI composed in my headand slipped through the gratesand misted away in the windbefore I was able to write them down

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#Grief #Poem #PoemADay #Poetry #Wind #Words #Writing

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A Theory About Procrastination

I have a theory about procrastination,it’s a rather good one,with plenty of facts and figures and logical exclusions,But I think I’ll share it with you another day,because I don’t have it on hand at the moment,and would dearly love if you would look away,Please stop asking questions about it,or looking for the drafts,at least for today.

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#Life #Poetry #Procrastination

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Mea Culpa

It’s hard to put your hand up,and own up to having done something wrong,Not so much because you worry about what they’ll say,because you can guess what it will be,Or because you worry that you’ve done something you shouldn’t have,because you know that you did,It’s that moment of self reflection,where you realize that the whole world,or some small slice of it,is going to see you,exactly as you see…

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#Life #Ownership #People #Poetry #Self Reflection

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The House at the End of the Street (Part 3/3)

    The former detective, present terrified grade school student preparing to flee from the very definite ghost they were about to meet, froze at the sight of the light turning on momentarily, before taking off back up the walkway to the street. If someone opened the door, they were running too hard to hear them. If someone called after them, their breathing was too fast and altogether too loud…

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#Fiction #Investigation #Mystery

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Cardinal

I wore my brightest redsweateryou matched mesomewhere in the neighbor’s treeI couldn’t see youI heard your lilting cheerpushing up against my diaphragmand my inhale reached for the branches

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#Birds #Colors #Nature #Poem #PoemADay #Poetry #Song #Trees

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The House at the End of the Street (Part 2/3)

  Correction: the house was exactly where it ever was. At the end of the street, next door to their house, empty driveway and all. But a kid had just run clean through the wall at the front of the house, a couple of feet to the right of the front door, chasing after a soccer ball. It may have been a kickball, it was hard to tell from this distance.   The ball chaser caught up to their prize,…

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#Fiction #Investigation #Mystery

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Immunity

you can’t touch thiswith your rankling wordsand your tone of disapprovaland your glance across the table I have seen your methods,observed them, analyzed them,and I no longer will let them reachme where I live. At your house? Different story.

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#People #Poem #PoemADay #Poetry

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The House at the End of the Street (Part 1/3)

  There was nothing wrong with the street, not really. There were houses, and small trees, and the odd drain built into the curb that makes it impossible to ride a scooter along it if you’re seven years old and want to feel like a real hotshot because it’s squared off instead of flat. People moved in and out, but the house at the end of the street was always empty.   The realtor never had a good…

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#Fiction #Investigation #Mystery

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Tarnished

holidayslike spoonsare shinierin memorythan when you takethem out of the drawerto use again

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#Holiday #Memory #Poem #PoemADay #Poetry

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Vision

she asked how my vision isI answered, I wear corrective lenses, what else do you want to know?Now I wonder, too late,if that’s what she meant

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#Conversation #People #Poem #PoemADay #Poetry #Questions #Sight