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Category Archives: Spontaneous Poetry

Poem: 2017-11-25

I got nothing
30 days to Christmas
and the soul is empty
of any spirit
past, present, or future

I got nothing
to want or to give
cupboards as bare
as my shame
past, present, or future

I got nothing
except these stark words
etched into memory
of what never was
past, present, or future

I got nothing
sounds of silence
echoing in the night
yuletide carollers
past, present, or future

I got nothing

It is National Novel Writing month – and well I don’t write Novels but I do try to write novel poetry. One a day for November!

 

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Poem: 2017-11-24

deals, deals, everywhere
not a moment to think
buy it now
get it now
credit or debit
it’s one and the same
get it now while you can
there’s no one to blame
but yourself if you wait
and then there’s the shame
if you miss the best deal!

It is National Novel Writing month – and well I don’t write Novels but I do try to write novel poetry. One a day for November!

Poem: 2017-11-23

anxiety scrabbles madly inside me.
even this rocking can’t soothe me
from the disaster waiting to happen,
whenever I try go out my front door.

The world hates me, always berates me,
for being a failure, for being alive,
for breathing the air in my house.

Don’t look at me that way that you do,
you’ve no right to judge me, demean me,
because I’ve already done that completely,
and certainly much better than you!

It is National Novel Writing month – and well I don’t write Novels but I do try to write novel poetry. One a day for November!

Poem: 2017-11-22

How is it then that I am wrong
now that you are the one that’s gone?
Clearly dear one you didn’t care,
about both what was right and fair.
When it came down to push or shove,
you never ever gave me love.
Further then if truth be told
you never ever said you did
even when I wished you would.

And so I see the fault is mine,
seems you were right this whole damn time.

It is National Novel Writing month – and well I don’t write Novels but I do try to write novel poetry.

Poem: 2017-11-21

I dreamt of Angela,
waking me with kisses.
taking my hand in hers,
guiding me in dancing,
a naked English reel.
scent of coconut oil,
cascading from her skin.
and us falling entangled
on her kitchen floor.

I miss most of all, her
unrepentant laughter
and the kindness of her eyes.

It is National Novel Writing month – and well I don’t write Novels but I do try to write novel poetry. One a day for November!