Please excuse the comma splices, tense changes, verbosity, etc. I was just a youngin' and now I realize the error of my grammatical ways. Plus, I preferred the flowery and descriptive writing styles of the early 19th century and beyond rather than the short, journalistic post-Hemingway-style of writing. I love intense imagery and descriptions in general. Still deciding whether I should edit my old poetry for grammar mistakes or take the Beatnik approach and fuck it.

Disclaimer: I only wrote/write on bad days. Grand days have never inspired me enough to write as I've always used writing as an outlet. A majority of my poetry is angsty, dark humored, or depressing, however, I don't have depression, and I'm not self-destructive or suicidal by any means. My writing is mostly a tenfold representation of the kind of day I was having at the time. Embellishing the realities of my bad days on paper helped turn them into good days. Not sticking my head into an oven anytime soon (or ever, actually). :P +10 points if you got the reference.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to comment

Thursday, September 13, 2007


I canoe along the ocean-like lake,
Not a care in the world, not the sound of a motor.

My paddle, caressing the water with every stroke,
The canoe, walking on water, careful not to capsize,
Just my paddle and I, skimming the water.

Gazing upon the forest edge that meets the shore,
Noting the fire-burdened trees to our right,
Twigs and trunks, burnt and charred,
Victim to a decade of fires, vulnerable.

The forest, isolated and lacking inhabitants,
Centuries old, nearly forgotten,
Greets the world, "Hello", with its gift of oxygen,
No reply, no appreciation, no thanks.

The island just up ahead, holding a deserted house,
The crimson paint, chipped, the windows, broken,
The rocky shore of the island, barricades the house,
Years of memories, hidden behind its doors.

Remnants of its garage, hanging over the water below,
The foundation, crumbling and eroding away,
Days away from calling the rocky lake bottom "home",
The lake's castle, in its final resting place.

An old beat-up fishing boat, anchored at the house's dock,
The boat, natural, matching the landscape,
In its rightful home and place,
The ancient boat, swaying to and fro, in its own harbor.

Pondering creation's great accomplishments,
Reminiscing the beauty that surrounds me,
The serene setting, unknown to most,
Away from bustling cities and at peace.

I continue on my journey to nowhere, enjoying nature,
Bird calls surround me, the quiet splash of the water below,
The many throngs of mosquitoes, decorating the air above,
I make my way along the silent waves.

Home, sweet, home...

Copyright © 2007


My heart pierced with the thoughts of the past,
Will there ever be hope, for my heart is lost,
My eyes fear the the light, for I know it's bright,
This dagger, already so deep, I lack a strong grip.

My hears hear hate and sense its arrival,
I turn away and ignore reality, fake it,
My life turned abstract caused by fear,
The dagger, life on a string, heart weeps.

Reality bites, but I try to let go, escape,
I'm dreaming of a nightmare, so close, yet so far,
My thoughts are endless, my heart filled with regret,
This dagger, eternal, shows no sympathy.

Copyright © 2007


Throngs of horses, so wild, young and free,
The sound and feeling of their gallop
-no instrument can make,
Their sudden neigh, breaking the silence
-call of freedom.

Jet black and caramel coats,
Manes decorating their features,
One of the highlights of God's creations,
Tame creatures, gentle and humble.

Symbol for freedom, love, and hope,
Outstretched hand, comforting heart,
Their courage and bravery
-getting the best of us.

So wild, so young, so free...

Copyright © 2007