Does the storyteller aways have a Spirit in hand, Alone in the dark While spinning his tale? Or can it be a wish? Maybe a child? A lover? A hope? A thought? A feeling? One that isn’t failure, I mean. Or maybe just a cup of tea- I prefer that to whiskey and ghosts.
Category: On Writing
Moonlight and Despair
I’m brooding over a mug Of black coffee at 4am, Trying to warm my cold bones And broken heart… Oh please, I drink green tea After my morning yoga; I’m about as happy as it gets. Unfortunately mountains poses And sunrise Don’t sell quite as well As moonlight and despair.
oh, honey
Oh, honey, There’s no need to throw Your concern around like A balloon in the wind, Just constantly wafting around my head. I’m fine! I would not be so vain To write everything about me; And I would not be so Un-artful To only take inspiration from That which is closest to me.
yes, this one’s sarcasm too
Excuse me, but the sun is sinking and I must bid you farewell And crawl back into my cave Of parchment and torment; The walls are covered in the Graffiti of my innermost Desires and regrets, And every night I lie surrounded, Reading and re-reading Every terrible line, Every spelling mistake And bad punctuation. It’s…
dear diary III
Dear Diary, Someone else mentioned they’d Read my poem today. It made me happy that they’d taken The time to do so. But then, They did not tell me what they thought- Not even a simple compliment. No, They asked me if I was ok …
gingerdrift 