ArtsAutosBooksBusinessEducationEntertainmentFamilyFashionFoodGamesGenderHealthHolidaysHomeHubPagesPersonal FinancePetsPoliticsReligionSportsTechnologyTravel
  • »
  • Books, Literature, and Writing

Good, Bad, Happy and Sad: Memoirs of a Poet

Updated on July 3, 2016


Let me catch those mere mortals

of endless melancholy,

taping those shattered pieces

which were once whole and beating.


Break my ray

and create this nude art,

on this lonely grassfield.

Let your shadows cast

this wrecking horizon -

in one full blow.


I can smell you
your scent of sweat
of the faint perfume
you showered yourself with
after your morning bath
of the morning coffee
dried on the side of your lips
of your salty skin
I used to lick, and smell, and lick

More than dreams
they haunt me
I would, everytime thought of you
I would, everytime remember us
of how we used
to be before
my fingers
and my mouth
could definitely tell-
and the rush
I would miss.
you are just the cigarette
l have always held
between my fingers
for you had died with the flames.
You are similar to my
last cigarette
You had just kept me when I could still puff

I'd die.
But the ashes, your ashes
they'd drip
and fall relentlessly.
In my death l'd still fall for you.



Sun showed in bright red,
freezing tastelessness in moist
as the frogs cried out.



The sun draws a parallelogram of light
onto the mattress of the bed.
The light is waltzing on your face.
Your face is a channel for the words;
telling me
you've lost chapters, layers,
of the cold night before now.
The blanket is wrinkled on your
naked shoulders,

The skin
on the back of your neck is
revealed and the edges of my mouth
itch to press
on it.

l crawled beside you.
My head sinks on the pillow.
The pillow is a good friend.
You faced me
and, suddenly,
you looked old.
I could notice little pockets of skin
at your jaw line that l am not sure
I have seen last night.
The curtains are in flame.
The floor is water.

You get up. The bed still has your trace,
creating a pond of your presence.

l fancied you'd return the way you said.
But I guess I'll only forget

your name.



i see your eyes
and they tell me
i am beautiful
and perfect.

but your eyes
tell different things
in the dark
where i can't see them.
a crown of thorns.
white linen.
three crosses.
two bodies.
fragrant oil.
a basin of water.
wounds that never heal.
bitter wine.
you hate me
in the darkness
your eyes tell me that
and i burn
and bleed
and plead for morning
when light comes
the hate in your eyes
but i remain bleeding.

A Love is a Dog in Heat

a gash, a wound
a foot in a coffin
blue skies
hurt these eyes
too much sunshine
too little clouds
where is rain when you need it?
it comes when you don't
like a lover
you ceased loving
like a thief in the night
no, a pickpocket
in a crowded bus
there is no romance in past loves
just as there is no life
in yesterdays
a patch of dead grass
where only history thrives
his toes sucked by regret
regret fucked
by hatred
on all fours
like a dog in heat
that bites everyone
regardless of age,
of sex, of income tax returns.
"but that's fine, that's what rabies
shots are for," you say
then you pause,
you turn
and suddenly you are afraid
of wind
of water
and even sunshine
hurts your eyes.


Never did I urge,
to push that forbidden chariot
and grasp the golden revenge-of me murdering you
(For I once also felt the ache
of being cut into pieces bit by bit)

Never did I push myself to win over you,
for I know it is only the wicked hands of the gods that will
to which stone my feet will step onto.

Yes, I have no reason to exist,
the primary powers are not mine
but never forget
that all run in no corners.
(I will be there, on the right day, perhaps.)


My soul whispered dreadful sounds
of yesterday's sorrows
as I once again reminisce
the forgotten past
of your haunting presence.

Years flew like Tree wings
and your infinite memories
weaved the same effect
like yesterday's bittersweet lullabies.

Last utters of your spirit had faded
when my feet finally grasped
the courage to step away
from the comfort of your endless promises.


    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • Longmire profile image

      Longmire 20 months ago

      noted. thanks jodah

    • Jodah profile image

      John Hansen 20 months ago from Queensland Australia

      Very original poetry, Longmire. There are a couple of typos in "Flickers and Smoke" and "Stratus" that yo may wish to correct("near" and "shadows").