They promised that insomnia Would bring words Like long awaited rain, But instead it Keeps you awake too late With your distractions And makes you miss your thoughts, Then sleep long enough For the days To seem one. Insomnia only brings Diversions, Frivolity And agitation, And when that Wears you out, A sleep too black For thought to thrive. Insomnia doesn’t bring rain; It is the storm grey Cloud that teases And threatens, Then flitters away Whispering promises To come another day.
Tricks
i’m really not amused. must this really be the theme of my first piece of the year? sigh. also, i’ve added a like button to all content. feel free to use 🙂 I know your secret. You wait until the taste Of you has All but faded To spring forth And remind me That you’re still there, To make sure I never forget. I know your trick, But that doesn’t Mean I don’t Fall for it every time.
Tabanca
I have a tabanca. I miss the warmth, The sunshine, The shade of green, I miss the freedom that comes With knowing exactly where you’re going ‘Cause is there you born and raise, I miss the kiskadee song in the day And the cricket chorus at night. I miss the twelve hours of sun, I miss the sno cone, I miss the red mango. I miss the soca And the piccong, I miss St James And the way it’s Never at rest. I miss the view Of the city from Lady Young Road, I miss the renegade Poui trees that…
Flash Fiction Friday #34: The Traveller
So i decided to play a lil ambitious with this one, i wanted to get an epic poem feel, then i kinda didn’t feel like settling down to write, hence the delay. not sure if i’m completely satisfied with the end result, but i certainly don’t hate it. i could have gone subtle with the words but i decided against it. fff#34: (choice of inclusion) ghost, roast, boast, toast, host. The traveller had been warned against this route Though it promised to be quicker. Brave, Strong, Could survive anything that was thrown at him, Was his boast, Though the weariness…
Deadly Sins (Cycle II)
You are the vice That resides in my soul, The lust and envy That corrode it, The temptation That I yield to, Again and again Without fail. Forgive me Father, For I have sinned, And I yearn for absolution.
Days Like This
Days like this are the worst. Days where I stumble around In states of undress; Listlessness has made me hot. Days like this I wish I’d taken up smoking. At least it would give me Something to do With my hands, My mouth, My lungs, Least the Devil Seeks to employ me With his other idle souls, While I wait For the universe, Fate, Destiny, To figure out what to do with me… Days like this are the worst.
The Little Things
It’s the little things that make me think of you. (the smell of stale smoke, brushing my hair, the way the boy at the corner stood as he waited for a bus). When they come, as thoughts often do, I’ll inhale, try to still my heart, flush the thoughts away, Of course it never works, but I can’t help but try, and maybe one day the little things will be just that: things.
Flash Fiction Friday #21: Fresh To Death
fff#21: (starter) it wasn’t how fresh It wasn’t how fresh his mark was whenever he went out, or the way his shirt hung just right, or the way his jeans hugged his hips and the demim kissed his skin, or the combination of dimples and bashful smile that always smelled of mint that got me, but it certainly helped.
Infatuation: A Haiku
Watching from afar, i wonder what it’s like to be wrapped in your arms.
Fluff
I’m being very mean to these two pieces and posting them together because they’re both fluffy bits of silliness…. Like I like you. Stupid me. Stupid you. Me for liking, You for being so likeable. But alas, So be it, I like you. There’s the first one. And this is the second. Maybe Maybe in another life, If I still weave words And you still write symphonies, I’ll write you sweet nothings And whisper them in your ear While you play me a song That only I will hear.