Braided Skin

I’m not much of a poetry kind of guy, but I wanted to support my fellow coworker and writer Chelene Knight. Braided Skin is a nice, mellow collection of poems. If you read this, Chelene, good luck with everything! It was pleasure to read your work. 🙂

Jake

This pretty juvenile poetry. I think I was trying to go for a baseball metaphor/pun about a guy named Jake who the narrator (ie. me) has a crush on, and wondering if he played for the other team or the same team.

Wake up from a dream, grinning
Me and the boy I’d love to date
(Wish you could get into those positions we were in)
‘Cause it’s the bottom of the ninth inning
and up to bat is Jake.
(Catching on the other team is… Jake)

Untitled

Untitled

Black smudges where words once thrived
only visible to my eyes.
No evidence of my fingerprints,
no crime scene.

I am a re-written book of histories
flaking off like a burned letter
pages stark naked where once clothed
stripped of colours
ripped from the spine.
Flatlands, as far as the eye can see,
as far as the hand can touch.

Scraps of words and things

I was going through some stuff and found a bunch of unfinished, unused lines from I don’ t know when.

I have a heart of glass
refracts light into a hundred beams

———————————————

The words fall dead on deaf ears
and I’m still waiting for the invisible ink to appear

Trot out the red carpet, it’s the big day
pat on the back
sparklers for your departure, and you’re on your way.

Don’t you know the rules of the game? (blessed)
I know when I’ve turned into an uninvited guest
cause I’ve fattened you up, belly aching
entrees of words, buttons breaking
(Don’t worry, I”ll stop the bleeding)
There’s no mistaking

—————————————–

odd pair

swap in the cards

This city is a minefield

I was thinking about “Half-life” the other day, and I came up with another metaphor that I feel really helps describe quite accurately how this city is tainted for me now.

This city is a minefield.

Hitting the poetry pad

I’m so used to writing in prose/creative non-fiction that I’m having a hard time being poetic.  There are some neat ideas I have for some poems that I’d like to read at my upcoming poetry reading ont he 24th this month, but I have trouble expressing things and sounding… cool.  At least I know that I need to just write.  See where things go.  Find the gold amongst the garbage.  Something like that.

 

one of those nights

one of those nights

its one of those nights when I cant be bothered with punctuation
when the mind is a stagnant algae pond
while the fleeting chances leave little tracks in the snow
i no longer have the will
nor the energy
and drowning in sleep
closing the mahogany doors of my senses
is all i want.

The Egg pt. 2

Alright, so for those who may be clever enough to see that this is in fact “part 2” and are wondering what in the hell that means, I first started a blog a few days ago on blogger but I wasn’t really feeling the lack of categories (I like to be organized!).  Plus, I think I made my blog kind of morbid-looking, even for my tastes, which is really saying something.  And since my good buddy, Stefan, a formidable writer himself, has a blog on this site, I decided to steal his idea and use it myself.  Thanks, Stefan.

Anyway, I’m going to be doing the same thing as I planned to do with my other blog: slowly post my collection of stories, poems, song lyrics, and other assortment of manic things that spewed from my mind.  Also, leave comments!  I like comments, especially good ones.

So, once again… let’s get this thing started!

–Aaron