poetry

/ grumpygorman

alas, i can’t spar
darling..

not in a state
like this-

i’m the tilting
tower..

not vine scaling
prince-

summon
still..

i’ll come running
like peasant
to your
sill-

for
sweetheart..

i can’t take
a hint.

Pixabay


/ grumpygorman

a passion, poisoned-
must spit to
get it
out-

tame desires turned
dangerous,

be
predictable..

or
courageous?

pixabay
/ grumpygorman

let’s crawl back
from day’s
end..

scrawled back to dearest
boyhood friend,

we played
house-

i was mother,
she acted
dad,

we stayed fluid
in roles of
spouse-

and worked our
issues
out.

pixabay




/ grumpygorman

dear martyr,
don’t..

be swallowed by
the bulls’
rush-

your safe passage
factors
too,

that crimson cape
tells its age

and I’d hate to watch
the hoard..

consume
you-

hand out in sea
of need..

no soul left to
rescue.

pixabay
/ grumpygorman

morning feels
seperate from day,

any meaning left
in saying?

heart’s not in it
but let’s
play..

can’t shower off
a brain,

standing stunned
in artificial
rains–

won’t chase sorrow
down the
drain..

sick of stale rhymes
ranyway.

pixabay
/ grumpygorman

Recede In Caution

do not disturb with
hollow words-

dare you ignore the
warning on
door,

or reasons it
hangs
for!

do not disturb
unless
 
feline.. or
bird.


/ grumpygorman

reverberance of
connection, amplified..

in pockets
of quiet,

as heart blossoms
unsilent,

cased in
chicken wire-

twisting
and crumbling–

uncluttering
escape..

from mind’s
useless mumbling.

pixabay