Foreword (for what it's worth):
The dates on the poems and rambles are unclear since I often jot these down on the go, or late at night, or after a few drinks.
I journal and write regularly in multiple places. There is a leather-bound hand written journal I write in maybe once or twice a year, an informal series of dated Word documents, and lastly the notes section on my phone for more brief thoughts.
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I plan to share mostly poetry and short story samplings here.
Poems and Rambles:
2021
The breath has returned
It’s time away was long
Yet much was learned
And many things wrong
It’s a push and pull
Like the tides in and out
I reckon myself a fool
While I was merely in doubt
Not sure when the change came
It seemed slow yet steady
An ending of a game
Yet am I ready?
Is anyone ever really prepared?
Do they really have it all together?
Or are we still scared?
Hiding away from bad weather
I certainly hope there’s more to come
Let us not be feeble, worried or dumb
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2021
Stuck in this again
Round and round with no end
Anger burns
Cocked back, it yearns
To fire off into the air
Spewing and flailing, no care
Why does it hurt so?
Needing both a yes and no
Before it’s ready to go
I get so fucking angry
Seething
Hating
Bitching
And moaning
Like an endless record, I feel it
Sliding in under a joke
Or a breath
Or a final word
When in fact we all know, damn well,
The sentence is over
But I can’t help it
Talk talk talk, reeling banter
I try and I try to be better
This poem won’t even quit
So why bother?
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2021
I feel a longing for something
Long since forgotten
Like a secret word or code
That only a younger me would know
Maybe it’s the past?
Remembering simpler times?
Or how things feel so heavy now
Serious and stern
I can’t be silly
Or waste time
Efficiency rules all
And anything else is a waste
But what has changed?
Is it the sweeping thrust of age?
Or the day to day grind?
I want to lay on the bed with my head upside down and let the blood rush fast
That’s where all the best ideas came from, I had said
Or to go to the park and spin and jam
Maybe sit and write for hours on end
These are things I can still do
But I don’t?
Why?
What is stopping me from that freedom and expression?
The pressure is there, certainly
Weighing on everything I do
There is no fun without work
No projects without planning
No success without mistakes
This feels unanswerable
Maybe dreams will reveal…
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2022
Feeling so conflicted
Close to the edge
Of what?
Of nothing, of everything
Each day is tense
Unwavering
I am so tired
Yet unbelievably awake
There’s been a lot of unease
At work, at home
In my head
The tides are low
Exposing the underbelly
Of things rarely seen
The high tides will return
And banish the unclean back to the dark
But they are still there
Pulsing, waiting
For the chance to resurface
And toxify the space once more
But you can’t undo what’s always been done
You can only cover it for awhile
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2022
I want to write
More than just these little poems
I can feel the words
Crawling and calling
Begging to be heard
Stirring with urgency
I don’t want to rhyme
Like a poetic emergency
Instead I need juicy words
Luscious lines and thick prose
Across the page, a thought rose
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Stories:
For context, I like to read and write fantasy, horror and speculative fiction (aka some weird shit)
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-Main character inherits estranged father's house - who is a hoarder
-A woman gets ill and throws up for days until she finally pukes up an egg
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-Someone receives a pack of seeds in the mail that promises if planted it will "grow into a life changing experience"
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-A bullied schoolgirl often hides in the bathroom and makes friends with something that lives in the pipes
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-Finding the "lost" room - where all the items you've misplaced/forgotten about in your life end up
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-A pill you can take to induce lucid dreaming