Poetry · Writing

lightworker

you’ll lead the way

will follow;

protector of man-

the earth below her feet; she worships

the ones you will not meet; she notice

electric fingers twirls the air like string

earth given powers, meant as a sign

to bring forth the daily wonder

we walk on without regard;

her gentle roars keeps the power safe,

fangs bear the wicked and worsen-

a tiger guardian, a lightworker.

today; she works as a electrician

bringing light

to those ready.

Poetry · Writing

inner demons

i created you

i.

like god with an atom

a sorcerer with a spell

a scientist with the elements

i gave you purpose;

with the swish of ink

with the words of centuries before, with the graceful eyes in my skill, and the hands dished from the pot of decades of molding-

this

is

mine.

it sleeps in my head

dodging bullets made of lead

we carry that blood,

but i gave you life-

your sluggish steps in my inner chambers

rattle while i rest

when you’re most upbeat

i am

down

Poetry · Writing

1-800-555-2457

the static channel is louder today,

the musty recliner sinks deeper,

a socked foot blocks the left most side of the hushing screen,

the channel changes the static turns to picture

of a woman

selling pans

her golden curled hair flowed as she walked back and forth

just under was the number 18005552457

stainless steel and a non stick surface for a premium cooking experience

for three payments of 19.99 you can have this pan today

but if you act fast you can-

the static channel claimed her back into a loud shh,

the toe dissapears from the screen

a dial tone matches the static.

Poetry · Writing

bottom of the barrel

the bottom wasn’t the bottom

it never existed

it was just home,

the golden fish would tell stories

of a land bathed in light

kissed by soft air-

we huddled around her stories

of fulfilment and life,

we prayed to poseidon

to bring us;

bring us to the land of the free,

where goldy stayed-

away from the bottom.

the next day she was gone,

the we shuffled to an i

in silence.

Poetry · Writing

Leon

a crewmate on our last days – “be

less of yourself for anyone and the sea will reclaim you,

our lives on Leon; this boat will change you

so you can survie, we live on our captains words:

where the water bleeds fresh, will live as kings of!

we sailed on Leon for days without rest

collecting fools gold for our nest,

until the sea gave out

reclaimed Leon

like a mother and child