Tag Archives: poem

365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Eight

moved by fear and the unknown.
we go to battle in an unspoken war.
no one too high to fall.
they made the monster sailing to.
unguarded shores, the sentient towers.
are awake no longer.

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365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Seven

a wraith stirs, hungry.
swallows past and future with.
no remorse or pain.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Six

Less than ten days from completing this project, and I think I’ve settled on this blog’s purpose during 2014. We’ll be doing world-building, a day at a time. I’ll go over what I already have and then start making things up from there.

The end of this year of poems will be attempts to write some set in this world, yesterday’s was a start to that. And as all worlds need a living,  breathing culture behind them, the poems won’t stop in the upcoming year. I’ll probably write another 365, though may not post all of them.

Now, for Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Six.

shut away for.
many days.
there is no light.
and sound without.
connections causes.
the first stages of madness.

body stagnant, unable to move.
must remember the catch.
an easy way out.
flexing of fingers and legs.
try to hold on to the semblance of self.
the connection of body to mind.
it is tenuous.

as are all plans of desperation.
story must be told, there are.
so many who depend on this.
so many to die before the tide.
brings this chosen prison.
to shore between the towers.
must remember the catch.
must remember the catch.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Five

homeland filled.
with broken bodies.
and burnt children.
the air inside my box was sweeter.
while stealing across the sea.

coastline is the border crossed.
no rippling fjords of the North-
those were childish things,
barely formed when I saw them.
the first time I left.

a place, for want of finishing.
all failure seared to memory.
not mine, abandoned, now no one’s get.
free to find another life if not.
for fences and unbearble wet heat.

will ever-crushed, he held out a hand.
anyway, and returned the next night though.
I snarled like a feral thing, kindness.
the smallest part of life before.
repeated touch and the hope of purpose.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Four

sky is watercolor.
clouds across a blue wash.
centered by the wind.

shifting temperatures.
and broken things.
always identified with.
the Island of Misfit Toys.

the sky is watercolor.
sun a lightbox, diluting color.
till all fades to white.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Three

do the work. release.
pain is not for all to see.
outside poems and dreams.


365 Days of Poetry: Day Three-Hundred and Fifty-Two

jump the sun.
with carbon wings.
an entry to.
eternal spring.
religion of.
the unknown space.
striving for.
the smallest taste.
reign down.
feudalism is not dead.
government reverts.
all hop beds.
to win the purchase.
of their flight.
convert your demons.
sleep through the night.


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