Tag Archives: poetry


Well what do you have at the end of the day?

Aloof and alone with everything your way;

tired triumphs and empty victories,

hallmarks of your silly vanities.

Proud, haughty and cold,

feeling empty, growing old;

searching for some shred of meaning

in a life of advancing and achieving;

confusing friends for pawns,

getting it right while being so wrong.


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Love + War

battered heart

This is how my world ends*,

this is how my world ends;

with slamming doors and frigid silence;

once everything was given freely

now seems I cannot be spared a glance

and rooms I enter soon are empty.

Knot in my stomach is too heavy to carry;

I knew it would happen, that I’d screw it all up,

but to live through this moment, so tense and scary

is so much worse than I’d thought, and much more abrupt.


This is how my world ends,

this is how my world ends;

with breaking hearts and dishes too;

her anger burns beyond control,

she might now hate me as much as I do

as I sit and watch the end of it all.

All the happiness I’d hoped to bring her

turned to dust in my bumbling hands,

instead I’ve brought sorrow and anger

now, finally, more than she can stand.


This is how hope survives,

this is how hope survives;

with the smallest of nods,

meal served in two portions;

crumbs of hope from the gods

stay of my execution.

Soft touches have ice slowly melting,

a small smile releases the doves;

Tomorrow may well bring more fighting,

but for now I embrace this lopsided love.



*Line borrowed from T.S. Eliot’s poem The Hollow Men

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2 Writers

She wrote like she dressed:

with careful aforethought

and attention which showed

in the finished product


He preferred to shoot from the hip

with a splat and leave it at that;

letting his pen slip and drip

a pile of words and untrimmed fat.


The considerate might take the time,

searching for nuggets less worthless

that the most patient could find;

most would just call it a mess.

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Ghost Town

My life is a ghost town.

Hope long since packed its bags and deserted,

leaving behind the weight of potential unrealized.


I sit in a saloon filled with why’s

slowly losing my grip on the lies,

succumbing to verity

in all its severity

while ghosts of relationships have me caught,

demanding me to be all the things that I’m not.


The well of emotion is dry,

as cold and empty as I;

these regrets replaced by wondering

what the hell has been happening

in this place I thought would be my life

but turned out to be just trouble and strife.

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This Time

Not gonna write no poetry this time,

not gonna feel sorry for myself in rhyme;

this time it’s serious and so am I,

this time I’m gonna be the other guy,

who puts down the pen and gets down to work

cleaning this mess I’ve made and am,

doing what’s needed, not giving a damn

who says and thinks that I’m some kind of jerk.

This time will be different, it has to be,

to end this sad-sack cycle routine.

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Well I could never live here, no I could never stay,

but it’s still where my heart is in a special kind of way;

with the people I can’t wait to see

and those from whom I’m still not free.

Every room’s a little time machine

where I see a boy and his dreams

and I wonder, what would he think of me?


Head full of nostalgia, heart full of love;

memories crowd in with jostle and shove,

and we laugh at the stupid things I’ve done,

but in spite of all we share deep down I feel alone.

There are so many subjects we’ve settled with uneasy truce,

so the tension’s thick and heavy when honesty gets loose.

But blood shared is thicker even than blood spilled,

so cease fire follows every skirmish as passion is deferred.


These walls have mouths, always whispering to me:

“This is where you come from, and it’s all you’ll ever be.”

And I sip a homebrew cocktail of pride, shame and regret

as I contemplate life’s little histories that dog me yet.

My family: I am too much and too little like them,

they turn heartaches to smiles to headaches again and again;

I don’t know where I’m headed but I’ll not forget where I’m from.


Now it’s 4 in the morning, time to leave again;

it gets easier and harder every time I drop back in

and I can’t help but wonder how many more visits are left

til the unbreakable bonds are finally severed when we’re departed or bereft.

Trying to keep my smile dry I reflect as my heart slips out on my sleeve

That you can never really go home, but then again, you never really leave.


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Car Alarm Lullaby


Beep beep, whoo whoo,

in the city of poverty;

rest your weary head,

gasp for breath,

calm down.

There may be no serenity

but you’re alive,

have some wealth,

so calm down.

Beep beep, whoo whoo,

a serenade of security;

keep your goods safe

from all those poor

that surround.

Beep beep, whoo whoo,

try not to feel guilty,

lying in La Paz luxury

complaining about the accoutrements,

trying not to think of the reality

beyond the car alarm lullaby.

Beep beep, whoo whoo,

goodnight La Paz.

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