poetry

teach me to whisper

for Maggie Wojtarowicz

 

teach me to whisper
and weave slow scents into
the dark

there are voices i have not heard yet
fragile echoes are scattered
in the folds of your smile

teach me to whisper
talking won’t carry
a sliver of mystery or
a simple pause before words
grow out of our mouths

there’s a voice that needs to be heard
in between
our silences
before our conscious clocks
amble and trickle out softer songs

 

PhilosopherPoet

Standard
poetry

the city that never sleeps

the city that never sleeps
in all of us
we have memories that
vibrate through a loom of synapses
there’s blood pumping with
a fury the conscious will never bury

the people that never dream
can they calm the voices of commotion
the throat of ocean
swirling inside their psyche

can you walk through a storm
and still listen to the rain?

 

PhilosopherPoet

Standard
poetry

clouds

i turn
the doorknob
walk up old stairs
bruised and worn down
knuckles of a fighter

“the cheapest hostel in Vancouver”
the advert said
i agreed out of ignorance
i pay for two nights
the man behind the counter
slaps down a key
hands me a pillowcase
and a brown sheet

he turns to leave but stops
“you need a blanket?”
i nod and receive
something a dog slept
in for days

i walk into the tv room
a cloud of marijuana
cloaks me like bad weather
five guys stare at the screen

one darts a look at me
then back to the screen
he sips his beer and shrugs

i wave briefly
only one of them notices
a young Chinese guy
lights up a bong

a thick cloud builds up
in the glass chamber
he inhales
empties out
the unconscious tunnel

he coughs and moans
his thick red hair
too limp to dance

he stands up
fondles his bankie
like an old photograph

he wanders
out the room
looking for food

 

PhilosopherPoet

Standard
poetry

hatch

a chaos hatches inside
our hearts
somber stutters
vacant murmurs
breed in the silence
we called decay

a chaos hatches inside
our laughs
saucy giggles
mouthfuls multiply
and our eyes eclipse
an inner demon

a chaos hatches inside
our masks
adjusted idioms
scamper through
the cage of our banter

a chaos hatches inside
my heart
a gentle ghost
dances in the shot glass

tonight he stares into
primordial patterns
and
cold corpuscles
vibrate through
an old chamber
where the conscious
lie buried

PhilosopherPoet

Standard
poetry

pump

he clasps the handle
a thin sliver of soupy fuel
surges

background murmurs plague
his consciousness like sharp tendrils
crying through the clear face
a fallen wine
glass once had

there are no veins in his head
a usual pulsing area
pallid grave
potent humor
pungent sweat
playing ditties into
the velvet dress of the atmosphere
arrives by chance in the ochre hue
she calls melody

he wishes for water
or even the simple allure of nectar
which might free the puerile spirits
stalking petroleum
vigor locked
clasped
engaged with the duty to point
his nozzle to another garrulous motor
sucking in the sunlight
perforated people
fuel injected five year olds
and a simple silver barrel
gleaming in his hands.

 

PhilosopherPoet

Standard