Poetry and Poetic Thoughts


The feral juniper cat
leaves tribute at my doorstep,
because I feed that scarred beast,
yet I won’t learn how to hunt.

I feel him glaring beneath the evergreens
as I bury another disheartened songbird
behind the iron trellis without a prayer
or a final toss up into the air
to see its plumage glisten.

It’s comforting to put on
a heavy, charcoal coat,
and boots with worn down soles.
The autumn queen does not
blush in flowered garlands,
but pulls up a woolen hood to veil
her eyes.

Grizzled hounds lead me down
sodden leaves on a sloping asphalt path
to the footbridge that creaks like my knees.
A cardinal is singing in the cedars,
and sun sifts through to warm my face.
My gloved finger catches the rim
of a shiny dime in my pocket, and
I cast it into ceaseless currents,
but that’s not enough

to pay the toll.


Candles a’ twinkling
Eyes held wide shut
Flesh ripped and shorn.
Screams echoed unto the dark night
Plunged into the fearful depths,
Shattered souls,
Long forgotten and bondage born.
Satan’s little helpers
Go bleeding scorned.


Hey hey hey hey, this is something


I’m rumaging through an older, not filled journal I used to write a lot in last year.

I came across this and I thought of you, @anhydrite.

To love is not easy. Do you want to know what it takes? It takes opening your soul to someone. And not only that, but them doing the same for you.

Love is a scary thing. It hurts, it teases, it pokes, and prods. Really, it tests you. To measure your worth. It’s timing. It’s tiring. And some days, you’re left with more questions than answers.

Spilled fucking wine.

That’s all I see right now - spilled fucking wine. And tomorrow, I’ll see butterflies. And then, I’ll see the wine again. I’m too sensitive for this world. It’s hard for me to express what I’m feeling in the moment I feel it.

So, I’ll sit here at wait for tomorrow’s butterflies.


This is beautiful! Thanks for sharing it with me. The last three lines are perfect.


The left side
of a sunken chest
hides a broken engine.
leaky pipes of salt water,
and freezing blue screens.
manual reads…
to fix your machine:
try turning it off and back on again.
I close my eyes,
stop thinking.
and drift to sleep.


Solstice chimes
midnight of the year.

The infant sun
lies buried deep
in frostbitten hills.

We’ve closed the gates
to toss pistachio shells
on stout hickory logs.
They burn hot and crackle,
then blacken back into
the longest


on the sanguine wing
of a cardinal


toward dawn.


They’re young. They stare ahead with the comfort that each is near, fingers interlocked. She’s timeless and he doesn’t know what day it is. They’re young, and I wish I could tell them so. I wish I could say, “This probably won’t last because the two of you are young.” But they’re happy. They’re content in this moment. Staring ahead, down the track, ticket punched. She’s thinking. And he’s looking out the window. Ocassionally she looks to see something he sees. But mostly she likes to use his head as a pillow and his hands as a security blanket. They are content in this moment. He kisses her forehead as she laughs while sharing a memory. She’s timeless and he doesn’t know what day it is. They are happy now, in this moment.

I wish I could take a picture and show it to each of them when they’re old. “See, this was you. Do you remember this day? Do you remember this feeling?”

And these are the thoughts and the seeings of someone who has toneless ear buds in.

And now she sleeps. With her pillow and her blanket. Content. Happy. Timeless.

ENFJ Woman = The Bad Witch, The Villain, or the Temptress

Today’s innocence is tomorrow’s switchblade.


Could be. But they are happy now, in this moment. This moment is all that matters.


This could be the opening narration to a :notes: video.


A little something:

I hope, that as the nature’s flow, our memories fall from ourselves, like the flowers from the trees, so beautifully designed and bright, dimming themselves with time, becoming one with the dust.


A Prayer for the Times

When all is swirling chaos, just be still.
When dark stagnation threatens, use your Will.
When hawks of War are circling, be the Dove.
When wounded folk are crying, give them Love.


The Tyranny of Time

Tick Tock, Tick Tock,
Precious Time is moving fast!
Do you dare look at the Clock?
He knows just when you’ll breathe your last…


Creedence’s Lament

I am Creedence Leonore Gielgud!
A twisted and dastardly Druid.
A Dark God did plunder my Soul.
Shall I ever again be whole?


These are a couple of my favourite poems from the strange world of Lewis Carroll:

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat

Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!
Up above the world you fly,
Like a tea tray in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little bat!
How I wonder what you’re at!


’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”
He chortled in his joy.

’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.


I wrote a diary entry as quickly as possibly and then re-arranged it without any editing to create a poem titled ‘The Beginning’. I wanted to provide this as an example of publishing unedited and raw thoughts. Then I added a third piece to the series titled ‘The Great Dictator’. Which is based on the ways in which we torture ourselves mentally and are dictators of our own minds. Rising against ourselves to our own demise.

This is only the beginning The tip of a fucking iceberg People are scared We haven't even fucking begun And I ain't stopping I'll never stop I'll walk alone if I have too But I ain't bowing down This is my life I'll live it how I fucking want Sick and tired of being controlled Being directed Being requested Fuck all this Ima be me Unashamedly Raw and real Tired of everyone being like “Are you OK???” FUCK OFF Of course I'm ok This is just what you can't see I ain't apologising because your blind Visions a blessing and a curse Daring to be great Daring to stand strong Daring to be different Daring to stand tall Being yourself Whatever form Screw boxes Screw labels Screw everyone else's design Craft your own Be your own vision Be the madness you inspire Be everything Be nothing Dance Yell Be angry Screw being pleasant Screw being meek Screw being small Stand fucking tall Fuck a bitch right Slap that ass all night Make her sore Make her beg for more Fuck being nice It ain't get you shit It gets you ignored Have fun Shit ain't that serious Why do we worry about nothing? None of it matters Yet all of it does too Always yes Always no Always both Always none Always fucking done #27Club #28 #TheBeginning 1/2

A post shared by Luke Lewis (@luke.lewis_) on Jan 7, 2018 at 1:24am PST

I am a king in the making Madness Darkness Inspired Emerging free Shouting out my fucking name I'm Luke Lewis bitch Don't you forget it I know you won't One trip down town got you hooked Begging to come back But bitch I don't care I only love myself now Greatness Legend A poet of the modern ages Ripping into everyone Like they ripped into me Why do they seek kindness? Fuck yeah Who cares? I sure don't I'm just going to be me Fuck you Do whatever you want Don't you dare fucking control me I'll fucking tear you apart I know no limits You bleed and I smile I have no heart Just madness Just fire Just passion Endless rage A sea of torment destruction Fucking pain Agony And I love it This is what I know This is who I am I'll not fucking bow down You can get down if you want But don't ask me to join I ain't, I gotta stand tall Be great This is my life I'm going to make something of myself FUCK YOU FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK I rarely let anything slip Nothing comes out You haven't seen shit Yet This is only the beginning #27Club #28 #TheBeginning 2/2

A post shared by Luke Lewis (@luke.lewis_) on Jan 9, 2018 at 9:29pm PST

I'm a dictator, despot, tyrant. I want nothing asides the throne. I see an empty seat and I unsheath my sword. As the blood spills and the head falls. I feel glorious. The blood and screams fuel my frenzy rather than temper me. If this place were burning now. I'd feel no remorse as I trample those beneath me to emerge freely. Hearing the screams I'd offer no helping hand. I'd feel victorious for having risen to the top. There's nothing to temper me. Nothing to stop me. Just loneliness #TheGreatDictator #27Club #28

A post shared by Luke Lewis (@luke.lewis_) on Jan 10, 2018 at 10:25pm PST


Wow, love it! And doesn’t it feel great to write in this stream-of-consciousness fashion?

That fella @Blake knows what he’s talking about wrg to INFJ creativity (assuming you are an INFJ!).

I don’t know what came over me yesterday, but I suddenly had the urge to write a series of short poems, so just went with it. The words just flowed out without any of my usual INFJ perfectionism and procrastination. I think I only made one minor edit to one of the poems, and that was because my subconscious suggested a better word for one of the lines.


Some poetic thoughtsies for my poetic thoughtsies thread.

Communication. Such a fickle thing. And the label to be what the labelers see. My words have been misspoken and misdirected. They clash with my inner peace. You hurt. And I’ve learned through Karma. I’m not a game or an app on your phone. My attention is not to be split. And your care is inconsistent. Is this all there is? I believe so. We’re too busy splitting attention between the real and the dream. Offering locks to our chains to those who put them there. You are their slave. A slave trapped inside. A slave with artificial sunlight. Sometimes, you make me feel like the only flower. But then, you’re so good at reminding me. If solitude is what you want, loneliness is what you’ll get. And I wish you well there. I wish you well on that mountain. Because I will not be there. This is my mind and my heart. And you have hurt it. Unaware of such destruction, but knowing of its potential. Your care is inconsistent. To hope when there is none…

I’m not her. I’m not her either. I’m vulnerable, weak, impressionable, and wary. All things opposite of what you thought; what you want.


I’m so happy you shared this Erika :slight_smile: I’m saving this in my journal, and you have no idea how it has inspired me…and another thing: !! F–K !! THAT NIGGA. <3