Walking barefoot
on fresh grass
rain keeps
smearing
this old
draft
/ Faint
reflections
o f
o u r
d a m p
r e a l i t y /
Dizzy letters
all get
blurred
eerie story—
last line
slurred
/ D r i z z l i n g lines
in ink rain
weather /
Books all
tattered,
O, too frail!
this ink
watered down—
too pale
All these stories
drowning, bold;
fading lines
on torn page
drawn
/ Faint
reflections
o f
o u r
d a m p
r e a l i t y /
(Were they
really any
good, though?
I wonder
now—
too late)
/ D r i z z l i n g lines
in ink rain
weather /
Dreading the fictions
and their inner imaginings
willingly embracing
the poetry
in those eager
fingers
/ Unforgiving Eyes /
Will you remember those words
W h e n y o u a r e o l d -
W h e n s h e ’ s g o n e ?
Poetry soldiers
missing in action—
silent whispers
that do not speak
wonders, yet reveal
half truths
/ Unforgiving Lies /
Will you remember their words
W h e n s h e’ s o l d -
W h e n y o u ’ r e g o n e ?
Dreading the fictions
and their inner imaginings
willingly embracing
the poetry
in those eager
fingers
/ Unforgiving Minds /
Like the
poetry soldiers
missing in action—
yearning for fictions
to evolve from
abstractions
Minds, eyes,
white lies,
soft words—
barely whispered—
under
b l a z i n g
e n e m y
s k i e s
I often
get lost
in your
canvas
p a l a c e
My hands
all dirty
with
old
p a i n t
What’s the colour
of your
dreams?
I d a r e
a s k
Yet you
never
utter
a single
w o r d
So I strive to
find my
answer
in ink
s k e t c h e s
*
I often
get lost
in your
canvas
p a l a c e
My hands
all dirty
with
old
p a i n t
What’s the colour
of your
dreams?
I d a r e
a s k
Those
undecipherable
ink
s
t
r
o
k
e
s
Paint
pirouettes
that won't
tell any
t a l e s
*
My dreams
are
sometimes
coloured
y e l l o w
— with
a
dash
of
b l u e —
Your eyes closed,
while I get lost
in the true opacity
of those abstract
i m a g e s
So I let
all shades sink in—
colouring your reverie
back to
r e a l i t y
Raining feathers
misty light
the sound
of a waterfall
nursing me
into sleep
Vigilant feelings
bleeding into
free-wheeling
thoughts,
a window about
to swing open—
one I didn’t want to
see through
The widowed tales
of nighttime
dreams,
the ones I tried
to tell by heart—
with the worldly
decorum
of the
raconteur
Raining feathers
misty light
the sound
of a waterfall
nursing me
into sleep
words
are words
and
g o r g e o u s
w o r d s
words of
wisdom,
h a r d c o r e
w o r d s
wicked
weathered
s a v a g e
s e n t i e n t
sassy
silver
sage,
w i l d
w o r d s
words,
are words,
o d d-
f l a v o u r e d
w o r d s
foreign
sexy
e x o t i c
c l a s s y
lusting
after them—
t h o s e
m e a n i n g f u l
w o r d s
words,
all words,
j u s t
m a r r i e d
w i t h
w o r d s
* * *
wishing you
all a wildly
poetic
and
word-lusty
2022
🤍
* * *
She yearned to
become a spy
yet she failed
so miserably
She walked
the long walk
and dressed
in hued tones
She hushed the
sharp tongues
and asked for
bad karma
For those
that would
play her—
the good ones
obeyed her
Lila yearned to
become a spy
yet she failed
so miserably
She wore her
dark shades,
unravelled
dark plots
/ with feline intention
and birdlike precision /
Yet her wings
she did not
want to
get
w
e
t
So she’d run
under cover
on rainy
days
It was always
warmer
by that
fireplace
She yearned
to become a spy—
Yet she failed
so miserably
I wish I’d never
let you read
any of the stories
in my draft
book
Since I always knew
you’d just skim
through
those
pages
( Lousy reader
that you were—
now, your time, pronto!
to get back
to school )
This is
a book
that will
never get
published
Too bad you
trashed
the draft
upon first
reading
Too good
you’ll never
ever get
to read
the end,
One so tenderly
written in my
doctor’s
handwriting -
undecipherable,
for
my
Failed
R e a d er
E x t r a o r d i n a i r e
Blue-blood poet
cold at heart
large,
your ego,
this swell night,
She’s a tourist
in wild dreams
of word orgies
blood verse
streams,
Both,
crossed lovers
madness feigned,
vintage statues
They remained
Wordplay
artists,
starry
nights,
warm-blood poet—
S t a y
t h e
n i g h t
New seas she sails
with wet, wet eyes
cold, purple lips
a wild, wild heart
A fighting mind
one fateful tune
one fresh start
a blinding light
New poems read
with tired eyes
a stunning feat
those rhyming lines
Warm, purple ink
a healing heart
she will, one day,
recover might
A writing sword
on stormy fields
she will in dreams
all battles fight
And conquer will
those seas she sails
those dry, dry lines
a fighting mind
She starts to sail
she longs to write -
new poems, wild,
they will take flight
New seas she sails
a bright new night
with drier eyes
h e r
s o l o
w r i t e s
We used to dream
of brighter futures,
features concealed
by demure
v e i l s
Souls almost blurred
by shy, dry tears
fears hinted in those
faces—dark and
p a l e
Oppressive times,
so stark and fearful,
Venetian masks
silencing those worry
t a l e s
We used to dream
of brighter futures,
features concealed
by demure
v e i l s
What face we’d find
under such attires—
question harassing our
snotty brains, those
d a y s
We used to dream
of brighter futures,
features concealed
by demure
v e i l s
Oppressive times,
so stark and fearful,
there was only so much
hope to fight those
w a i l s
Momentum for change
Lost opportunity? —
We’d never wish
for those sad days to
s t a y
We used to dream
of brighter futures,
features concealed
by demure
v e i l s
What face we’d find
under such attires—
colourful masks
silencing our worried
faces—dark and
p a l e
LannaZee 