There was a block of flats which called themselves apartments because there were long hallways lined with doors and through these doors were dwellings or flats or apartments.

The residents or inmates or people didn’t see any reason to close their doors on this hallway, so as you paced its length you would hear and see all sorts. Most of this was not from the people through the doors but from the people inside the TVs inside the apartments.
You could walk up and down for hours on end, watch through a door for an hour, and no one would notice. I lived in the hallway for over two decades and my presence didn’t seem to be intrusive. Even when I watched on as a teenager tried to slit his own wrists, was calmed down by his mother, given his first drink and asked important questions like ‘would you like another?’ to which he’d respond ‘of course’ because he couldn’t say ‘I don’t care’. There would have been more questions so he didn’t have the heart for apathy.
It was a funny place to live, this hallway. So many voices gave no conversation because answers that mattered didn’t matter here but silence wasn’t tolerated.
I was content for a long time living here but I left to see what conversation was like. People who keep their doors closed can be much more interesting, I’ve found. But some people make me wonder if their doors are just painted paper.

The Despicable Dilemma (of Poetic Pretence)

if you’re feeling down, write your heart away.
but if it’s in a generic way,
let the influences keep their words

second-hand feelings for the purpose of
touching the love-lorn or grief stricken
touches me deeply. yes, the deep touch
of hatred and scorn.

’cause you don’t write your real
to hope that others feel;
you write your false, wordsmithing a delicate hue
over the eyes of the gullible: a hue to view you.

I wish that someday you hear the poem to end poems
or feel the days, it’s people and it’s world, deep enough
to write it real, so what others feel is just that.
’cause the pretence is disheartening.

Creation Betrayed

Your creation of the set
as individual
is a farce.
You have them march
in line with those of potential
(your generals).
And you – the dictator
suggesting a ‘liberal mind’ as the goal –

‘I lead’ is every bit justified to you.
I! I! I call it intrusion!
I call it propaganda,
as shown by your need
to explain all words
as you would see them.

‘What is the meaning?’
you ask the General of Insight,
and she repeats your words –
without meaning.
She does not adhere to
your tendencies (and believes in redemption).
Insight betrayed
while you dominated,
manipulated Instinct.

[May 2013]


Don’t talk to me
is said as
‘Goodnight… ‘You’.

Then that ‘You’
thought of others.

How it was to be
a part of nothing,
when no thing was a death.

Death means nothing to you
who held no thing in importance.

Importance placed only
when a hundred are lost
in only one.

Then the only one left says
‘Goodnight, you’.

So I made a Facebook page for my writing.

If you follow me here, you might enjoy being barraged with my work through two mediums. If you don’t follow me, but want to, yet have an aversion to WordPress, then like that page too. Although, I warn you, I’ll mainly be linking back to this WordPress.


Vita and The Puppets

The puppeteer had voices
and names for them all.
T. (also Terrible),
U. read Ugly,
V. was Vile,
but also Vita.

Names, you see, were not his thing.
The puppeteer had many voices
and personalities to bring
and, oh, how he brought them.

The puppets pulled
from their strings
when the personalities
became too much.
They broke loose
from their controlling noose,
gained a mind,
and ran only to be known
by their letters.

Vita runs free now,
no tethers.

If I could create a title for this, it would be sorta ironic

That time you begin to write

and you can’t quite capture that


Feeling frustrated, working back

in your mind through connections


‘That just doesn’t make sense’

that you came to think of


That time you begin to write

and you can’t quite capture that feeling!



[written in November 2012]