Undo

Death undo these chains
material and spirit;
all slaves to something.

Catharsis

Poetry is not all flowery & fragrant;
she is the dying rose’s thorn, still able to draw blood

I am that rose, given unconditionally
to just wilt & wither
through this healing process

she comes to me in words, in phrases
and I am the brush, painting that certain feeling
coloring emotion
single words that mingle together in ecstasy
frolicking inside my brain

I never liked my voice, and I forget things
so I write them down in barely legible scribbles
and later type them up pretty
oh, how I wish I could serenade her
spontaneously

my soul is open
for interpretation
feel free to look too much
into me
or misinterpret my original
intention
my path is layered
before me, yet

however selfishly I compose my self
it is not for nothing
if just one person finds
comfort in dried petals
and sore fingertips

Written for dVerse Poets Pub’s “Poems about Poetry” prompt.

Spectrum

Striking a balance
between spectrum’s two extremes;
in fact, choosing sides.

Temperamental

Nourish
drown
from same rain drop
tear drop

warmth
ignite
from same sunshine
sunburned forest flesh

and who says god has no sense
of humor
I think it must be such a bore
to create
things you cannot destroy

smoke
sage to cleanse
breathe to feel
baby in back room
handle is hot

wind
knocked out skateboard rash
breeze giving new life
to tired old sails
ripped

earth
grow me
karma-free food
quake in anger
when we don’t get our way

throne thunders
temperamental tornado
waiting to uproot
fences built
with human hands

and who says I have no sense
of humor
I think it must be such a bore
to destroy
things I cannot create

and by the way, thank you for the rain

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub’s “Weather” prompt.

Hanging Monets

Save me from storied allegory
bore me with your tallied fallacy
humor me with lipped hypocrisy

hang me up in your tree
tradition breaking limbs
dead weight of free thoughts

defeat, an inner seed
dark water
magnetic negativity

hear ye, hear me out
most times I don’t
feel like shouting
I close my eyes
blinded by sentiments

sediments
dirt dripping up like
inverted runes

it’s all how you
see it
hanging Monets
upside down
righting stomach
so mis deeds
settle

this mind is acid
reflux
antacid an
excuse
a reason to
change

flush away
that
chalk taste

begin anew
on empty
stomach

I give you
a little piece of my heart
ventricle
by ventricle.

Revel

Impish exultant
radiant redundant
somber somnambulistic

exuberant in truth
absorbent yet porous
wretched intrepid decadence

nowhere near
this fear
interior
what to reveal in

interview with
ill-prepared
overdressed reporter

what to remember
what to take away
from
transient train
ride bending rails

ignore the
fall
from flight
to floor

ignite the
plight
from what
to where

reveling in irrelevance

FM Ghost

Steve Shultz

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Monthly Archives: July 2012