The meaning of this poem is fairly apparent.


Alone I stand,
My hip in hand.

The empty hole
Is not consoled.

Nor is it tame.
Nor is it lame.

It lies in waiting,
For the silent baiting.

Of another to grasp,
To lock and to clasp.

To stand along side,
For it to abide.

And together walk along,
In a silent song,

That is not seen nor heard,
My man or bird.

It is between one and two.
It is between me and you.

And though many may peer
At the sound they cannot hear,

And think they understand,
But they know nothing of the hand.

That now stands alone,
With hope set in stone.

In a wall on the farthest fold.
On a hill where it is bitter cold.

Where it will never pass away.
Where its patience will always stay.

And be ready for the hand,
To fly into where it will land.

And make its presence known.
And reveal beauty that is to be shown.

And like the rain and the wind,
We will pick up and walk again.

But this time both of our hand’s,
Belong together like plan’s.

In song through silt and sand,
And no longer will I stand,

Alone with my hip in hand.


This poem is about a social situation where to parties are thinking the same thing. That thinking prohibits them from ever speaking to each other.

We’ll Apparently Never Speak

My absence of words, the silence I’ve birthed, means something to you.
But the worst is often thought.
Do you think the things that you’ve thought could at the least be true?

Working for your willingness to think me of any worth
is a chore I’s taught not to field ever since my birth.

Your absence of words is faintly deserved and means something to me.
Though Ill try and think of you the best.
It seems your fears be them stupid yet just be the same as thee.


This poem if part of a series pf poems called The City Chronicles. They are poems that deal with the good and the bad things about the city. I wrote these poems about a year and a half ago.

City Chronicle Number One
Contempt In The City

I drive through these city streets with contempt.
Fastened down by the only false serenity that keeps me exempt.

The city bears down on me like a double edged sword in a mad mans hands.
Fallacy climbs the walls destroys us all in these vacant desert sands.

The city is only a fragment of what it once was and what it will never be.
Maybe I was just to young and protected and I could not see.

Maybe a city is what I make it and nothing more.
But that can never be because my city wouldn’t have drug’s, steeling, killing, and whore’s!

I’ve seen the human sex store in its prime.
On a stretch of road where children proudly play at the same exact time.

There is nothing I can do and the only action that I can commit.
Is a circle on a paper and sometimes even that is a crime, I am just tired of it!


Knowing Winter is Here

Winter has yet to caress my face.
Her beauty is like a knife.
I find it difficult to keep from being stabbed by her dull deadly blade.

When she comes fast around the mountainside,
At first touch I will refrain
For my fragile skin has yet to be hardened by the cool Canadian winds and her subtle swift blade.

Though I must admit
When my skin feels her caressing wind again, like a soft yet angry hand,
I will allow her to stab and stick,
Swindling my skin for just a tick.

All for a moments pleasure in knowing that winter is here.


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