Tag: poets

And This Is Why You Must Write.

Posted on by villaalexisf

If you’ve outlived a loved one, 

It’s their remnants in the mundane 

The freshens each hurt. The dust 

Collecting on their shoes, the absence 

Of footsteps on the stairs, and the silence 

Of each evening. Youth left with the last time 

You opened the front door. Keys fumbled through 

The lock and we wasted the years humbled by 

The unkept dreams of childhood. I am fully

Functional but not really. I forget the shape

Of his eyebrows when frustrated and his grin 

When victorious. From where I sit, he is still 

There, tucked within journals and poems

I wrote to keep him alive – through this

He will outlive me. 

Through All The Things You Cannot Change

Posted on by villaalexisf

You sleep like a child. Start the slumber induced 
Time warp to breeze through the inevitable 
Like a montage. The mundane you cannot escape: 
The long commute home, reckless conversations, 
Basic hygiene, forced pleasantries, society’s fun-filled 
Pendulum. Power through and pretend you’re too tired. 
You are not exceptionally exhausted, just perpetually so. 

Let’s make believe you are in charge of your life. 
Stuck and in awe of people who have everything 
Pieced together and crumbling at the same time.
You are not trash but you’re no one’s treasure either. 
With your fingers you can feel the earth, your eyes 
Can process photons, just sensory spares of the universe,
Dwindling and disassociating. Don’t ask me 
If I feel the same way. I’m too distracted to notice.

If Hokusai Depicted the Shore

Posted on by Dyne

I wrote a poem inspired by an artwork at Singapore’s ArtScience Museum.

If Hokusai Depicted the Shore

I found that things do not stagnate
Always inching towards flourishing
Or decaying. Maybe enchanted
By the ocean or engulfed by the flood.
It is water in essence yet functionally
Different. I’ll fixate on this: Could they carry
A drowning man’s struggle for the surface
To the nearest shore? Please send
Help – someone help him float – hope
That it gets to the one gasping for air.

Give it a century, the man is absent
The shore is no more. The water’s 
Approach to tranquility til there’s no more surface to cover. It would be difficult
To hope otherwise.

RPF

Posted on by Dyne

He was fast, smart and tried
To scribble through the great war
Scrambled through numbers
In desperation or drought he fought
For his wife or for science – I can’t
Tell the difference. How could he live
Her last few months speaking
In coded letters that required someone
Else’s eyes. And then whatever was to him are numbers was someone else incinerated on the other side.


No one there put a bullet through someone’s brain, at least a helmet could
Catch it. Eureka! meant death, instant,
Unknowing, or unfollowed by pain.
No one dares to light the third match.