You’ll See Me Smiling (Song Draft, #1)

They say this kind of love’s off-limits
They wonder why I can’t pretend
Be meek and mild and want for nothing
And if my heart gets torn
Make do and mend.

Well if I loved you any more it’d be illegal
But this day’s just ending, and I swore
That each new dawn set feelings growing
And I think I’m just gonna have to
love you a little more.

So
You’ll see me smiling in the mugshots,
You’ll see my name and read my crime,
See my face in sticky ink,
And you’ll be grinning at every line.

Oh, you’ll see me smiling in the mugshots,
See me smiling in the rain,
You’ll see me smiling through the good times,
See me smiling through the pain.

You’ll see me smiling in the mugshots,
You’ll see me smiling in the mugshots,
And I’ll see you smiling too

old routines (National Poetry Month Day 28)

I woke up from a dream of you
To see you as you really seem
Two big eyes and little else-
Tolerance grown from routine
And now it’s over

Now my head is empty
And my heart is full
And in my hands squirms
A birth-slick
Hate for us.

There’s blood on my mouth
And foam in my brain
The words caught between my teeth
Spilling down the drain
And now it’s over.

Cell Poem v2

All Voices Hide Sins
Voices corrupt memory lost,
Hide memory from heaven
Sins lost, heaven found.

I’m taking another look at this concept of vertically/horizontally aligning poems, this was a little mockup I did in about five minutes. I’m undecided on how punctuation factors into the mirror – it’s fine to use along the ‘fold’ of words that only appear once, but can look a bit odd otherwise. These are also significantly easier to do with less than 6 cells per row/column.

Trails

With every round I fresh discover
The worldly wealth a path can cover,
The twisting turns that make a life,
Uncertain roads where change is rife,
And every turn brings altered trail;
But now that I am old and frail
I cannot help but idly ponder;
What of the many paths I squander? 

With every turn I gladly make,
There remains a path I did not take,
Who knows what tales my mind would own,
Had I but tread those paths unknown;
Perhaps my friends would number higher,
Perhaps more coins I would acquire.
Perhaps some fiend would spell my end
Of such things none can quite portend
For not all paths are quite the same,
Though some bring fortune and some bring fame,
Others lead through swamps and muck,
Where dreams will fester and hopes lay stuck,
As still as sails on stagnant day,
So leads some well-trod, vibrant way. 

Looking back throughout my years,
I’ve fought my ghosts and faced my fears,
I’ve made my turns both wrong and right,
In inky dark and blinding light,
And should my tale by freshly writ,
What would I change?

Not a bit