To wander thru alleys


Alright, you caught yourself burnt amid the dark—- And life didn’t promise anything…
The floods of shouts teethed at your chest—right when you were hiding behind your hair— and calling out the depictions of daylight in a barred dimness.
On a dark night, you rose tumbling at the figures of fame and the darkness crashed screaming—in mountainous treasures that way you tread— and wouldn’t be caught gleaming.
You dreamt of an escape—always the same—-cruising your body—wrapped in the coastal breeze—-running, running—-onward the balconies and laughing.
With white lightning and thunderous applause—receiving highly the summer daze–and you said you never wanted to be caught.
But that was just a persuasion from the fantasies that unwind today on the static of your electric buzz—the one that keeps hot your lushly lit love for the stage—in all the great phases that ravel onto new time, and habits—pride that couldn’t commit to your craze.
Then one day, you’ll bend backward in angelic clothes, ball your game to the top—-doe-eyeing heaven—while the hydrangeas glisten in gardens—closing your eyes and lulling you.
Rocking off the toppled floors, slowing down only for who could handle you—inflate you with hopes and answers—suntan, tie-dye short dress, hissing your remains—covering the sparkle in seams.
Nothing lasts forever——-nothing really matters—-nobody is infallible—-nobody indispensable—and that much you knew and more….

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Watt

It's all a matter of rust and shine, to serve a distinction between to have and to have not.

54 thoughts on “To wander thru alleys”

      6. I recently saw tweet of sb whose poetry I love. She was a judge at a poetry contest of one my fave mags. Anyway, she said, reading all these brilliant submissions, I’m thinking – You should stop writing. You don’t know how to write like this. But then again, she goes on, nb writes like I do, so I guess I stick around.

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      7. Well, we’re all jumping and treading tracks while creating poems. And if somebody told me there was a way in which I had to write a poem, I don’t think I’d even want to write.

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      1. And yet… sometimes, when I really like something I read, I can’t find the words to express how it made me feel. I’m stuck with “great” or “brilliant” or something like that. This is the case with your piece.

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  9. Okay, I’m officially jealous of your talent. This riveting piece gives me the feel of Bob Mclean’s “Vincent’ which is a very good thing. There is such beautiful, emotional depth to this. Afterwards, you just sort of sit and stare.

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  12. Your writing is absolutely stunning… I mean reading it feels like having one’s foot tied to the gas pedal and sailing over a cliff in a fit of ecstasy… I feel so fortunate to have found it just now.

    (Was via your “like” on Faux’s last poem, by the way. Very grateful to him as well… for his poetry and for “liking” my oddities from the beginning; his blog and its community has today brought me to another world of writing on WP I would have otherwise missed… and have been half-heartedly searching for…)

    “Then one day, you’ll bend backward in angelic clothes, ball your game to the top—-doe-eyeing heaven—while the hydrangeas glisten in gardens—closing your eyes and lulling you.”

    Just holy sh*t. 🙏

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  13. Yes, I did already know … and more. Yet, now that the hydrangeas are glistening, I’ve learned what I knew, all over again. Only now, I know it better.
    Crazy, but I truly do wander the alleys. I leave the main streets for others.

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