Archive for poem


Posted in Original Writing with tags , , on April 4, 2017 by smuckyproductions

A eulogy to my grandfather, Berle Larned, who passed away this morning, April 4th, at 77 years old. 


How will I remember you? What image
Would hold you in place –
Not as now,
Stained in dark lost dayfalls
Scribed with words best left untouched
Glazed with glimpse of final truth –
No; this image is meant to fade.

That body was new once
It owned the air and glowed with it
All the promise of eternity,
Which I see now
The younger will see after –
Your red veins and unshadowed eyes
Looked down it and followed

Then the promise breaks
And only breaths are left – cruel joke
Of a lifetime’s brevity upon you.
You fumbled and flawed and must
Rest in silence knowing
You never needed absolution.

No need to worry, for I hold you
Not as now
But as then –
Your eternity safe
Until I, too, wither.



Posted in Original Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 6, 2016 by smuckyproductions

As graduation is almost upon us, I feel the need to share this – one of the first poems I wrote, while still in college.


Lying tangled on the bedroom floor
Medicinal poison ravage our veins
They won’t hear us in the sober dark
We, the gutted ones, trapped silent

Til the smell gets loose
And tells them for us:
Your brethren are dead.

They will weep, and grey-shroud snow
Will cover our graves, our stories untold
Effigies for children to see and to know

Blue corpse in black dirt, chose not to rise
The midnight call deaf on sodden ears
The bottle too thick, the liquid too dry
To allow us to keep our unchristened eyes.


Posted in Original Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , on March 3, 2016 by smuckyproductions


Based on a true story, folks.



The first drip drops across my lips
As I stare at the sun, blinded
To the metal taste – perhaps
I can swallow it and forget; but what starts
As a pinprick becomes a stream, rivulets
Of my body flung bright as gems
On the grass, and I run
Corking the flood
With a weak finger until –

Over the sink I release it
A shower of red spatters on ivory
Run howling from a rift in my skin
And I watch in awe
As it tumbles and shatters
Almost forget to plug the hole,
Soiling virgin tissue, soon overwhelmed
By the force of this rebellion –

Who knew it was so eager?
The tissues pile, war dressings dead
But the march does not slow
Splick splick in the basin, filling
Profane shapes as I drain
And imagine the fate –

What happens if it doesn’t stop
No congealing or swelling
But only mutiny – these beasts
I’m not meant to see, escaping
Jump ship!
And my vision blurs, breath hazards
In the face of the scourge –
Perhaps on me there will be no mercy

Bandages swarm, sink a paean
To gore and still growing
I wonder what my parents will think
Coming home to a dry-husk son
Clinging to the drain, betrayed
By his own blood

Trembling and powerless
To undo this carnage, alone
In the bathroom where I will die
Unable to utter a last word, and no one
To hear it regardless
Just a shell of a boy who cries
What makes me so horrible
That my own blood needs
To escape me –

But the clot comes out
From my head’s recess, ripe as a fresh
Umbilical cord unwinding
From mother’s cavity – following
The burst of old blood grown tired
The patters in the sink

And halt.

Wash out the basin,
A killer’s final act, erase
The evidence of my body’s traitors
And laugh at how easily
The blood wipes off.


Posted in Original Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , on February 23, 2016 by smuckyproductions


A new poem for you ghouls, continuing on our cosmic theme, and recalling the lost loneliness of Saturdays past. 



Bodies wade down streets
Manic solar systems
In orbit with themselves,
Their sun
Scouring elsewhere

I forget
That an eon ago
I too orbited
But my sun went dark
And I am no longer
A planet


Posted in Original Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , on February 6, 2016 by smuckyproductions

A little poem to commiserate the post-Sundance illness. 



They forgot to load the sky
Flat void, fatigued with itself

Prone flesh in mediocre light
Soft rebellion of fickle tissue
Atrophy in frames per second
Insignificant death – just needs fresh air

Yet hard to believe
In a functioning world,
Blank sky and useless limbs
Support the theory: perhaps the world
Was just last night’s dream
And I’ve always lain here
Inside fruitless pain – pity


Posted in Original Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on January 13, 2016 by smuckyproductions

A rather grotesque poem for you all today.



Look at the bottom
Of the sinking solo cup:
This is where your future lies.

These beaten voices
Wrote their own script but
Forgot to teach me

Try to decipher their scrawl
Your cry to a dead spirit
Ridiculed and stamped into pulp
Comical while your frozen
Mimes shriek unknown sorrow
Desecrated in an abyss
Boned and obscured by sweat
Sexing locked to your parts

Just stop this thing they call

Wash all into the gutter
Sizzle away, unknown,
But seen


Posted in Original Writing with tags , , , , , , , , , , on November 14, 2015 by smuckyproductions

A new poem for a cold day in late fall. 



November and it’s over.
What burned gold wilts brown
And fire is just glass
Reflecting neglectful sun.

I see two paths, crusted with frost
Mud impressions but no sign

Wind flat grey on brown tree
Divined yesterday,
Ashed today
Forgot to spell names or remind
Which way to run

On days like this
I can hear the dark.