At
Night
Sirens wail through the
chilling night. Nature is frigid
and frozen in time.
Seated upon the sofa, the
curious and bored, peeking
through blinds and curtains.
My book is lowered, and I too
see red glow of intrusive light,
coupled with the chaos; of the
Christmas tree in the corner.
Gusty howl of wind, the owls
haven't hooted in a while; the
ticking of the large clock upon
the pale wall continues; a poem
is born; and sent out into the
insanity of this world.
Sometimes
Sparrow in the night
an illusion, nestled in
dreams.
Deer panting, a long
journey to the lakeside,
thirst quenched, finally.
A hobo, hopping trains,
going through life, allusive;
laughing at the new moon.
A poet having those second
thoughts again, every writer
must have them, sometimes.
The
Ruins
There's no one here
in the ruins of barren
walls and empty sheets
just me and the raven in
my mind pecking at the
shards a remainder of
memories running in
circles underneath the
bell jar
There's no one here in the
ruins of creaking wooden
floors and dripping water
taps the clocks hands
striking against my skull
counting the seconds the
minutes the hours until the
dark bard of death
gallops in and too claims
this hollow shell of a person
where a soul used to roam.
Universal Dreams
Tears of the jester, clown cars circling
the roundabouts of life, living in doubt,
steel wheels upon the tulip fields of
Holland, a yellow mist evaporating, in
drowned fathom myth.
And who are you?
This mysterious guest of life?
Approach the death of nature, approach,
epoch of life, dandelion terminus, a kiss
in hollow cheek reverberation, of a rebirth
jewel of rose petal nations.
Exit and exist upon the candle wax and
rusted railway tracks of, mythical winged
creature lit abomination.
Diamond fever, greedy seed of forbidden
dream, Ophelia drowning in the new state
of distress? Despair? Take the Woolf laden
rocks, from dark confines of genius pockets,
in rivers suicide drown, vortexes;
or yet be reborn, cast those stones, shattered
like glass across the onyx Jungian memories;
a psyche lost; a lost parallel lined universe;
and fade.
âmes
jumelles (twin souls)
two hearts beating in
synchronized union
beneath galaxies and
phosphorus stars
gliding across a carpet
of leaves in an intricate
dance
ballroom
oceans waves that have
come
lapping at our heels
the flesh and bone and blood union
moving around a lemon sun
life
a basket weaver
the master of ceremonies
the unveiling of renaissance
captured
transfixed
a jester crying on the inside
making the world roar in laughter
dying behind the scenes
a Phoenix now rising
no more tears
kind hands touching mine
your touch
your
gentle voice whispers
"mon amour"
I am lost in your eyes
kaleidoscope tunnel vision
a reflection
upon a moonlit lake
you are
the woman
that salvaged
my soul
breathing new life into
this being
once again
Wayne Russell - The creative writings of Wayne Russell have been widely published over the years, The Cannon's Mouth, Screech Owl, The Monterey Poetry Review, and Poets’ Espresso Review, are some of the magazines in which he has been published. Wayne was nominated for The Pushcart Prize in 2018 and the Best Of The Net in 2020; his first collection of poetry, Where Angels Fear, was published by Guarilia Genius Press in 2020; it can be purchased via Amazon.
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