What's new? - Check out my poems at my other blog

Monday, September 17

The Grim Reefer - A Poem...

The Grim Reefer

His age underestimated,
The strength of his hand,
He rolled one with ease,
A skilled craftsman...

With a match, he lit,
And fired up his joe,
Took a mighty hit,
And felt his head grow,
Expanding his mind,,
Beyond belief,
Like the sun-shaped ridges,
On a Cannabis leaf.

He smoked up a cloud,
And looked at the crowd,
Standing, staring,
Not really caring,
About the reefer...

A wizened old man,
A forlorn griever,
With a joint in his hand...


I've created another blog.
One that will feature just poetry...
Chances are I'll end up spending more time there, than here because poetry comes quite easily to me nowadays...
Moreover, I don't really have much to ramble about, let alone make sense...

Visit me there;

    What's new? - Check out my poems at my other blog

Sunday, September 16

Dear Dark Lycan - A Poem

Dear Dark Lycan...

The forest, a vast expanse,
Lost in the Guynd, *
Where the leaves dance,
To the whistling wind,

Her bare feet on wet earth,
Echo with mirth,
The wind tussles her hair,
A clandestine love affair.

The moon on silent water,
On a lake so wide,
A thousand eyes watch her,
From where the shadows hide.

Taken aback by surprise,
She gazes into the dark grey,
The light from her undying eyes,
Seem to say,

" Dear Dark Lycan,
Not a moment too soon,
Throw back your mane,
And howl at the moon. "

He the predator, she the prey,
Sharp teeth white, on a face grey,
On his skin, etched is the rune,
' We are the tribes of the moon. '

* - Guynd (Pronounced: g-ind, Rhymes with 'wind')
Meaning: The Gaelic word for a high, marshy place.