What colour are my eyes?

Weird Poetry

My eyes

Betray the subtly changing colours

Of the untamed thoughts in my head (in your head)

And your swells right before they crest and crash

Into my stillness,

Into my unfallen shattering.

There is silence and loud in that single colour…

In that unnameable brightdark colour.

Do you have a name for it?

I can think of hundreds.




*** Edible THC… 🤣🤣🤣 ***

Revolving Door

Weird Poetry

In and out

And in and out

And in

And out


In and






And out

And fucking IN again

And fucking OUT

And in and out and in and out


And. Out.

Repeat cycle

Ad infinitum…





*** Sounds like some serious hanky panky there, Sweetums! ***

*** Maybe it should be “around and around” rather than “in and out”, but at one point, you are on your way out, and at a point right after, if you don’t completely exit on time, you’re on your way back in. But no… not hanky panky. I would have thrown in some moans and “fuuuuucks” if I were talking about that. ***

***This poem is for the wishy-washy, who never know what they want, who go back and forth on their word, who are largely unreliable, and flit in and out of your life at will, attracted to the light one second, and repelled by it the next. ***

Under Teeth and Howl

Weird Poetry

I found myself

Under your teeth

And your howl-faced skull,

Your expression twisted into

Eternal grimacing.

Your drew all of my blood

Through my fingertips,

And turned my veins cold with your empty.

You made me wail my steaming guts

Into the frozen ground,

And grind them to paste

Beneath my bare muddy feet.




*** Whatsamatter, Sweet Cheeks? Need a hug? ***

*** I don’t know…. I’m just so drained…. And I always need hugs. Eternally. ***


Weird Poetry

Writing poems and lip-synching to “The Power of Love” by Huey Lewis and The News is not a compatible match for efficient multi-tasking.




*** Huey Lewis and The News?!? Exactly which decade do you think this is, Sweet Buns? And why are you not listening to something more ironically cheesy? ***

*** The 80s are eternal. All other decades can blow goats for quarters. ***

Photo credit: Googlerama

Hand-drawn Void

Weird Poetry

I used to draw a lot.

Now the thought of bringing

Graphite to paper

Fills me with doubt… and trepidation.

And every time I try,

Or rather… think about trying…

My hand stops me

And asks me

If I really want to put her through

The experience of drawing something

I will only throw away.




*** Well… that’s a piss-poor excuse not to start drawing again. A downright cowardly one, Sugar Lips. ***

*** But my hands are raw from balling into fists and breaking pencils. ***

*** Pick up the fucking pencil, sharpen it to a fine stabbing point, and draw that thing that has been haunting you since the pall of plague draped itself over the world. Your lungs sputter and spray blood now. Aim it at the book of empty pages at your curled feet.***


Weird Poetry



You’re my cloud, and my head is strangely in you.

I’m a cloudhead too,

In case you didn’t notice, Mr. Cloudyheadface.

It feels weird but right

That I am steeped in your precipitation,

And that I drizzle your drops of storm,

But I always catch them in my own rain guage so they can be reswallowed and repeated.

All over again.

All over again with my head strangely in your clouds.

But how do I get my head out of your clouds so I do not drown in your dewey drippy leaky condensation?

“You don’t.”

Well shit….




***[Insert meme about getting high.]***

I Wish I Could Eat Gem Stones for Dessert

Weird Poetry

I am sitting on my bed

crunching black opal, rose quartz, labradorite and celestite between my smiling teeth

singing forth shine, shimmer, sensual enigma and rippling auroras through the window of my pulsating heartworld

Into the undulating aether

hoping that something lightful and godfringed bounces back.

I lick my lips in languished wait

And recline into a momentary crystaled joy.




***I do not endorse drugs of any kind….other than cannabis….and perhaps select hallucinogens….why not? ***

Bottled Moonlight, Forgetting and Something Else

Weird Poetry

I watched the moonlight

Drip down the inside of the bottle

And pool at the bottom (pearlescent sheen of reflected light).

I mixed in a little you (cloudful white),

A little of me (cloudless blue),

A drop of forgetting (brackish pitch and tones of shale),

And something else…

Maybe a fragment un-embedded from my brittle heartstone,

Or a memory

Only I recall (the deepest darkest red of a coagulating blood drop).

I swirled the bottle

To watch us all blend into a new colour I couldn’t find a name for;

There was shimmer and lots of shade,

Light darkness

And dark lightness.

When I took a sip of the concoction,

I could no longer


The memory I added to the mix.

I smiled,

And drank the rest in a single gulp.




One Word

Weird Poetry

There is this one 4-syllable word I discovered last week. I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. It won’t leave me.

Ready for it?

Are you?

Ok, then. Here it is:


That’s all.


Mmm… slower now….


[Collective sigh]

For me… it’s a word that doesn’t need defining;

I already know what it means because of the way it feels in my veins.

If only I could forget it now….




I have been reading the Thesaurus before bed. It’s the best book I have read in a really long time.

The Boneyard

Weird Poetry

*** I wrote this when I was ill and highly anxious. I thought I would stop breathing while sleeping for some reason. I started to panic. Feeling better now. It is not really fun or sweet or sexy. It might be a tad unsettling. Yup. ***


She stood in the middle of a slumbering boneyard,

Furnished with crumbling headstones

And a barren tree with branches like ribs

That held the still and silent air at bay,

Just out of reach of her gasping lungs.

She coughed and coughed,

And she spat crimson and onyx onto the permafrost.

Again. And again…,

Painting the hallowed grounds with unspoken pleas for purchase on the air.

If only she could pull in one single breath

And fill her chest with something

Other than the nothing

And the countless unturned rocks studding her slow-beating heart.