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Minimalist Poetry
Rebuild
2026
I've been building
A home inside my soul, for you.
I fixed the leak up in the roof,
Got that old furnace burning too.
Carved my name into the wall and then painted it light blue,
I know these floors will hold, not a single screw
Left loose.
Dark Night Forgotten
2026
I have seen what forgetting the old,
Dark nights
Can do to a man.
How the complacency mutates into nostalgia,
How the forgetting becomes frustration,
And he begs for what he once tossed away.
Lord, never let me forget
How much pain
It took to find my way here.
November Angel
2026
I kissed an angel in November
As she told me not to worry,
That there's demons on my heels
But they only serve the hurry
She said get down to that holler
Sing your blues,
And you'll be worthy of a pace
Steeped in grace and a grave
Never early.
Wild
2026
If I could run
I would fly.
I would roll and jump,
Spring with glee.
I would look back you with a smile,
and a tear and bolt for the trees.
Crossroad
2026
I have trouble seeing things as they are.
Letting them be, without thinking of what
They could be.
Hands at my side,
Tired and tried,
I walked away from the crossroad, silent.
Pen
2026
I only hope this pen dies before I do.
The Chase
2026
I started a race against time,
Shame chased me and gave motive
For my knees to creak
In a ceaseless motion,
Yearning for a destination
of death.
Either arriving on my two gravel-driven,
Gash carved heels,
Or cold
On the road
From the chase itself.
Dust
2026
I tried to be good,
Yes,
I tried to just,
And I begged from my core to embody Compassion and love,
At every step I was met
With lies and disgust, shame,
I am what you have made me
Diamond in the ruff, tossed through the mud
I have been trampled
I have been trampled
I am trampled
Dust.
Thistle Night
2026
For all of my greif,
All of my sorrow,
All my nights spent under moons of tomorrow,
For all of my toil,
All of my fear,
For all of this pain in all of my years,
I wonder what for
For hours on end.
A whistle of wind through green thistle bend
Learns me again not to expect,
Anything at all in the end.
Tragic.
2026
If God is real, he is surely an artist.
How else can we explain
All these lessons,
Learned only in
Tragedy?
after love
2026
I am so sorry
We met
AFTER
The world
Showed me
To hate myself.
Maybe you'd
LOVE
the old
me.
Canopies & Burrows
2026
This forest is my home,
It knows my name.
When I return
The birds call it out,
The winds shout it with howls
That cause it to croak in echo
When treetops sway.
This forest is my home,
It knows me well,
My canopies and burrows
And every tree I've felled.
This forest is my home,
I know it's name.
I said a poem
2026
I said a poem
Right in the kitchen,
I didn't write it down.
Forgot it as soon as the words left my mouth.
I knew they were true
In the way that they spoke,
Pollen on wind,
Whisk away hope.
I wrote a poem, right in the kitchen,
Didn't write it down,
Forgot it as soon as the words left my mouth.
The only thing right,
The only thing true,
Is I said it aloud,
And I said it to you.
Sweet Pathos
2026
I am a man born in dissonance,
I am sorry.
So grievously apologetic
The only remedy has been apathy
Shaken, not stirred
With a double shot of sweet pathos.
Furrowed
2026
My anger was only ever a guise for
The deep wounds
Only love
Could cause
Or heal.
Remix
2025
In a time of such abundance,
With so many
Beautiful things,
So many broken pieces,
To make beautiful again...
We find honor in
Tinkering,
In transmuting.
We find more meaning in taping together sound,
Collaging constructions,
Morphing memory,
Than we ever could
in sculpting a stone.
Winter Wind
2025
It's getting cold,
And I'm starting
Not to care again.
And I'm starting to think
None of us do.
Lucky Strikes
2025
A man near to the bed
Where I lie,
Lay with shallow breath,
Waiting to die.
Smoking away this ever-gnawing pain,
Less of an exhale
More of a sigh.
Wondering, if he is lucky to leave,
Or if the luckiest is I?
And what is luck to the dead?
Even ill-struck,
Am I lucky,
To be alive?
The Calling
2025
God is calling his army,
A rapture for years.
Hand in hand
With a hood
To gates past end.
A vengeance for angels,
Drying their tears,
They beckon us home,
To bear our wings.
Authorship
2025
Do not mark my words,
I have already scripted my destiny.
You need only read it.
Observer
2025
I am kind
To the bugs
And to the beetles
And the birds.
But does being cautious
of the web
Free the spider
from it's guilt,
For the fly that it just killed?
Does the fact that I observe,
With intent to not disturb,
Mean I am anything at all,
Other than
Still?
Short
2025
I am sorry,
You had such
A short
Relationship
With nostalgia.
Tell
2021
Tell her she is fierce,
And she will be.
Tell her she has power,
She does.
Tell her that she holds
a natural kind of beauty,
That it reminds you of tulips
in blanket summer sun.
Tell her she is everything,
She is
The equation and the sum.
Tell her to keep steady,
and calm,
and stern,
Teach her to always carry love.
Help her find the tenderness in firm,
and the softness in her rough.
Show her to wield grace
like a hammer
or a mace,
And show her, she mustn't ever run.
Tell her she is safe,
She can be.
Tell her that you love her,
And hope that she finds love.
Tell her she's a gift
plucked from stars above,
Tell she was already enough,
She was.
Glow Stars
2024
Glow stars on my ceiling,
over plaster finish.
I navigate dreams the size of seas
from a pirate ship bed frame,
all too big for my room.
The static from worn radio speakers keep me company on
White, full moon nights.
Glow stars lead the way to dreams
Still yet out of sight.
A world for only me,
A home that's built inside.
I plaster glow stars on the ceiling,
departing once again,
as soon as I arrive.
COLORBLIND
2025
It was like waking up colorblind,
Opening your eyes
expecting the warm glow of a
sunrise.
You look upwards,
only to see all the blue in the sky
had been swept away before dawn.
As if the sun no longer held duty in casting shadows,
Stifling it's light to become
some shade of
matte gray,
Instead
trying to be one itself.
It was as if the trees
no longer desired to bloom.
Nevermore capable of showing us their shades of green.
Instead
They lie dormant, never emerging from winter scarcity.
It was winds blowing through fire cleared fields,
Ushering darkness to envelop the frame,
like a single strand of wheat,
Silhouetted by crimson-grey clouds.
Ode to the Bull
2025
We were five years old,
Playing in the pinewoods when
We hear a friendly whistle
and all coming rushing in.
I, knock over an end table.
Mother yells from the kitchen
"You're a bull in a china shop just like him,
now go back outside
your father needs your help."
He was in the barn,
Working on that old green fifteen-hundred work horse.
It was amazing,
seeing something broken rev to life
through the magic of greasy hands
and "Damn-it's"
Almost as if he was casting a spell.
My father is greatest mechanic I've ever seen.
The man has hands of steel
forged through years of turning
ember bed bolts
with iron fingertips.
There's nothing I could give him that he couldn't fix he
builds and maintains CNC machines by trade
as a hobby he fixes cars for his kids,
and toys for theirs.
Less of a mechanic, more a healer.
Wiping away tears from the eyes of his herd
with the turn of a wrench.
But I can count the number I've seen fall from his,
despite how much he got hurt.
He's strong.
Capable of towing any cargo,
or tilling even the coldest of grounds,
with a heart so warm,
He makes it look easy.
He's a bull alright, so keep your eye on him when he's in the China shop,
but come to think of it, Ive never seen him break a thing
that he couldn't teach me how to fix,
just from me
watching him.
Especially mom's good China.
Lowest Branch
2025
Being the lowest branch on the tree
is not easy.
You were the last to grow.
Full of knots,
and often left in the dark.
The branches above you hold the snow
but also block the light.
Reaching up the leaves all look great
in shades of yellow and green,
and in the fall when they turn gray
the people stop to admire,
and wonder.
Though the winter days that follow
and the lack of rays make you
yearn for escape.
Some days you wish for the man to wander from his town
and chop you down
not to throw you in the fire,
or let you fade on the ground,
but to craft a basket
or carve a flute
and play a sound.
You must remember
Lowest branch,
All the trees wonder
flows through you
to the top.
Every drop
through every knot,
of the lowest branch.
Helping Hands
2025
I know now
that I didn't love you right.
You needed a tender touch,
I gave you a helping hand.
When you need a hug
I gave you a pat on the back and,
when you needed a dip in the water,
I pushed you in.
See in my experience I've found it best to jump in with two feet.
But you like dipping your toes,
checking the temperature
before diving head first.
I'm sorry.
ExJ-123
Memories/Melodies
2025
I saw the message you left,
an interpreted
"I'm sorry"
Hidden behind a misspelled
"I love yuoi"
I should be the one who's sorry.
I didn't know how to respond.
I know you don't love me.
You love the memory of me,
the idea of me,
the ghost
of me.
No, you don't love me. You only reached out because you heard my voice on your radio.
The whispers of a ghost
through an old Rav4.
The same song we used to play
on long road trips,
or on the way to get coffee in the morning.
No,
you don't love me,
you love my tempo,
my beat.
You don't love my melodies.
If you did, you'd know since then
I've wrote in a whole discography.
No, you don't love me.
You just love
your memories.