Tag Archives: heartbreak

Making Waves — a poem in free verse

Making Waves

Truth is something

You can’t always see.

A stone dropped

In an unconscious ocean,

A letter written

But never sent,

Pigtails mid-bounce

Caught on a jump rope.

Truth is the story told

To the sleeping child,

A shard piercing

Luminiferous ether.

Truth is in the silence between

A husband and wife.

Truth is disappointing lace.

Truth is 16 years.

Beetroot.

Coleslaw.

Tears.

Truth is a noxious gas;

Plague doctors with beak masks.

Truth circles Black holes,

It is dandelion fruits

On the air.

Truth is something you

Won’t

See

Here.

–AEW

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Twiku: December By Text

IMG_1035.jpgPlans made,
Plans broken,
Plans interrupted,
By text.

As you had no time
For me
I no longer
Have
Time
For you.

You started this.
I am
Ending
It.

A.E.W.


Dodoitsu: What You Did Not Know

My struggle within and out,

Made time for you through it all.

Sacrifice to all but you;

But you are busy.

By AEW


Frosted Out- A poem

 Frosted Out

My window is frosted in winter’s lace.

Keeping sun’s warmth right off my face,

(Your silence is worse than this frosty place)

To move is my only remedy.

I warm my hands at the fireplace

In hope to thaw out love’s entropy.

 

You ghosted me, you gave me space;

Most likely filled my empty place.

(Who fits the things in your drawer, the lace?)

O! These are not words of jealousy.

The attachment ripped where there is no trace

Since I always knew your inconsistency.

 

All friends show they are of two-face,

The one for me and the one that is base.

You keep my army in a black case

(and convicted to your own fallacy)

Deny you ever gave me chase.

I release our supposed synchronicity.

By A.E. Wallace


Senryu: Break

I want to forget

Comic books in Camden Town,

Wide eyes, trains & lies.

By AE Wallace


Haiku Number 9

Transendental sighs,

Light years separate our hearts.

Tomorrow is now. 

–AEW


Kerouac Rules For Spontaneous Prose #6

wpid-IMG-20130824-WA0003.jpg

“Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind”

These wild, little, tortuous thoughts with no beginnings and no ends– slip in and out into my waking day—that is if I actually am awake—because, although I remember waking up, (getting up, dressing up, driving up) I do not remember being up. Only being down and walking around hoping no one I know will bump into me—ask me difficult questions like “how are you?” To which I could only reply “fine” because if I actually take the time to think of a truthful answer, I will come up with nothing concrete. As always, I am the abstract of myself. I am the concept that men fall in love with but never the one they actually love. The one that offers up elysian moments of tender adoration in diaphanous smoky quantities.

But they fall in love with their friends. And I am not real enough to be their friend. I back away. I keep my own counsel. I hold my tongue. Then I bolt.

I think too much. I do not breathe enough. I exist, holding air in me afraid to let it out lest I deflate. And yet. And yet. And yet…I laugh and joke and devil-may-care-it all the way to irrevocable heartbreak each and every time. It is autumn when the skies are dull, even in the high noon of day when everything seems to look damp and lack-lustre–when even the sun cannot be bothered to really shine. It is a Concept Sun and everyone is happy to see it but—in the back of their minds—everyone secretly wishes for Real Sun to come out. The one they met on holiday abroad. The one that they passionately threw themselves into and let themselves burn and peel and ache.

But I looked in the mirror and I look fab.

Note:
My mother always said I was too individual not to do things the way I wanted and that I thought nothing of throwing convention to the wind. So in a way, it makes sense that I give over to the music of the words rather than the actual structure of the sentence. Perhaps this is why I love Kerouac so much. He set the precedent for the literary wayward to easy-free-flow our thoughts onto the page. Thanks, daddy-o.


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