Category: Fiction
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The Measure is the Mark of the Machine
The measure is the mark of the machine, Perfect function hours minutes precisely. Every part can only meet in synchrony, Touching the spaces in between. The space is the realm of the spirit, That wanders lost in an endless void, Until it meets another in synchronicity. Touching the spaces in between.
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I fell the other way
Though you’ll never be ready. It’ll happen soon enough Best you hear it from me, Just don’t take it so tough. Though it might possibly be I’ll say what you’d rather not hear, Final words that hurt forever by me, Having spoken our greatest fear. I intended to fall out of love, Set aside the […]
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Love’s Rift
Would I stand with the throng who fear love’s rift? Embraced by the crowd that desires love’s rush. I’d rather stand aside and hide my blush. Silently hope my path would meet love’s drift. For I have felt false love’s momentary lift. Desire its accomplice only seeks to crush, And destroy love’s seed in a […]
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War Tired
Aren’t you tired of waging war? sacrificing first your first born: Husband then son then daughter. Aren’t you tired of waging war? Shunning, silencing and exiling Mothers, brothers, sisters then father. Aren’t you tired of waging war? Calling to them then turning from Friends and family all forsaken alike. Aren’t you tired of waging war? […]
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Poetry Died Today
Poetry died silently today Words on faded paper. An unspoken epitaph. The mother chiding her daughters, All in accidental rhyme, The priest who praised the lilies, Words that sing through time. Martin Luther King with his dream, Obama’s soaring words of hope, That rapper’s message Of prisons, crime and dope. I hear the birds call, […]
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The Last Attack
I’m the one behind the boulder: you can’t see me. Always the advantage belongs to me. On my console: you the white blip on a green screen. Pull the trigger: you explode light unseen. Close up too close: I can smell your breath and sweet sweat. Gamer convention: was that where we met? I feel […]
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Who Wrote This?
If I was able, I would tell it all But my feelings are forlorn And with thoughts so small I write until the pen is worn. And once or twice maybe even thrice I receive wisdom in that night Words beyond trite thoughts and mere caprice, I look down and wonder at what I write.
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The One to One Concert
You said you could only finger one chord, I (poet that I am) could only find one word. You never had an attentive audience before. Nor me as we listen as one for each other’s encore. You lift, heft and settle the guitar. Pluck one note that echoes then journeys afar. You play chords and […]
Andrew James Whalan 