Short Works
By MPTGraves
These works really don't have anything to do with one another, so quickly reading from top to bottom does them a disservice. I am not suggesting you take a break in between each, but I've tried to expand the negative space and block them visually on the page to better emphasize their standing as separate entities.
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haiku, why you?
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The snow falls gently
It is far away from here
I'm filled with longing
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never mind is what they say
but never seems a long while
and if I were to have my way
I'd choose my mind most any day.
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Why?
What to say and what to do?
Who can say and who can choose?
What will happen years from now...
Where and when and why and how?
Want to know but have to wait,
Curiosity to sate.
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Therapeutic ruminations transcribed to digital tablets of binary output.
pixels, ons and offs representing nothing more than a keystroke on a hunk of plastic and silicon.
poetry, transposed through digital witchery and assigned classification as typistry... language expanding, evolving, but not lost yet...
...beige still reigns.
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Wonder-Full
Words don't work
nor does my tongue
I can't think straight
I sound so dumb
I wish you knew
I don't know why
before I say
I'll probably die.
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It's sad to say, but now I must,
for I'm without a doubt;
that things that depress me within
result from things without.
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I'm done with poetry this night, I have just now decided.
If upset then you may fight, but it won't be requited.
The muse, you see, is fey as rain, and cannot be confin-ed.
If caught she only causes pain, and words become unbind'd.
Thus to pastures green I stray, to while away the hours
sipping tea and chewing cud, amidst internet flowers.
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A prolific poet by all accounts,
I find it somewhat odd that I,
have ne'er made a poem quite tantamount
to love song or sonnet or lover's sigh.
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McD
A heinously disappointed man chokes down his bile with a big mac and a filet o' fish, his visage approaching a snarl; a rictus obscured periodically by the back of a fist bearing naught be mediocrity; a blight on mother nature's bounty. Synthetics, soys, and starches mashed into an amalgam of chemical-induced, assembly lined, stamped out flavors; heartily endorsed and hard to ingest. His body takes the blow stoically, his eyes long-dead, his smile forgotten. Senses dulled, greased to clogging, salted to near-edible, fried beyond recognition. The American night rejoices in another of its capitalism'd consumers imbibing. Taking what they gave him, he sighs.
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-mg