I know this sounds strange,
but I’ve said it anyway.
What now? The act is done.
You’ve read it, and that alone
makes you aware of an in-joke.
The joke’s on the lyrist.
But still, he writes verses.
I know this doesn’t sound any better,
but I’ve written it anyway.
Take it or leave it, the act is done.
Words are symbols, before any meaning.
That’s the spirit—are you leaning or steering?
Would you expect me to toe the lines?
I own my winding lines.
Now isn’t that a laugh?
Too bad there’s not a laugh track.
You always know when to cry;
don’t need a track for that, right?
Oh, you’re saying that you laugh at yourself?
Yet when you cry, you cry over someone else.
You cry because it’s over.
Now isn’t that a cry?
Oh man, welcome to life.
Now you can’t help but crack a laugh
at the irony of your life’s tragicomic track.
If only that were a crying baby in the other room.
You’re but a grown-up knowing not what to do.
Now, when you cry it’s over.
Not a cue card, yet the audience applauds.
You freeze, and that ain’t a dramatic pause.
(So what’s left for the show?)
The denouement is over.
Since I have some time now, I’ve put together this anthology for you all. If you think my effort is worth it and the quality is good, feel free to buy me a coffee, there’s a button at the end too. Feel free to share this post and comment too.
I’ve also added a few extra poems that you might not have seen before.
I’m testing an intricate idea here. This post is a single post with a collection of poems separated by pages (you might see page breaks depending on where you are reading this), with chapters and titles organized by the appropriate headings (no hyperlinks). Call it my postfolio; it’s a post analogous to a book.
Welcome to a journey through language, writing, and the metatextual world of poetry. We’ll explore how language can be both a creative tool and a barrier. From the playful frustration of crumpled drafts to the powerful imagery of ink and blood, these verses challenge traditional forms, blending free verse with deliberate constraints.
The author
The adage goes, “You never know who you’re dealing with”
Good heavens! I deserve to be surprised for good
Like expectations, low; satisfaction, over the roof
For the time being, I continue to fall for your game
You’re scoring top, over others
Guess what, I might be falling again
I wish you weren’t my type…
O negative
I mean, I saw you bleed, I even made you do it
Quite figuratively
For that I beg your pardon
You yourself didn’t know “who you’re dealing with”
A fragile soul at the time, believe it or not
I didn’t do it on purpose
Now that I’ve strengthen up
You might consider acknowledging my strength
Love me back harder
My heart can now stand it
Those concerned about my emotional state and my privacy, may appreciate to know that I always use a persona, especially when writing emotionally charged verses, unless I clearly state it otherwise for particular cases.
Reveries That I Call Poetry 