“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label graffiti. Show all posts
Showing posts with label graffiti. Show all posts
Sunday, February 3, 2019
Miss Demeanor
Rather than
Not being good at
Anything,
I mistakenly over-
heard
People reading
The writing
I left on the walls
And instead of calling
It graffiti
They said it was
Good, they called it
Poetry, they read my
Name
and it became an
Accusation.
Painting by Pompeo Molmenti (1819-1894) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Gravitas
For every poem I put here, there are four more never shared, around six never written and twenty-seven partially thought out. For every word...

-
1. Of my Soul a street is: Preternatural Pic- abian tricktrickclickflidk-er garner of starfish Picasso...
-
Someone said, the full moon looks larger in the city because of skyscrapers- which said nothing about people feeling smaller, more co...
-
Water Today, warm raindrops glass blurs, the blurry glassy, sharp sparkles sugar. Behind Evening, it was good. Leaves all turned into shadow...