The storm brings itself

and whatever stands in the way will feel the rain fall

I’ve given a few promises out on occasion and one thing remains constant,

whether the hurricane causes floods or rips lives apart,

nothing stays for long

I’ve been wondering lately if there’s a difference between a wolf under a full moon and a storm on the horizon

and that doesn’t need to make sense to you for you to understand

that howls fill the air for a lot of reasons

I can’t help but notice that I’m not changing, life goes and people say and do all manner of things, sunshine or rain and night or day and work or play they all exist as they

and I am not

there’s two types of people,

Or maybe there’s only one type and I’m just not a part of the equation

Grey clouds don’t change the…

View original post 293 more words

Solemn Zeros

RamJet Poetry


In summary, there was purpose

prefecture, pandemonium, permanence

fingers frayed the stitching

ignominious example in grocery-cart aisles

uncommon disorders frequently populating

the deserted isles

unexpectedly,  the vase fell from the table

untouched it shattered

flowers and pottery scattered across the floor

as galaxies flowed into void

This was all observed and the information

was documented, annotated.

interpretation lost in antiquity,

the impressions ripple as a

neutron star quietly sending out

gravitational waves,

confusing possibilities of other extents.

so often, life will take what we think we know

reduce it to a solemn zero; leave us with nothing

other than the faintest of ideas

a notion of comprehending, desire to decipher more…

Observe and document the reversal

in hope of producing better outcomes

a lesson from this experience is spacetime

affects direction as well as velocity.

A common mistake we all make when

looking through 3 dimensions,

we tend to miss…

View original post 10 more words

Before The Lights Come Up

Nicole Lyons

Oh she’ll pull you in, all teeth
and blood red lips, the way she moves
as if she owned the joint,
and anyone who steps foot inside.
Until the lights come on she will
be here clinking glasses filled
with cheap champagne and grinding
on any available hip she can find,
and she’ll wink and tell them all
how she is going to be a star.
She’ll tell them all how she is
not just another drunk fortysomething
who hasn’t felt the love of her husband
since she whored herself out
to strangers, and anyone who would
double tap her sorry story
and leave their heart behind.
She’ll tell them all, before the lights
come up and the bartender laughs,
and everyone else watches the doorman
fold her into a cab he has already
waved away from the back door.


© Nicole Lyons 2018

View original post winters.


Misty hills, hauntingly beautiful: Shimla, Himachal Pradesh
Peels of orange zest
stuck to my tongue,
shading my mouth.
cold, frivolous air
slapping my cheeks,
lamps of cold night lit.
I sit and observe,
how summers played with my brain,
almost erratic,
now the winters will do the same
an art of regeneration,
something lost,
Pain comes from the folds of dark corners.

Tunnels and swamps of chemical emotions
peeling inner skin,
chop chop chop
a sound of pain,
winters are like this,
they fumble inside your body,
like a thing so beautiful.

View original post