Blood and Metal

A poem of the times.

Blood and Metal

You can break my skin

but you won’t break my soul

A second, a pinch,

my freedom lies within.


Blood against metal

Machine against soul

These bones won’t break

These eyes won’t shut

Free Will is in my blood.

The Zombie Wife

Listening to the news may trigger an emotional response. In this case, a poem.


The Zombie Wife


Shattered, dry, tired, weak

broken spirit, broken will.

He stole her life, he cut her wings

Leaving her dreamless,

no soul within.


Poisonous love,

Ivy of lies,

Ring of deceit.

From it she drank

becoming sick.


No strength, no will

No wants, no needs

To break the chains,

to feel, to dream,

impossible feat.


A zombie wife

the nymph became.

A lonely stare, unsteady step.

A living dead

No dreams, no quest.


The Zombie Wife no tears has left,

No heart, no soul,

no blood to shed.

Empty her days,

her body carcass became.


What will it take to pump her blood?

A ray of sun, a lightning bolt?

For she has searched a withered soul,

And there she found nothing but dust.

Her only hope comes from above.


Her empty stare searching the clouds,

Her breathless lungs gasping for air,

Her shriveled heart has turned to stone,

Voiceless she screams,

Sound barrier broke.


A storm slowly brews,

lightning is seen, thunder is heard.

Tears become rain, drops of despair.

A jolting bolt strikes out her pain,

Making the dead alive again.


Photo by M.A.D.




Heresy – A Writer’s Trial

Poetry comes to me at odd moments. I wrote this poem  when I opened my eyes Saturday morning. I keep pen and paper next to me for moments like this. Don’t ask, I have no idea.


Heresy – A Writer’s Trial


Typo, here on the white page

Reader bewitched, writer cursed

The execution begins.


Beheaded, hanged, flagellation of the pen,

Blood cleansed, Ink purification.

Punishment, stones casted.


Writer’s heresy exposed

Excommunicated from the page

Sins atoned.


Book, Bell, and Candle,

Reader’s assembly, Typo exposed

Writer is hanged on the page,

Ink turns to blood.


Photo by M.A.D.

Photo by M.A.D.


Writer’s Wisdom 61

Free Style Poetry

Poetry can take many shapes.  I am not a poet, but sometimes I feel inspired and have to write it down.  The poem does not follow any rules, it just comes out – it just is.  However, many think that you have to be in a certain mood or inspired in a particular way to write a poem.  I disagree.  I find that when I feel a “certain inspiration” – not sure how to describe it – I tend to write just poems.  They don’t follow a specific feeling, they could be as far to one another in that sense, but they do follow a theme – usually.  That is the way it is for me.  Other times, I could write about a love affair and next about taxes.  That is why I don’t call myself a poet – I don’t follow the rules of poetry.  If there would be such a thing, mine would be called “free style poetry.”

Check the Poetry section on this blog – Totally Inspired.

If you have never written a poem and sometimes feel the urge but think that you can’t write poetry, write it down anyway.  Let the inspiration flow, don’t think about it, write free style – embrace your Muse and let it out.