listen louder than you speak

A poetry blog.

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forecastle evacuated due to clouds


So, is this how it ends? No flair, no aplomb? Just a gun to the head?


Absolutely right, Mr. Cartwright. Enjoy the afterlife. Maybe you'll be more useful there.


[??? shoots Cartwright, who falls to the ground, dead. The lights go black. After a moment, the lights come back up on Cartwright's corpse. He stirs.]


What the hell just happened?


[offstage] Why don't we find out?


[### enters dressed in bright, vibrant colors. She is purposeful and distinct. She offers a hand to Cartwright, who, with effort takes it and rises to his feet.]


That was quite a scare, Cartwright. Let's not get you killed again, alright?

Waker’s Repose

Each night I dream—
I think I do—
of Elysian fields.
Of oceans blue.

And shattered is
my quaint repose,
by morning light
that subtly flows.

Sun’s taunting beams
burst through the panes,
and greet me for
the next day’s strains.

Each day I wake—
I think I do—
and leave those fields.
Those oceans blue.

m-m-m-mark it up

t-t-t-take it down

t-t-t-throw it round

find a place and put it there,
past the watcher’s careful stare
open wide and let it in,
running past that fatal sin

take a look and can’t you see?
the way you look at them and me
is different although not much so
the sun is rising so let’s go

sorry ‘bout the awkward glance

how about just one last dance?


pull the needle from your chest and open up the
portal to the heart that has been closed for

oh so long

I can see you dancing again, and I can see you
smiling, smiling, smiling, smiling at them, at all of them

and even if it’s not at me at least you’re smiling openly