introspection – Right Handed Rhymer

Questions

What does man say of his eminent death, when he follows his fate with a quavering breath? Does he mutter a truth to his comrade beside? Or swallow his fate as he grapples with pride? -Amy Struthers Image by: James Kovin

No One Asks About Blue

It’s assumed that of all of the colours, Blue’s the most misunderstood, for where Yellow is mellow and Green is serene, Blue is the absence of ‘good’. To some, Blue’s a feeling of sadness, hence why they say, ‘playing the blues’, but imagine what colours I’d sing of, if you spent one day in my…

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When the blind burn the world with the language of sight, how can they be sure that such torches are light? – Amy Struthers

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There’s a nail on the wall -tilted and pocked above some half-chalked sketch of a man paying no mind to the chrysanthemums. He, who makes no fuss about the lights being on or off, stills in the room that studies his window, and welcomes us with the same worn-out expression we oblige. Out of formality…

L’Arlésienne

I gaze upon the Madame so long as admiration permits, hoping by a small chance, she may take note of my heart-like hands and steady the beating of my banal brush. This mystery, who mutes my madness and tames the tenebrific chuckles of a feverish mind. Imagine how richly I could paint the heavens, if…

Bird on a Wire

Bird on a wire, do you know how to love or are you predestined to favor the dove? -Amy Struthers (Image by: Maddy Weiss)

Mr. Why

There once lived a boy by the last name of Why who never asked questions or thought. Without man’s permission to guide his ambition, he only retorted with ‘ought’. When sitting in class, he would look to the board to see what the teacher would draw. But in holding his pencil, Why happened to stencil…

Confessions (a poem based on the writings of Saint Augustine)

At the altar of a holy God, the knees of man do quake in silent supplication for a nation at its wake. At the altar of a holy God, the heart repents of pride professing of the blessing by the Spirit that’s its guide. At…

The INTJ

Analytical and critical, with a poet’s musing mind. Aware to one’s perception, though in social settings, blind. Prone to feeling deeply, while observed as being dead. Composing our composure to conceal what’s in our head. Possessing youthful wonderment, when in spurts out bursts our glee. Not knowing when to open up, though claiming there’s a…