Fred Aiken Writing

Tag: Poetry

September 8, 2024

art supplies

i kept all my art supplies
from college,
back when i had a lot more energy
from energy drinks and cigarettes,
to fuel 2am sessions of drawing and painting 
for hours at a time
because some sort of inspiration came on,
and it never seemed to matter
that i did not have any artistic talent,
that my figures and scenes were hackneyed or distorted,
or that my color scheme was haphazard,
none of it mattered,
because it was college
and i liked drawing,
but now i no longer do it
because it never feels like i have time
and i definitely don’t have talent,
so all my art supplies sit in the corner of my home office
and mock me from their vantage point
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August 15, 2024

notecard in a used book

i bought a used copy of
the flower of evil, and on page 207
i found a notecard with a name and a number,
and while the sensible side of my mush-filled brain
says it would be unwise,
unhinged, 
not-v-e-r-y-advisable,
to call the person,
i can't help but recall
that little jingle from my childhood,
would you be mine? could you be mine?
won't you be my neighbor?
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July 30, 2024

in the eye of the beholder

behold the eye,
behold the beauty,
as the latter is held
and fondled
and interpreted
in more ways than one could count,
as tiny tendrils poke
through porous mush
flapping around betwixt
the auditory mounts rattling around
somewhere up there
in some fashion or another
while telling, in such a way that 
it doesn't come across as too pushy or demanding,
but across the table,
or horizon,
depending on one's vantage,
lies the beauty
of one's eyes,
lies the light twisting
in a passage
that slowly dims, dims, dims
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