PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

"What’s in the Basket"

A shopping basket,
plastic ribs creaking under the weight of
bread, bruised pears,
a receipt already curling like a prophecy.

A picnic basket,
woven willow,
ants rehearsing their procession
before the lid is even lifted.

A laundry basket,
shirts collapsed into themselves,
socks pairing and unpairing
like quarrelsome lovers.

A gift basket,
cellophane taut as a drum,
ribbons rehearsing their unraveling,
the promise of sweetness
before the first hand reaches in.

And the others—
the bicycle basket with its wobbling cargo of letters,
the wastebasket swallowing drafts and
half-thoughts,
the cradle-basket rocking a child
between waking and dream.

Each vessel asks the same question:
what do you carry,
and what will you leave behind
when the handles slip from your hands?

.

"waiting in the wings"

I enter from the side door,

no one marks the hinge of my step.

The script gives me three words—

a borrowed coat, a lantern to carry,

then silence.

Others speak in thunder,

their names stitched to the playbill.

I am the pause between their lines,

the stagehand’s shadow mistaken for scenery,

the broom that clears the petals

after the lovers depart.

Yet when the curtain folds,

the boards keep their memory—

grain of wood holding

every unnoticed footfall,

as if the story were stitched

from its smallest threads.

First Light

The roofs are still
but the sky begins to loosen—
a pale seam of rose
threading the horizon.

He sits in the quiet
before the town stirs,
jacket slack on his shoulders,
eyes catching the faintest
silver of daybreak.   

Before bells peal,
no bird in flight—
only the promise
that the dark has thinned,
and the world
is willing to begin again.

.

“Rusted Edges, Burning Gears"


The gears don't just turn;
they gnash—teeth of industry,
blood-stained from forgotten hands.

Whispers don’t drift;
they crack like breaking glass,
but no one listens.

Faces sink into hollow screens,
cogs spinning louder than their voices.
You scratch at the edges,

but the rust doesn’t heal—
it spreads, then consumes,
until the machinery roars

louder than any call to conscience.
What remains is ash upon broken soil,
laws etched in soot,

and names lost in the dust of progress.
But this system won’t bleed forever;
something stirs beneath its weight,

pulling at threads like thieves in the night.
The gears tremble— not from strength,
but from decay’s relentless pull.








.

The Corkscrew of Existence

In the cellar,
green‑glass vessels lean

           against one another,
   their shoulders dust‑padded,
        throats sealed tight.

Some wait decades,
stoppered against the tremor of hands
that might one day twist them open.

Others burst early,
foam rushing into the air
as if silence itself were unbearable.

Life, too, is a rack of bottles—
some forgotten in the corner,
                labels blurred,
contents thickening into memory.

Others are restless,
pressing against their corks,
                       uncontainable,
a fizz that refuses to be archived.

And we—
we are the corkscrews,
spiralling into the grain of our own days,
levering against the stubborn seal,
wondering whether release
                      is celebration,
or simply another form of spilling.

.

Unstopped

bottle—
pressed throat,
cork clenched.

inside: fizz,
or nothing.

stopper holds,
stopper fails.

either way—
the glass remembers
pressure.

.

After‑Pop

cork gone—
a white roar,
liquid confetti
            arcing,
the bottle lifted
like a trophy.

.

Night’s Tender Kiss

your northern smile embraces—  

shining stars in the dimming sky  

sparkles burst and pierce me  

such brightness lightens my load  

another day closes, sun sleeps  

another night begins, stars keep  

a hope of us together one day  

across an ocean—now divides us  

beneath night-blooming jasmine’s scent  

steps hasten, screen door bangs  

my chin lifts, eyes peering deep  

this night is your day, my sweet  

slumber with fondest thoughts  

our souls’ yearning tendrils curl  

around a distant moonbeam’s glow.