Friday, June 17, 2011

new character

I am currently writing a set of sonnets to portray a particular character. In figuring out that character I wrote the following.

Waking - long formed habits guide
hiding awareness
Closed fists of too rough hands,
scraping crust from eyes
Dark, bloodshot and red - small white scratches
now pink. left from callouses on hands
too old on a body so young

Shaking torn tangles behind
Straightening her back
rising to the impressive
four foot seven
tallest yet of her classmates.

Sunday, June 12, 2011

currently deciding on a new title

attempts at portraying other mindsets in poetry.


The heat from the Zippo feels good on his face.
Though warm already, it always felt nice.
Bursts of cold air strike his sweaty back,
While he holds up the Camel with his dry lips.
She stretches her arms while still on her back.
Her cheap cigarette burning in her mouth.
Runs fingers through her hair, straightening tangles.
She always hated her hair this messy.
The smoke burns his lungs as he takes another drag.
It’s not as bad as the claw marks on his back,
Or the red imprints of teeth littering his shoulders,
But the latter two he’s always enjoyed.
Her legs sore and tired, muscles burning,
Laid upon the bed, gaining their due rest.
Stretches again, producing a moan of contentment.
For the first time, this made her feel at ease.
Heart rate slowing, catching his breath,
He closes his eyes and rolls his neck.
Gets up to his feet, feeling sweat cooling on his skin.
Turning to the bed, gazes at what lies in the middle.
The sweat covering her figure glistens in moonlight.
Soft, silk sheets stick to her wet body,
Every inch of it exposed to the cold air.
She takes a deep breath, enjoying the attention.
His eyes move up and down, taking in the sight.
Smirk on his face and glint in his eye.
He grabs an ashtray and flicks his cigarette.
Taking in his prize, his conquest of the day.
She grins wide, and is amazed at this act.
She’s never been comfortable seen naked before,
With only her sheen to cover her body.
Her heart and her loins are aching for more.
He knows this is wrong, but doesn’t seem to care.
Lust, to him, has always come first.
More important than compassion, than trust, love.
He puts on his pants and gets ready to leave.
Confusion sets in as she watches him dress.
Springs up from the bed and rifles out questions,
Each responded to with one-word answers.
Pain increases with each passing syllable.
With his clothes now on he reaches for his keys.
Swatting away annoying questions like flies.
His prize is turning out to be more of a nuisance.
He walks out the door and slams it behind him.
Still sitting in her bed, she can feel the tears welling.
Once again, uncomfortable with her nudity.
Remembering now why she hates these situations,
She sinks back down, to the protection of her sheets.


© Nick Bacon

Saturday, June 11, 2011


This poem is yet very unpolished. So it goes.

When the glow of yesterday outshines tomorrow
what then, what next.
take the next step they say
hold on and wait for the suns glow to warm your skin once more
winter ends, winter ends.

cycles of down and up a teenage anthem
cycles of joy and sorrow a anthem to life.

as all things cycle then so too does ones overarching life
by blessed chance or curse my summer came early
winter holds sway now.
take the next step they say
hold on and wait for the suns glow to warm you skin once more
the day will break icy hearts will thaw

so wait i will- soft suicide reigns now.
youthful body enfeebled.
when the coasters first hill is greatest with loops and dark overhands and twisters- and the rest is a gradual slowing to gentle stop
why then stay on the cart for the rest? what joy found when adrenaline's highest rush has peaked

cycles of down and up a teenage anthem
cycles of joy and sorrow a anthem to life.

Each year has all emotion but decades too are a cycle.
my summer has reigned and now winter falls
till entropy stills questing mind.