Let he be the first one to cast a stone. Poet, skip rocks at a shadow unknown. Earth’s a rocket propelled in outer space, philosopher’s stone called the human race. Petrified, I hide behind a boulder I walk out bolder as I get older. The ground beneath us two is rock solid, thus we are […]
…observe the world to reflect soul; lose the ego in search for my keys; …shoot pictures each a thousand words; express their pattern blurred to one hundred. …point to objects to show not tell feelings; work material into abstraction; connect with a Internet of things to vary their controlled interaction. …split and stock wood piles […]
This poem is a sonnet I wrote after reflecting on the death of Stephen Hawking. I imagined Hawking dating beautiful for women and seeing their beauty comparable to the universe he studied.
Check out the latest poem by RJ Wiechecki titled How Many Words… (see below). By the way, if you haven’t guessed yet, I’m RJ Wiechecki. And yes, I’m ‘following my passion’ for writing and performing poetry. What those kind-meaning clique speakers forgot to tell me when they said “follow your dreams” was the sacrifices needed […]
Check the latest poem by RJ Wiechecki titled News Boy (see below). In the world of fake news, it is hard to imagine what a news boy selling papers would say on the streets as they did in the turn of the 20th Century would have to say. But to be sure, they would a […]
Drip; drip; drip; drip; DROP! Duck; duck; duck; duck; GOOSE! Punch; punch; punch; punch; SLAP! a drip’s still a drop. Ducks and geese are bird. A slap still is hurt. However it’s done, someone’s the outcast; someone’s chosen one.
Bad Poetry is: immoral. …gives you a bad cry instead of a good cry. …provides reason for the unreasonable. …conceives the self in self pity— a victim of verse. …draws devil’s horns on children of God …fails to uplift man to a greater calling. Bad Poetry is: false. …ineffective to convey the idea to begin […]
We talk about the weather in lieu of things we cannot change. We talk about your family of whom I can’t recall theirs names. We buzz about the birds as if we understand what they say. But we note it all sounds so lovely why can’t this be a perfect day?
U little god digger! who thinks that love is Gold traded in for ur beauty. Ur son u had him retake photos of U with profiles on the sands. Granular scrubs smooth rough faces swiped away from shedding light. Heaven forbids if unflattering lips were to tell ur secrets. Ur son (I mean the stranger) […]