Enigmas-OldePunk/RamJet Poetry

RamJet Poetry


There was, perchance

an enigma wrapped in

the spectre of a smile

she laid at my feet

on that cold Sunday

mellifluous and gaunt

a puzzle or riddle

a rainbow of possibilities

that I could not fathom

for you must understand

she had always been

above me, eluded me

Her keen intellect

kept her a mystery

for one such as I

almost invisible

what I lacked in deduction

I more than made up for

with my emotional insight

I knew it was there, tangible

if only I could grasp her meaning

but a ghost is impermanent

and that moment so temporary.

I am still haunted by that frigid morning

when she laid a wisp of a chance

at my feet and I could not

decipher her intentions.

She later that day flew with the angels

and lay grief in my lap,

never again to look my way….

now I dream…

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Spoken Word: Gestalt/OldePunk

Grasping convolutions

anything will do really

corrugated steel rictus

pulls at corners

a shadow play

in ritual dusk

down another

glass of slow derision

at the nearest

watering hole

wondering how and why

I am unholy

reconcile I’m alone

with the pictures

we both inhabit

I could not hold

the fire

so now I choke

on smoke

and bathe in ashes

my breath stinks

of rebellion

my words are heavy

and low, lo

unto tomorrow

riveting the compunction

to depart the now

the how and when of it

matter little

respond to extinguish

the embers

of my love, of

your ruin

I absolve myself

of any wrongdoing

It’s stern

your reflection

I return

to the objection

and babe

it’s all gone down

it’s all your fault

it’s not the noun

it’s not this town

the fade of gestalt

that I caught

standing outside

looking in at

your origins

I am spread too thin

and I know I will

not win

impart the devolution

of the anatomy

of we

I am left alone

with the memories

that we both inhabit

I still wonder why you


the wave goodbye

but would not look

in my way

I am disinterested

with what comes next

or the aftermath

of my part, apart

I am full to the brim

of empty

I know I haven’t the strength

to begin, again.

Think I will take

a walk down to the ocean

and see if

a baptism in the cold

salt of seas

can free me

from the loss

of the pictures

we both inhabit

image courtesy of Google Images and K. Layton

Voice recording courtesy of Christine Ray, Brave and Reckless

He is also a managing editor at Sudden Denouement Literary Collective