Soul Pressed Poetry

Poetry that comes from our soul.

October 13, 2011
by squashedmosquito

at night (10 Aug 2011)

at night I can hear the stream
it pulls me back
no matter where I go
in my head

in my head
there is always the swirl and froth
or languid passing
of liter and debris

everything is on a journey
over clouds, we try to fly
always the sunrise disappears
or never ends

when I leave, when I leave
I hear my thumping heart
I feel my beating head
at night

if the stream were to stop talking
the ocean would know
its death

October 2, 2011
by squashedmosquito

I hate (23 July 2011)

hate is a piercing word
and even though I love
you, I had to scream it

I had to – like a wave has to
disembody itself on a rock


the last time I screamed those words
was into the face of my mother

I was fifteen and
she got more churned up
than the frothing white sea

that receives me now

September 30, 2011
by squashedmosquito

each wave strikes me (17 July 2011)

I ran to the edge, boulders
marking safe from peril

I slipped down the face
momentum dropping me

near the white cracks of sea

white is a colour
that looms from darkness

those fingers reach out

those hands could grab my feet
taking me

taking everything from me

I am the scream
that cannot echo

amongst the waves, sound

each wave strikes me
I feel the pull of death

September 30, 2011
by squashedmosquito

wreaked (16 July 2011)

nowadays when I go for a run
I run to the bay
where the ships
wreaked themselves on the rocks

it was a common scene
back then, some made it
some didn’t. I wonder
when the lighthouse got built…

I run to this bay because the quarry
got shut down
and now the naked cliffs
are slightly gorged

and it feels ok to scream