Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …

isn’t it obvious

30 July 2013

isn’t it obvious


Isn’t it obvious? It is to me,

love inspires both good and bad poetry.

Whether we are falling head over heels,

or seeking the death penalty, it’s real.

we write what it’s like to simply be us,

isn’t it obvious?


From flirtatious looks to undying pledge,

wishful thinking, to eternity spent,

nothing else gives us quite so much to say

whether it works, or goes badly astray.

Love, or the poems we’re envious of?

isn’t it obvious?

30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment

an empty chair

30 July 2013

an empty chair


from early on I’ve lived in solitude,

yet always set a chair for company

perhaps I do prefer, as most conclude,

to be alone in my own misery.


I’m different, as I am well aware,

more introspective than most care to be,

those things that interest most I don’t share,

I let them be them, and try to just be me.


But it’s lonely, I wish for something more,

a kindred spirit to occupy that chair,

to sometimes give me wings so I can soar

without becoming more than I can bear.


That balance is precarious at best,

perhaps that is what I have never learned,

I need both space and yet togetherness

the warmth of flame, but never getting burned.


Some people seem to have it figured out,

they juggle both, find contentment alone,

but I think I will always have my doubts,

a sin for which nothing can atone.

30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

insanity plea

30 July 2013

insanity plea


I stand, and stare hands unaware

of blood that’s not my own,

I smile and scream while in a dream

what mischief have I sown?


I wish I knew which lie is true

reality’s so blurred

the dead don’t tell, they said it well,

at least that’s what I’ve heard.


I’ll know in time, although my crime

will show that I’m insane,

I bet I’ll live, forget, forgive,

pretend it’s all a game.

30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment


30 July 2013



plink, splat, plip. kerplat

how many sounds from one drop?

pleep, ploop, plop, pingpop

an orchestra of water, STOP!

plimp, pssss, even sizzle,

this torture has to end,

ting, clink, slow drizzle

this leak I’ll have to mend.

30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment


30 July 2013



This night, too cold for fog, cannot explain

grey knee-high mist which swirls and acts so strange.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before,

like cold Winter’s breath underneath the door.


I can’t be sure, sometimes I almost hear,

voices, as if whispering in my ear.

But what they say I cannot understand,

I keep moving, ignoring their demands.


The moonless dark begins to slow me down,

my fear deepens, what else might be around?

I tell myself I should not be afraid,

but words are not enough to make me brave.


I know it sounds insane to think like this,

but something’s after me within this mist.

So if, by some chance, I should disappear,

I pray my words explain why I’m not here.

30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment

at dusk

30 July 2013


at dusk


watermelon laughter, stirs

melancholy. like wind chimes

coaxed to sing forgotten songs,

once more, with feeling.


goodbye smiles, afraid to cry,

we wave, and turn, remember,

enveloped in our quiet

sad desperation.


Twilight’s serenade, front porch

reminiscing with crickets,

bittersweet companions still,

loneliness and words.

30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


30 July 2013



The true and the reflected

air and water meet,

the splendor of the moment,

surrender not defeat


Sheer vibrancy of fire,

cooled by water’s hand,

slow dying of desire

golden across sand.


Beauty is its own reward,

truth I often miss,

wonder still must be explored,

with sunsets like this.


This sunset blends to midnight,

breathlessly I pause,

each moment is an insight,

lessons without flaws.

30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment


30 July 2013



silhouette against the setting sun,

details lost to shadow and form,

all I meant to do, undone,

as nightfall steals the warm.

In time, we all fade

to memories.

Who’s to say

we’ll be


30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | , | Leave a comment


30 July 2013



I observed, as young and old alike,

combed the beach and high tide line

for Poseidon’s priceless baubles, or

more likely, man’s discarded detritus.


I noticed in passing, the everpresent

exhibitionist glee, thoroughly disguised

of course, of sun-worshippers, bronzed

mannequins on display.


Seagulls swooped and performed admirably,

delighting some, annoying others with their

insatiable appetites and selfishness, fighting

with raucous abandon for that next

potato chip, or other scrap of human excess.


Farther down, where the sand transitioned

into jutting rocks, I chased preening seagulls

to flight and discovered a blanched and

distorted piece of driftwood, finally come

to rest between the rocks.

I sat beside it, felt its unnatural smoothness,

worn by wind and wave, sculpted into

an almost unrecognizable remnant of

what it used to be.


We are kindred spirits, you and I,

I gently whispered to it, realizing how

my own raw texture and twisting,

turning form had been similarly smoothed

by life.


And I wondered how far I would

have to drift before I too might finally escape

the incessant tides and come to rest,

wedged between two rocks on some

distant shore, waiting to be discovered.

30 July, 2013 Posted by | Poetry | | Leave a comment