Crouched in Black


and here I am again

crouched in black

 as angry as a Sunday to an owl.

less easy on the eye, perhaps

green matter on the soft side of my knees

passing skull and wishbone

on the long haul of a scream.


bequeathed at birth

the last remains 

of Satan in a fragile state of mind.

now easy lies the crown

two rows back from laughter

upside down

diluted with the water of inane;


wearing thin

the muscles of my jaw

sleep nocturnal

as rigid as a door

holding tight my menopausal blood.

no flood should I encounter

here among the strangers in my den;


now catalyst devoid of such debate

as broad as willow

heavier than fog.

a sibling from the wrong side of the womb.

apostle white of dour consequence

a cameo in the leather of a fly

neatly packed with a postage stamp attire;














  • Author: Melvin James (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: October 22nd, 2023 10:49
  • Comment from author about the poem: losing my father to dementia. as cruel as cruel can be;
  • Category: Sociopolitical
  • Views: 10
  • User favorite of this poem: Teddy.15.
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  • Teddy.15

    Superb, sad as it is this terrible dimentia you bring truth of its calamity and I hope some healing to yourself. ❤️

    • aDarkerMind

      all is good thank you Teddy.

    • Thomas W Case

      So much power in your write. You shine a light on a dark subject.

      • aDarkerMind

        thank you very much Thomas.

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