the War Lost

Friday's depression
refused to
wait 'til Monday

It
demanded
immediate attention

It
demanded
immediate action

Now,
there are no
demands.

Death
makes no
demands

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poem by Tim Labbe
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Do not cry for me

Do not cry for me
I alone, own my pain

Do not cry for me
for that, I have the rain

Do not cry for me
many mistakes I have made

Do not cry for me
and the love I now crave

Do not cry for me
alone is where I belong

Do not cry for me
solitude has made me strong

Do not cry for me
for my tears dampen bed sheets at night

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poem by Tim Labbe
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Lovelorn

Still,
Silent Snow
blankets regret
muted emotion,
white lifeless hue.

A dance of a love's
brilliant light
was once the breath
of springtime's dew

Scattered leaves
of Autumn's past
strewn throughout
it's lonely street

amidst, cold,
damp pavement
whence we struggle,
yet to breathe

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poem by Tim Labbe
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Wanted Love/Lust

We lay,
side by side.

Nighttime
lazily passes
as the rain
patters on the
window

Salty taste
of love-making
wetness
drips
off of our bodies,
intermingling

This isn't
just a Fk

Her hands

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poem by Tim Labbe
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Monster

Words choked
Letters smothered/
suffocated
the lie is truth
when repeated
often enough

sheep follow
faux shepherds
through fields
of broken glass
even as shards
pierce bare feet-
they do not see
_the hypocrisy
_the lies
_the bloodshed

they choose
greedy

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poem by Tim Labbe
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Wonderful Sorrow

Oh,
how wonderful
my
blackened
sorrow

It's
searing pain
breathes warmth,
softening once
calcified veins.

Like dry-ice,
burning away
at the
hardened numbness
of my being.

It's good
to feel.

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poem by Tim Labbe
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Her Empty Spaces

She knew
the rain well.

It,
filled her
empty spaces.
So did I.

She had a
bland,
albeit,
deliciousness
about her

Her thickened
sweetness
was ladled
upon my
tongue,
time and time

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poem by Tim Labbe
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The Non Spaces

the
non spaces

a waif,
knows many

a waif,
knows many

who
will dress
his
wounds?

will you?

once,
the
sleeping
smile of

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poem by Tim Labbe
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Chinaski's Smiling

I reach
for the
tattered book
off of my toilet
tank, and
think...,

'Wouldn't
Bukowski
be proud'

Blurred,
sunken eyes
and rotted,
coffee-stained
teeth

'Wouldn't
Bukowski
be proud'

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poem by Tim Labbe
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Passion's Angst

Blustery bellows thrust,
frozen winds and sleet
Unto rebelling angst,
as inner passions secrete

Tempered emotions lament,
their once unbridled lust
Mourning dissipated love
vibrant colors, now lifeless rust

Pushing against it's forceful gale,
passing time weathers desire
Cold dampened, sheets of pain
quell the irrepressible inner fire

Yet motionless, thoughts linger
Forever breathless, memories stand still
Elusive, is the unattainable calm,
as torrential storms rage within
the unfulfilled.

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poem by Tim Labbe
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