The Alley

What darkened alley I find myself in
Surrounded by a stench that reflects what’s within
I search for the street, the open moonlight
But the grime and the filth blocks all exits from sight
Stumbling blindly I bump against walls
Soot gathers on my clothing from this damnable hall
I shout for direction into the black
But here in the darkness no voice calls back
So I stagger and swagger and trouble along
With the voice in my head screaming “this is all wrong”
I should not be here with this garbage and sludge
Yet the bottle I carry looks at me as my judge
Conceding defeat I place my back to the bricks
And slide to the ground, though it makes me sick
“Never again will this alley keep me,
Never again will I not be free!”
Sentiments whispered to the insects and rats,
Who feast on the refuse and hide from the cats

© 2004 Matt Naylor

Smote

How much till you break?
Will it be the needle snapping the camel’s back
Or the safe on Wiley’s head?
Will it be a lack of endurance
Or blunt force trauma that shatters the lattice
And when it happens will you cry or laugh?
Dance or still yourself?

Will you survive?

© 2004 Matt Naylor

John sat defeated in his father’s cigarette burned recliner, the sunset cast lined shadows across him as it dodged through gaps in the mini blinds. Failure. That is what I am. Leaving his elbows on the armrests he raised his right hand to rub his temple with a cold metallic finger. I’m not any better than him. I’m worse. Despair filled his every fiber, guilt shuddered in his throat, but no fear entered his eyes. Nothing entered his eyes. They had died long ago in precession to any act that he intended now. One reason. There is not one reason to stay. The clicks thundered in the silent room as he gently, deliberately drew his thumb back. Another sound invaded his moment. Music? John strained his ears to the subtle tones of a lonely flute that had wandered into his scene. The hollow notes struck an eerie chord. They resonated within John’s chest; spoke agreement to his every pain. Each grief doubled as the pain stricken song mirrored it. Slowly his hand dropped away from his temple and years of pain and apathy began to etch moist trails down his cheeks.

© 2004 Matt Naylor

Forged Identity

An identity forged alone in the flames

Tempered like steel, born of great pains

Quenched in the waters of life’s falling rains

Melted again by something so true

Companionship broke an identity in two

And in the fires of love it is forged anew

© 2004 Matt Naylor

The resoning

There are two major reasons for this site: 1) To post my thoughts and insights on a variety of subjects. 2) To have a public outlet for my short stories and poetry. My thoughts will be open for posts, where as most of the poetry and stories will not. If you want to comment on a piece then talk to me in person. This is because in my poetry and stories I often try to capture a moment. A singular point in time is not who I am, I may not even entirely agree with what I felt in that moment so I don't feel as if it is something that needs to be critiqued. If you like it and you know me, tell me and tell me why. If you don't like it or it raises concerns about my well-being then please approach me directly.

It starts...

Late one night - or early one morning depending on your point of view - I was shuffling through the list of blogs and websites that I check regularly waiting for something new to show up. In desperate need of a break from the paper I was writing and realizing that no one was going to post anything new I was inspired to begin my own blog. This was not a new thought but I had never acted upon it and sleep deprivation is the best tool to remove my inhibitions. That night I created this site, and posted an incoherent string of words that made since only in the light of approaching 24 hours without sleep (Does make one wonder about the quality of the paper I was writing though).
Now I'm rectifying that situation by beginning anew, fully rested and relatively mentally stable.