#365poems

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #359 (December 26, 2017)

You’ve made your mark on me so clearly. 

Like strawberries on my fingertips.

Like the ink on my skin.

Like the scar on my thumb and the scar on my chin. 

[herkulesstrahlen]

Leaves are the most patient thing. Every once in a while They fall and keep on falling to the ground Which keeps them willingly But never does the same for them. The leaves wait for them throughout the seasons But it does not. Another year passes And the leaves are falling again.

Lu//(275/366)

[earthcycling-blog]

#7: Pendullum

Shoes scattered in the corner, once enjoyed in the park,             sand still in the soles         from that time you displayed for me how to swing.

Young imaginations at play take trips to the moon,             lost in the weightlessness of the peak         before you return, and taking off again      on your next adventure.

In time it will all perpetuate     as the swing     tick tocks,         eventually reaching its threshold            and life plays out     back and forth cycling around the sun,     that natural progression of perceptions     to which youth blinds us     and old age binds us when we make that leap.

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #351 (December 18, 2017)

It is all attainable.

I can make it happen.

I can make it fall apart. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #350 (December 17, 2017)

You are not just a memory.

You are almost seared into my brain.

Forgetting you is impossible.

But repeating is the same. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #349 (December 16, 2017)

I’ve never been on a trip by myself before. 

I’m leaving my comfort zone behind and taking a train to Montreal.

Embracing my fears and uncertainties.

Saying yes to new opportunities.

Following my intuition and all other clichés.

Here’s to new beginnings. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #341 (December 8, 2017)

Cop cars outside the building are never bearers of good news.

I was only trying to tidy up my room and do laundry on this particular morning.

I walked by the supposed crime scene and saw cops with notepads and pens.

I smelled something kind of foul.

The cleaning lady was in the laundry room and I asked her if she had any 

information.

She told me that the guy who lived in the unit surrounded by cops had passed 

away.

I’ve seen him on multiple occasions.

Always wore the same long black leather jacket and was in and out of cabs.

He was nice enough to me.

Always smiled, said hello and told me how beautiful my dog was.

I always noticed the music coming out of his apartment.

It sounded so haunting and enchanting at the same time. 

I never gathered the nerve to ask him about it.

Now I wish I had. 

[gregory-eyev-blog]

poem #251 (September 8, 2017)

I don’t quite remember how you smell. 

But the memory of you still lingers. 

I don’t quite remember your voice. 

But I remember how it felt when you said hello.

I can’t recall your every curve.

But I remember your soft skin on my lips. 

Subtle bites.

Firm grips. 

Eye contact and trouble. 

I always knew you were trouble. 

You thought I was dangerous but you were the one that should have came with a warning. 

I wasn’t cautious enough, and maybe I should have been. 

I dove head first into shallow water. 

The pain has all but left. 

But the memory of you still lingers.