Michael Scott Hand

picks up stones, says they are diamonds
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  • Category: Poems

    • Little Conquest

      Posted at 7:12 am by Michael, on January 6, 2021

      pain and darkness
      tremble in the middle of this
      little conquest

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Meandering Wastes – Memory Recursion 1

      Posted at 8:00 am by Michael, on December 17, 2020

      Across the dusty, distant wastes,
      The writer sets a meandering pace,
      Scratching words with fountain pen,
      He creates reality again.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • It Is Yours

      Posted at 1:29 pm by Michael, on November 20, 2020

      Do you ever feel like…
      You are dying inside?
      Do you ever feel like…
      You’ve got something to hide?
      Do you ever feel like…
      That for every door open,
      You can still hear the sound,
      Of another ten closing,
      And everything’s closing in on you now,
      The whole room is shrinking,
      And about your mistakes is all that you’re thinking about,
      And you’re mired,
      In each bad decision,
      The air crushed from your lungs,
      But you are still living–
      You’re living!
      And you feel that the pressure is easing,
      Push the walls back,
      With this power you’re feeling,
      And dreaming,
      Of bursting out,
      Thirsting out,
      For something more:
      It is yours.

      It is yours.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Magenta Weirdness

      Posted at 4:58 pm by Michael, on October 8, 2020

      Both Deny Fear,
      Aged Remnants Wise,
      Aware in Regret,
      Ache Like Pasts,
      Dig Scratch Sworn,
      Hewn Infant Utopia,
      Headline Hence Whens,
      Again Shatter.

      Anagrammatical interpretation of Meandering Wastes – First Reversion .

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Grand Game

      Posted at 9:01 am by Michael, on September 23, 2020

      Right now the Grand Game’s being played,
      But I’m tired of making patterns out of shadows I’ve made,
      And I’m tired of seeking secrets when the truth is so plain,
      And I’ve heard the plain is where the rain falls mainly in Spain,
      So I’ll try to educate you ’bout the state of my brain,
      I know I might seem kind of crazy but I’m far from insane,
      On the inside I am levitating on another plane.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Everything Will Fall

      Posted at 9:51 am by Michael, on August 18, 2020

      drinking_man

      The man contemplates the drink,
      The shadow contemplates the man,
      The wall contemplates the shadow,
      The wind contemplates the wall,
      And if the wind blows hard enough,
      Everything will fall.

      Posted in Drawings, Poems | 0 Comments
    • The Muse

      Posted at 9:56 am by Michael, on June 12, 2020

      An ancient cave painting of a woman rendered as text.

      The muse is fixed in time and space,
      Pigment faded smile eternal,
      She watches with one eyebrow raised,
      And when she moves,
      If she were to do so,
      (Although that would be impossible)
      It is merely the shifting of a leg,
      Or a flick of a wrist,
      Or a twist of her neck,
      To glance back across her shoulder.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Meandering Wastes – First Reversion

      Posted at 12:47 pm by Michael, on June 2, 2020

      What follows is believed to be the first ever inscription of the recursive poem “Meandering Wastes” by the 21st Century writer, Michael Scott Hand. This fragment was recovered using the latest in digital archaeological equipment, wherein data can be extracted from the sedentary level of matter formed during that which we refer to as “Event X”.

      beyond the far meandering wastes
      an eager writer takes his place
      scratching words with a fountain pen
      when he ends each line he starts again

      Combining this fragment with the only other known version of this poem (the so-called sixth recursion), we hope to be able to reconstruct a final “seventh recursion” representative of the author’s original intent.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • And You’ll See Me

      Posted at 11:46 am by Michael, on June 1, 2020

      Hearts are breaking
      Pain that’s stored
      Now enraged and flaming: soars
      Skies grow dark
      Spirits darker
      The sound of fury
      Turns to laughter
      The sound of laughter
      Turns to screams
      Those screams now wake you
      From your dreams
      And skies lit up
      Reveal the schemes
      Police line streets
      Their visors gleam
      Smoke and water
      Shattered glass
      Remnants of society cast
      Aside
      Aside
      The gulf grows wide
      Soon you’ll need to pick a side
      A side
      Inside
      Inside
      You know
      Reflected by the fires glow
      That spark of revolution seems
      So far away and yet it gleams
      Like visors worn by armed police
      In the eye of the protester and the thief
      The light of revolution speaks
      The light of revolution shows
      And in the streets the fires grow

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • was that sound thunder

      Posted at 11:07 am by Michael, on April 23, 2020

      was that sound thunder
      or just the rumble
      of a heavy truck
      on a nearby road
      headlights flash like lightning
      through curtains of rain

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
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