Michael Scott Hand

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

    • I Don’t Know

      Posted at 12:31 pm by Michael, on April 14, 2020

      Don’t know what I’m doing,
      Don’t know what I’m saying,
      Don’t know how to jump,
      In this game I am playing,
      So many pits to leap over,
      Instead I just fall in,
      Descend into darkness:
      The darkness within,
      No Game Over screen,
      No limited lives,
      Just a life I keep living,
      While something inside of me dies,
      And somewhere: a memory inside of me cries,
      The tears that won’t fall from my actual eyes.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Sand in the Sky

      Posted at 11:06 am by Michael, on April 11, 2020

      Sand in the sky,
      reflecting the light
      so it looks like gold.

      Sand in the sky,
      grains like worlds,
      slowly spinning.

      Sand in the sky,
      slowly spinning,
      grains like worlds,
      reflecting the light,
      appearing as gold.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Meandering Wastes – Artefact One – Early Transcription

      Posted at 10:07 am by Michael, on April 9, 2020

      Early attempt to provide a transcription of Meandering Wastes Artefact One, using an experimental orientation and non-electronic (mammalian; optical) surveying techniques.

      Eanering_001

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • A Thousand Fires

      Posted at 1:11 pm by Michael, on April 1, 2020

      I’ll shake everything down to the ground,
      With a whisper so loud it makes no sound,
      As dust arises, fate transpires:
      My thoughts ignite a thousand fires.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Chains

      Posted at 6:40 am by Michael, on March 25, 2020

      Hope I do entertain,
      You,
      Enough that you’ll,
      Watch,
      As I,
      Chain myself,
      To these pieces,
      That make up my existence.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • What if it Rained

      Posted at 7:45 am by Michael, on March 17, 2020

      What if it rained a little
      In the city
      And you could hear it running
      Through the gutters
      But it was peaceful somehow
      Splatters against the awning
      The glow of streetlights
      On wet bitumen
      Buildings all around
      Crowding out the sky
      The night lit by
      A thousand sparkling windows
      Lives inside each one

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Meandering Wastes – Artefact One

      Posted at 8:07 am by Michael, on March 10, 2020

      Distorted recursive fragmentation of the poem “Meandering Wastes” as recovered by deep-digital scanner. Precise alignment of letters and words unverifiable, the equipment used has been known to produce results with a range of non-conformant orientations.

      Artefact reproduced with permission from G.E.D, 3145.

      recursionflipped

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Meandering Wastes – Sixth Recursion

      Posted at 6:03 pm by Michael, on March 3, 2020

      Almost illegible fragment, unlikely to have been written by the original author:

      meandering

      waste space
      we pen
      again

      An alternative arrangement, containing an extra “s”, is suggested:

      meandering wastes space
      (and yet)* we pen again

      This is also the point at which the “First Perversion” is believed to have been created, with several scholars drawing the conclusion that “we pen” was not a reference to the act of writing, but actually a reference to a literal (unspecified) “weapon”.

      Continue reading →

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Inevitable Inevitabilities

      Posted at 7:37 am by Michael, on February 20, 2020

      inevitable trees
      with inevitable leaves
      drop inevitable seeds
      sprouting

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
    • Stormfort

      Posted at 8:51 am by Michael, on February 11, 2020

      Let me tell you a story,
      About a castle in the sky,
      Steep-spired,
      Ash-stained,
      Bleak and imposing,
      The ruined Stormfort stands,
      Perched precariously,
      On a sundered, floating, island of rock,
      Above the churning, lightning-laced tumult.

      Posted in Poems | 0 Comments
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