Michael Scott Hand

picks up stones, says they are diamonds
  • Home
  • About
  • Stories
  • Poems
  • Drawings
  • Contact Me
  • Support My Work
  • Category: Poems

    • 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
    • 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 Drawings, 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
    ← Older posts
    Newer posts →
    • Recent Posts

      • Trapped
      • There is Beauty
      • Fuck I’m So Sad
      • Just a House
      • Black Country
    • Categories

      • Philosophy (102)
      • Drawings (85)
      • Stories (70)
      • Poems (56)
      • Photographs (21)
      • Backstage (10)
      • Moving Images (5)
      • Sounds (1)

Blog at WordPress.com.

  • Follow Following
    • Michael Scott Hand
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Michael Scott Hand
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...