Tag: poem

Big Toe Blues – 24th October 2025

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 28 Comments

If you could talk, what would you say?

You’re the one that keeps me stable,

not wobbling in a doubtful sway.

If you could talk, what would you say?

When I stub you and swear away

at that stupid fucking table.

If you could talk, what would you say?

You’re supposed to keep me stable!

Shared with W3 #182 – a triolet about something ordinary.

ประตูมรสุมสั่น – 23rd October 2025

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 26 Comments
flame tree at my school

First thunders mutter beyond the hills
The flame-of-the-forests ignited
The schoolyard screaming suddenly stills
This season’s mango gold soon sighted

Shadows vanish as the bold noon stands
Heat haze braids shimmer like woven silk
Morning mortars thud with chilli-stained hands
Iced coffee, blooming curls of condensed milk

Silver water cups ring with laughter
Powder and perfume for New Year’s turn
Sudden winds gather ever faster
Flash floods for which the parched fields yearn

Shared with dVerse Poetics – microseasons. The Thai title translates as Monsoon Doors Rattle. While the events described may span a month or so, there have been times when all this will happen within the same week.

The Knowing – 20th October 2025

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 3 Comments

Inspired by this piece of writing by Maia at Tiny Hearts, though I was less explicit.

Life’s echoes return soon –
your reflections reveal the blame.
A child’s plea, a tide pulled by an invisible moon,
a candle waiting for a flame.

Love is not held tight with a closed fist
but free to flow from an open palm.
The heart not so easily dismissed
from the banks of a river, calm.

The knowing grows in a room
with all the windows open wide.
Gut feelings fall down too soon
if you’re never looking outside.

The deeper reading of the maps
will quiet the storms in advance.
The heart becomes a harbour, perhaps
to contemplate this dance.

Some Surrender – 19th October 2025

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 16 Comments

The both of me are struggling inside

One wants to just enjoy the ride

A hedonist with parties to attend

A firestorm with fuel to spend

Better to burn out than fade away?

So, tonight is the time to play

…Tomorrow, I’ll write down everything…

The both of me, struggling to get out

The anxious side, processing doubt

Every word needs to be remembered
So that some time must be surrendered

If all this savouring gets rephrased

Will it be somehow falsely praised?

Did it really happen as we say?

The feeling is that it must be done today…

…Tomorrow, I’ll write down everything…

The both of me are struggling to win
A desperate balance being fought within
This happiness must be documented

Not pass by forgotten and lamented
So tonight I’ll simply sigh and say
That if it cannot be done today

…Tomorrow, I’ll write down everything…

Shared with W3 #181 – a bop poem. This poem was inspired by this week’s dVerse prompt, using a line from a Günter Grass poem as a refrain. I saw this line, “…Tomorrow, I’ll write down everything…” used in the poem ‘Tomorrow’ and along with the word ‘bop’, this reminded me (again!) of the dilemma Jack Kerouac would face when having fun with his friends but wanting to rush home to write it down before it got forgotten to the mists of time. I see that I have written this poem before, too! Perhaps this is part two?
In the first stanza, I reference Firestorm, a DC comic character that at one time was two different people inside one body, often struggling with decisions. This came to mind as I had been reading it last night.

Ice Age – 18th October 2025

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 23 Comments

Shared with dVerse MTB quatern and utilising the phrase ‘what happens when the river stops‘ taken from Günter Grass’s ‘What I write about’.

What happens when the river stops
flowing towards its final form,
to meet dissolution, consumed
in a roiling ghost of gestalt?

Gathering stagnation – is that
what happens when the river stops?
Dammed many times along the way,
it aches to carve a deeper chart;

Breath seeping into the soft soils,
probing for any solve to see
what happens. When the river stops,
frozen skin, a trick of the light,

conceals the hand of destiny
on swirling tides of history.
I find I do not want to know
what happens when the river stops.

Empty Chest – 17th October 2025

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 1 Comment

Amid grief, it seems easy to find words to comfort others, yet a struggle to find them for yourself. This poem was somewhat inspired by this write from Carol Anne at Therapy Bits

I’ve got an empty chest
I never knew that you used to fill;

I can’t run from it,
always following me,
your hollow shadow;

The sunlight that lit up your eyes
is dimmer now;

The daylight holds no more promises,
no shine left in the sun;

All the time was no time at all;
Where did you go?

I’ve done this before and I know
the ghosts will always haunt
until they become familiar again;

When I leave,
I will leave no empty chests.

Ride Of The Dullahan – 16th October 2025

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 19 Comments
image source

Shared with dVerse Poetics – headless horseman. I learned a little about Irish folklore while writing this.

in search of final harvests
on a stallion carved of midnight,
its four falling anvils
spark cold dread from cobblestones

his lantern grins with soft decay
the texture of mouldy cheese
the pallor of the moon
that stains a long-forgotten tomb

twin gateways pierce all things hidden
compelling every secret to be shed
unlocking all that’s tethered by a name

hold your golden pins tight

Bus Ride To Bondi – 15th October 2025

~ shaun tenzenmen ~ 12 Comments
image found at thrillophilia.com

Another true story. Shared with dVerse Prosery and to incorporate the following phrase
What will I do there
without my hands upon
your summer face?
from ‘Oh Umbrellas’ by Jeffrey Hermann.

the long bus ride
didn’t feel that way

a sea breeze
of anticipation

your yellow summer
dress highlighting
your tan, smooth skin

and holding my gaze
we hung on to each other

our words and communion
as the world
ran towards the surf

Oh! That was our time!

do you think of that now
on different beaches?

I’ll take the bus ride
one more time
to hold on to you

…but…

what will I do there
without my hands upon
your summer face?

will the memory
be enough
for the long journey home?