Tomic Riter

Tag: poem

  • I shoot myself first.

    switched on the bulb but nothing

    no electricity since morning

    sat on the front porch

    got Dylan singing again

    Ballads of a Thin Man

    Sara Sara o Sara

    Hard rain’s A gonna Fall

    the thin man is back again

    I pull out an imaginary cigar from one pocket

    and a revolver from another

    I shoot myself first and then,

    I shoot that strange bird

    perched on an electric wire

    and I miss the shot and the bird

    flies off to a tall tree with curly hairs

    but it doesn’t matter

    it doesn’t matter

    I am dead already

    but the bird is still there,

    talking bogus to the still winds.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • On my second book of poetry.

    The first draft is almost finished. It’s been two days. I haven’t stepped out except to have lunch. The days are getting hotter and hotter. No place to hide really. It’s night now. The temperature has suddenly dropped. Hyenas are crying, dogs are barking, men are sleeping. I close my eyes and try to remember a few incidents to write them down. I am sitting on the roof and it would have been quiet here and I could have remembered something were these wild dogs stopped barking. But if you go out at this hour and try to teach them some manners, they would bite off your leg or something and send you home crying. No doctor at this hour would care about your wounds. Anyways, the first draft is finishing soon. That’s all for now. Have a good time!

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

    Buy my maiden poetry book DYING IN LIVING by clicking here

  • Afternoon burning.

    Outside, a crow singing

    in lord’s praise

    while I finish my glass o’beer

    it’s twice sunny today

    and the roads are on fire

    and so are all the vehicles

    I lie down in my bed

    with a ceiling fan right through

    my stomach

    and I switch it on full speed

    because if that doesn’t bring me some cool

    then nothing else will.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Those eggs last night got me spinning.

    nose jammed, headless

    ‘what day is it’

    a bird cackling on my window bar

    the garbage truck didn’t stop and rolled away

    called my boss, ‘I am not coming to work today.’

    ‘What the hell! Even I am not coming today. HA HA’ he replied

    ‘Good,’ I said and threw away my phone

    I shook my head to have a clear vision

    my unfinished book was waiting for me

    and it needed to be written down.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • From an afternoon bed.

    Something from last night has my stomach crying. Must be the alcohol. Must be the bad food. Could be anything. Even the wind here can give me headache. I try to leave the bed but I keep failing. What’s the joy in lying down. What’s the joy in getting up. Hunger keeps a man going. Nothing else. I am just not hungry. A mild headache does make want to get up. I am having one such headache right now. The fridge is running fine, only I got nothing to keep inside it. I can feel the fierce summer returning. My lips are dry and skin smooth as a sandpaper. I sit for a while and allow my head to fall in its place. It takes another twenty minutes for that.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • After locking the door.

    I could drive all night. But I am too drunk. Too tired. Too slow to reach anywhere. I am even sick to some level, to what level, I cannot say. What to do with so much idle time. Where to go. No place on this earth, and I cannot escape its atmosphere. I am doomed to watch this star sprinkled sky over my head for the rest of my life. A vehicle approaches and passes by. What an event! Now, complete darkness. Complete silence. I feel like I am falling down, like my head is a million feet deep in some pit. Punch my eyes and they still won’t open. Kiss me right inside my mouth; that might effect something in me.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • A morning beginning.

    Poem by Tomic Riter.
    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

    Just a little poem I wrote on instagram this morning. If you are there, I would love to connect.

    Click here to visit my Instagram account.

  • Only losers come to bars on thursdays.

    only losers come to bars on thursdays

    losers we

    no waiting for friday night

    or saturday evening

    I occupy my favorite cabin

    cabin number 26

    and order a frozen bottle

    of Budweiser Magnum

    What a liquid!

    What a mood I am in!

    volcanic,

    close to eruption

    outside the cabin, men sitting

    on chairs and shouting

    at the television that is turned off

    LOSERS

    WE

    each one of us sitting here

    right now,

    trying to calm down

    or gear up and burst.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Don’t hear the godmen singing.

    In deep night, godmen are singing hymns, shouting verses. God must be a deaf creature. But what to tell these men? You can tell God something, but you can’t tell these men. It’s so ridiculous to even think about telling them anything. You say a word to them and it’s already a joke, a waste of time. You only wish that they stopped shouting. I wish only that as of now. I can’t even tell where they are sitting. Everything is just so dark and chilled at this hour of night. Chilled is fine. I do not wish for a sun. I would rather wish for snow and plane crash. That would be something worth watching here – a jet coming down from sky right into my bungalow, putting me on fire first and then everything else, and while that happens, a snowfall to melt away my blood and tissues and make for a clean, fresh space.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

  • Moonrising.

    idly rotating along with everything

    how beautiful – moon rising

    nobody else watching

    nights like these won’t be coming

    from deep red to orange

    to the final golden

    the sound of water dripping from a pipe

    cool breeze accompanying

    I imagine your body over mine,

    crawling.

    Copyright © Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.