Tomic Riter

Tag: writing

  • Almost final

    The manuscript of my book is almost ready to get published in kindle version. I do not want any more changes to it. It looks perfect as it is now. A small beginning to a never ending journey, I would say. My maiden book of poems. Thanks to the virus, unfortunately, I got the needed time to put it into good shape. I am drunk as hell and quite happy. If you find my work worthy of being read, I hope that you buy a copy and read it as and when you can. Thank you all for sticking around and reading my words. It already means a lot to a nobody like me.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

    If you are on instagram, do follow me there by clicking here.

    – tomic riter

  • The winds not so pleasant.

    the mad winds are back
    back mad and dry
    back one evening
    from a flooded coast
    I slip in the midst of a desert
    and they come here
    they come here all mad
    and find me with my head up
    and my legs open
    they grab me
    by my hair
    and on the iron railing
    I imagine hitting my head
    they come
    the mad winds
    and fill my gut with dirt
    I find a light
    a glow of light
    it is not somebody’s home
    it is a light fallen
    out of a home
    and onto a windy vacant street
    and I look at it
    as I keep getting punched
    by the mad winds
    that have found me.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

    Follow me on instagram. Click here

  • Once again through the act.

    The day before yesterday, I started second round of editing of my first book of poems. The first round I finished quite a while ago, like two weeks ago. Yesterday I could read again with a fresh eye and I was actually able to catch some more silly mistakes. So that went well.

    The poems keep growing as of now. Something more keeps getting added. I thought that I would become numb to my own poems on reading them again and again, but that is not happening. Strange. Really.

    Last two days brought a pleasant weather and it is that weather that helped me in going through my poems one more time. I am grateful to the winds for blowing. And of course great music. It is always there for me.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

  • On going back inside that rusted chamber.

    a green piece of island
    in the middle of a brown desert
    a watchtower on the island
    not very high
    its light flickering
    a flickering white light in the middle of a desert
    is it a signal to somebody?
    or is it just faulty?
    it flickers day and night
    is anybody else paying attention to it?
    how would I know
    while it flickers, I watch it
    that is all I do with it
    whatever little life is left in people,
    they are slowly coming back to it
    slowly but coming back
    coming back to it slowly
    I wanted the horrific days to last longer
    going back to life as before
    haunts me to a certain degree
    I walk away from the watchtower
    I think about it
    I imagine it flickering
    I imagine it rotating fast
    I imagine it flying in the air
    and finally bursting to pieces.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

    Just a little note. If you are on instagram, do checkout my account by clicking here . I write there sometimes. Thank you for reading my work. Stay safe!

    – tomic riter

  • What a what!

    what a vibrant black evening!
    what a wind!
    what a tree!
    what a clouds in what a sky!
    what a colours orange yellow and blue
    all turning grey
    what a grey sky it will be soon!
    what a white lightning!
    what a kid getting blown away by the wind!
    what a smell of fresh rain
    gone before night
    you are slow, what a slow you are!
    almost disappearing
    I am too, not as much as you
    but I am too
    again, what a wind!
    what a sky without colours!
    what a mute thunderstorm!
    again, what a rain
    and it is falling
    what a murmuring of boring women!
    what a boring play of blabbering kids!
    what a boring crow
    flying back to its tree!
    what a useless me
    watching and hearing all this!

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

  • All this dryness and you.

    The Big Dipper is right there where it was yesterday. A full spin has completed and that, among everything else, is still right there. Hanging. Swinging. Laughing at me from far. Laughing at my tiny miseries. Shining like a monster. Lifeless winning over Life. I am a mad man listening to Beethoven. His Sonata 14 is crushing my heart as I listen to it. I have no feelings in the manner in which you have them. Usually, I have no feelings. In this night, I am half on fire for no reason. I am looking at things and finding no pleasure in them. I am half on fire for you. Sweating at places. I am looking at things and the brightness that they are trying to emit and how fast all of that brightness is getting sucked by this nothingness, by you not being here. Where are you. I wonder that. Where are you. My single wondering for tonight. Where are you. Where are you. I have an idea but I do not know.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

  • Why all this and how many times.

    Wheels on a street. Wheels of a boy knight. Wheels cracking like firecrackers on this steamy street. He is a warrior getting beaten by his mother. He is getting beaten by a mother on a warm evening. A mother is beating him like he should not be beaten. It is a warm evening, an evening without any pleasantness, and the boy is getting beaten. He deserves a better treatment but look at him. Better, look at his mother and her hardwork. She is tired but she continues. On this warm evening which is nothing much, an unnecessary act of mild violence is getting committed. In the middle of that act, he flees. He is gone while his mother’s hands keep beating the air. He is gone on his round wheels, that boy. Gone. Gone with other rascals. He is around the corner and he turns away and he is gone.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

  • What have you made me look like.

    what am I to you
    a toy maybe
    I fall on you and you hit me,
    hit me and in the other direction
    I go
    my scalp is bruised
    my arms bruised
    I fall on you again
    and my bruises touch you again,
    and sooner than I can think,
    I am rushing in the other direction
    again
    my bruises are deepening
    while you are laughing
    while I am falling on you
    again
    and again
    what am I to you
    your last joy
    before you become of this darkness
    I am rolling on mud
    I have fallen on mud,
    and now I am rolling on it
    and now I have stopped rolling
    but where are you.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved

  • Out of no fucking where.

    an evening with its stars
    and all that hanging up
    and all this lying carelessly on
    these streets and these roads
    shimmering lights miles away
    or is it my eyeballs cracking
    imagining in turmoil what is quiet
    I listen to the gibberish of an asshole
    whom I have never talked to
    whom I have never seen
    he is talking without stopping
    nothing stopping his talking
    not these serene winds
    or this clear sky
    or this old corpse of a lady
    sitting next to him
    eating stones
    nothing stopping him
    I was talking to Dostoyevsky
    it was a talk going all fine
    and then that asshole jumped right
    in the middle of it
    in the middle of this evening
    that was going all fine
    before that asshole
    decide to open his mouth
    and then decided
    to never close it
    and now all that
    which was going all fine
    I wait for its return.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.

    A QUICK UPDATE ON THE BOOK

    Finished the first round of editing. I thought it would take a week, and a week is what it took, so that’s good. Second round of editing, I plan to start soon. That’s all for now. I thank you for hanging around and reading my words.

    – tomic riter

  • Poem number Fourteen was fun.

    Almost halfway through the first round of editing my first book of poems. My nameless book of first poems. I have come to realise that editing is more than proper punctuation and correction of silly grammar errors. And I am glad that I have realised this through my own experience and not via a dumb guidance book. I thought that editing phase would be phase of frustration, of getting shit done quickly, anxiously. I guess that is a general perception on editing. I have found the editing phase to be quite interesting, immersive, much more immersive than the times of first drafting. It is like I am polluting my poems in my own way. I enjoy doing that. A windy evening is what it is right now. Soon the insects come to bite me. I hope they die on their way to me because the wind here is just too good for me to be anywhere else in this moment. I want to savour these winds while they are still blowing.

    © Copyright 2020 Tomic Riter. All rights reserved.