Blake Leitch Poems

Fools and Kings

Where were you when you heard the news?
Were you watching Fox or CNN?
Making love with the one you adored?
Or was the cruciality something you ignored?

Well I was at the Ferguson,
a strange mix of foreign politics and friends,
when I heard the king yet still reigned.
Hope yet remains while the king remains.

A Picture Causes A Thousand Pains

I’m told I deserve it, happiness
and misery. But it simply
cannot happen. Technology,
geography, people and
imperfections in the way.
We know each other
better than ourselves,
and yet you remain a
mystery. Every cliche
you’ve ever heard is exactly
what you mean to me; the
cruelest being that all I want
is what I cannot have.

The Fashion Mistake of a Large Woman

It strains the seams,
pulling the material
beyond repair and
recognition.

The jelly seeps
overboard like
survivors escaping
to safer shores.

The effort that she
must take, squeezing
those things where they
cannot fit, it is

an incredible, nay,
a Herculean feat.
And what’s the point?
They’re just shoes…

Amber Ignorance

The amber afternoon
through the eyes of
the Devil’s dew.

Bluer than blue
in the eyes of
the grey barrier.

The talkings
of that specifically
ignorant, free zone.

Imagine if,
imagine if;
what if?

It’s theory and
music and
never in beers. *

The Old Man

The sun rises and falls
while a man past respectable
years drives his motorbike
from the parking lot. A
silver knight? No,
just the homeward bound
carriage of always. *

Nought but Gods

The Gods are before us,
our vision is smeared by power.
We hear their thund’rous call as
power is bombarded upon the senses.

They are the leaders to be seen,
the leaders to be heard, they are
those of and for promises of life.

They define our lives, the lives of our
children, wearing jeans and power ties.

But everybody shits.

Today

Maybes have driven me for all the time
I remember, a labyrinth of glass walls
and dead ends. Not able to tell whether looking through
to a happy tomorrow or a hopeful yesterday. The
voices in my mind, or of my mind?, keep me kept me
hoping and happy… almost masochistic. But maybes
cannot be held onto as will bes, the unsure cannot
define the definite. So I let go of the expectation of a
maybe while always holding hope in my heart. I am divided
at my soul; half full, half empty… more than the nothing it is.
The full hope will remind me of the yesterdays when I wanted
fuller tomorrows. The empty expectation creates a hole
that tries to fill itself with the Perfect Monster. But I hold on,
I do not let myself fall in any manner. I do not fall to the
depths from which I have climbed, I do not fall for
my heart and its hope. I rise to today.