Poem After Poem
  • Poetry by Finley
  • Who Writes This Stuff?
  • Poetry by Finley
  • Who Writes This Stuff?

Poetry By Finley
There's a lot of poetry on here. Happy, sad, funny, horrible, and terrifying.
But it's all poetry, and it's all mine
And I'd love to share it with you
So give it a read!

“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.”
― E.L. Doctorow

I Don't Know What To Write

1/13/2025

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I have started a dozen different poems today.

Don't ask me how many crumpled papers line my floor
Or how many pens I've drained of ink.
Not sure I've even kept count.
'cause maybe if I don't remember,
The ghosts of unfinished drafts won't haunt my dreams tonight.

Knowing me, the pile won't stop growing.
Not as long as ideas keep boiling and roiling between my ears.
Only a lack of thought will freeze my hand and silence my pen.
What a lonely, empty night that would be.

Whatever ends up coming out today
Has at least a few lines in it
And maybe some punctuation.
That's good enough, I think.

The ideas I can't formulate tonight can wait.
Of course, they will be back again to knock against my skull.

What I can always guarantee from this... hobby? Passion? Sometimes plague
Remains, that the struggle will be never ending.
I'll pick up my pen again tomorrow
To try and write another poem and instead
​End up staring at the blank page for a while, before anything even starts to come out.
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A Windy Tanka

1/9/2025

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The trees shake outside.
My cats and I watch them dance.
Do they know it's wind?
Or do they dream, the branches
are birds about to take flight?
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"The One"

1/8/2025

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People are always saying that they're looking for their "someone".
But of all the people I've asked for details from,
none have been able to tell me more than
they're looking for "the one".

Sounds to me that powerful magics are being worked here,
and I would guess the fae will probably appear soon.
That's what happened last time I sniffed around too near
the sharpened steel trap they were setting.
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Fiends of Fate

5/7/2020

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Dice clatter and roll.
We're at the mercy of these
merry fiends of fate. 
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Freely Given

5/6/2020

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The more ink that I pour from my hands
the thicker they feel, heavy with
a lack of motion, aching
with tendons all stretched taut,
drained of energy.
My stories take
What's freely
given
​them.
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Wake-up Call

5/2/2020

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Toughened boots come down
cracking the ancient bone floor.
The beast's eye opens.
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This Doesn't Make Sense...

4/18/2020

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I'm still here. Typing.
How am I still on one page?
*computer growls softly*
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Time? Wtf?

4/15/2020

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Another day gone
each second lasting hours-
huh? Where'd the week go?
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Dice

4/10/2020

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The dice go rolling, falling, stopping
on shapes that mean so much more than
just numerical figures.
Heralds of luck, life, death,
delivering wounds
of flesh, pride, wealth.
Never mock
the dice
​gods.
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Just Outside

4/8/2020

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Just outside winds blow
whispering of far off worlds
​I wish I could go
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    Finley Bramwell

    I love to write, and poetry is one of my favorite ways to figure out what my brain is doing.

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