When the sun is down.

When the sun is down
allowing the moon to be seen
and the curtains closed
it’s time to reset our eyes
plucking one out
then the other
placing within a cup of saline
keeping them moist and plenty watered
remembering where they come from
who they belong to
what they’ve seen
and if another in the morning
finds them first
the liquid they slept in
will eat through the finger tips
of the one that woke up first.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

The quilt forms on defined terms.

Crafted with familiarity
words embroidered metaphorically
reads quite evenly
shifting through each plea
as the quilt forms
on defined terms.

The scraps blended evenly
for the eyes in the sea
as the lake house opens a window
the crafter hears the cries of a weeping willow
clutching the quilt upon them self
shall they place it upon a traditional shelf
and render their thoughts
to a pattern often taught?

The chill in the room
awoken a vacuum
bursting out of the wardrobe
with components from across the globe
the crafter leaped as a shield
the scraps cannot be cleaned you must yield!

Bruises upon their head
their hand lifted as they read
pain erupting an internal infliction
the art of the accumulated whole is fiction
all the recommendations are fleeting
and the crafter is left wheeling.

Quilt clutched and folded tightly
held in their arms as they sped ever rightly
to the sea
they stop without a word of please
quilt unfolded and held high
the crafter looking down to sea and up to sky
quilt dropped
as the crafter stomped
crying at the ugly monstrosity
the sea picking up at high velocity.

An image in the waves
flickering ready to save
the crafter kicked the quilt forward
with full force as the image moved toward.

I invoked a ritual for this shit
take it witch
and keep my soul for I’d rather be soulless
than promise more and give less.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Her skates slid across the ice.

Her skates slid across the ice
keeping a pace simple and nice
as her head tilted upward
apart from the visuals downward.

A spiral descending her
as those that laid beneath began to stir
and she began to regain balance
amongst the audience invasive glance.

She had fell
uplifting herself yet the judges would tell
if she was to take place amongst the crowd
or beneath the ice silent and no longer proud.

Their eyes stitched open
and their lips forever swollen
an eternity of a life within the sea
of souls trapped, bounded, and never free.

Their souls forced within their bodies
never shedding, tethered and wobbly
lips pressed amongst ice
as they no longer struggle for life.

A sacrifice is the loser
and the winner the butcher
with their skated blades
they allow the losers life to fade.

Tonight as she laid upon the ice
she accepted her fate without fight
as her neck was sliced open
her end would be an event of high price.

Her soul barely rose
as the audience set in a dreadful pose
the winner unable to satisfy the crowd
went down as another member of the unproud.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

She lined them up.

I’ve been trying to work on ideas for horror stories and such, the poem below is a poem to gather my thoughts and possibly build on. If your not into morbid content it probably isn’t something you will like just a warning.

She lined them up
in a matter that was rough
as she shouted out
It’s all in your head so don’t pout!
You’ll do our country a great service,
on your knees now don’t refuse this.
I said on your knees!
Don’t bother crying please
I have no remorse
I’m here to fulfill the course
and I said down
I don’t give a shit if you wear a frown
I said down on the ground
as if we’d over look a coup.
Whichever way
tonight is it, there isn’t another day.

She smiled,
if you want to run
I’m up for the fun
it’s all in here
every bit you fear.
She hit her own head
I know every word of the dead,
I know your moves, your inner thoughts,
the betrayal of being caught
there has been many I fought
but the fucking high
I’ll never let it pass me by.

She chuckled as she held up the gun
several more appeared ready to stun.
She looked over at the man beside her.
No! She yelled they’re like lobsters
they must be alive as they boil
in the scolding river wrapped in a coil
and as they scream
we must not fret over being mean
it’s not cruelty to drain their knowledge
their power and their courage
it’s a service and they are for the pickin
as their outer shells aren’t thicken
and as we bathe in the boiling river
our skin only grows thicker
and reddens
as we slip the syringe within their craniums
and sip that in which evolves our brains
as we stake our claim.

Thank you if you read the poem and got to here. If your into horror you might be thinking yea that really wasn’t that morbid or maybe not I don’t know. Everyone has different tolerances and interests. Anyways the poem was a gathering of thoughts for a more modern take on a Zombie. Rather than decomposing flesh, and running around without logical thought. Unfortunately I have fell victim a time or two to the whole Zombie craze although at this point it feels overplayed. Therefore I’m always thinking of a different spin in which the zombies are evolved humans with strong skin, and to keep their brains from going rotten they need brains. Although they aren’t entirely savage cracking open skulls and walking around mindlessly screaming Brains Brains. Instead they insert needles within the brains of the common human extracting their knowledge and shooting it within themselves.
Thanks again for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

The artist stands within the studio.

The artist stands within the studio
walled within the vitreous humor
peering out through the pupils
hiding their self from the models
as the artist sketches
thousands a day.

Faces are sketched quickly
the more often the faces appear
the more vibrant the sketches turn.
As the faces slip out of view
slowly the image fades
and the artist
smudges the paint splatters
trying to capture
what once was familiar.

In time the artist begins to tire
collecting all the pieces off the floor
the studios curtain begins to close
lights out
and the artist struggles
to grab each piece
smudging parts
altering the faces to be retained
within their memory.

Off to the museum
the tired artist goes
decades upon decades upon decades old
the walls are full
and the dust has collected
the artist tired
begins to dust
missing specks.

At least once a decade
its time to rummage through
burning pieces of art
allowing space
for new faces
as others become forgotten
because space isn’t infinite.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina






Three light bulbs

Three lightbulbs
one snaps
feeling fully heated
leaving splinters of glass
touching the heals
of the busy feet
stomping by.

A piece slips within their skin
leaving the slightest of impact
and droplets of blood
and the feet
although scarred
they kept going
they kept running.

The lightbulb
simply replaced
quickly erased
the mark
of the over heated light bulb
slowly vanishes
and the shards of glass
they were swept up
taken out
and the reason
remains unknown.

The feet are often to busy walking
to catch a dim light
before it flickers
before it explodes
after they’re to busy
to ask why
rather they sweep the pieces
replacing the broken
and rationalizing
that an over heated bulb
is destined to explode.

Although had they stopped
and allowed their eyes to open
they could have untwisted the bulb
before the mess able to occur
and prevented the pain
that accompanies an explosion.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Their heart was full.

They wanted to heal their heart
and mend the wounds.
They began by cutting a line
and prying open another chest
with a latex glove
to keep it sterile.
They tore it off their hand
which was recently washed and pure
allowing a finger free
placing a finger tip
amongst the heart
feelings its warmth.
They allowed their finger to move up and down
with the beats
feeling a sense of remembrance
of a time in which
their own heart was whole.
Soon enough they will feel that
grabbing the right instrument
they stabbed it several times.
Screaming how does that feel
to be open and exposed
left with holes?
They smiled
knowing when it was over
their heart would be full once again
as they ripped off a piece
and a few more.
The pieces they ripped off
they began inserting
in a tiny hole within their own chest
sticking their finger deep within it
holding each piece
waiting for the nibble and another.
Their heart was full once again
at the expense of another.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Just one hug.

An old worn out bear
with one button eye
and broken stitches for a mouth
laid in isolation thinking to itself.
Just one hug,
why do they no longer have the time?
I am worth one hug.
The bear thought about it
shaking itself loose
from its dusty spot
under the bed
there was little light down there
and as it came up
its little button eye
was stunned by the sun
coming from the window
where the curtain had a hole.
It looked around
and found it
the perfect solution
to its problem.
It needed a hug
snuggling was its specialty
and nobody wanted to snuggle.
The bear could fix that
grabbing a long rope like belt
hanging from a hook on the door
it made its way down the hall
and out to the kitchen.
It waited till the grownup
had its head turn
to the coffeemaker.
The bear climbed up an old kitchen stool
as the grownup stayed distracted
it pounced with the rope like belt
strangling the grownup till their eyes bulged out
and fell to the floor
and as the bear had done many times before
it crawled besides the body
allowing for an everlasting snuggle.



I asked my husband for a topic suggestion to write about. Snuggling was his response. How demented am I that the first image that popped in my head was a demented teddy bear? Being me I always need to dive within why, why would a teddy bear want to harm someone. Maybe if it was hugged more. Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Unseen by the eyes of their host.

Stabbing its needle like mouth
through the leathered layers
and releasing its particles inside
allowing them to fill within this vessel
swelling inside the pores
mixing with the bacteria
that already breeds
within this place
birthing a new complexity
a variant with greater abilities
that’s released as the vessel sneezes
and spits upon a patch of Earth
and these little monsters
their needles are much larger
and their intellect
is a step above
as they scurry about
unseen by the eyes of their host
for their hosts
take off their collective lenses
and set off to sleep
when these little monsters
come out to feed.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina

Look at the time.

I’m not alone
and I’m as happy as I allow
for each happy thought
has a coating of gloom
because some minds
are incapable of smiling all the time.
When the world itself
is dying
and the brain knows it will die
and forgetting that
is impossible
a fact I cannot erase.
Yet there are motivational sayings
in which I ignore
because smiling all the time
would be a lie.
I’m not always happy
up beat
I don’t wake up with a skip and a hop
more like shit
look at the time
I have chores
I have thoughts to release
and I must write it down.
As I do the dishes
and balance an entire life
and as others
the moments to myself
are short.

Thanks for reading.
-Temperamentally Tina