I am a poet who has both been published and self published. All work on this blog is all copyright Alex Ness. While I make very little money from my work I am technically a professional. Measuring by the hours I've written I am professional. My goal is to share my work with as many people that can read it, as far as the internet may reach with it. I hope if you are moved you will share this blog with others, and perhaps buy my books.

Whatever the result, thank you for viewing this blog. I cannot express how greatly I appreciate the many people, from many places upon the earth, who have visited.

I bid you peace.

Je ne regrette pas la douleur, il a m'a rendu plus fort.

Friday, July 31, 2015

Until October 1, 2015 HIATUS

I have a great many health issues that make my attention to writing anything very difficult.  I haven't yet pulled out of the depression I slipped into last August when my friend Cathy died by her own hand.  Defeating cancer should have led to a celebration, but instead I've felt only pangs of guilt, darkness and hopelessness in the face of the other health issues I have.  My guts are mess.  I need something to change, perhaps surgery, perhaps other stuff.  I have migraines, but the medicines work.  And I have back issues and hip and tail bone issues that limit my ability to exercise my self back into health. 

So I thank you for reading my blog, and for your support.
I will return in a couple months.

Thursday, July 30, 2015

Abyss hopping

In the heart
Of the silence
Of the darkness
 When allowed to stare
Into my abyss
 I confessed
Uncertain inside
I existed in a world
Where I am struggling seeing
My mind's eye gone blind

My body is broken
My mind is shattered
But still I am human
And I feel
Sorrow and joy together
Anger and anguish
In single body
One flesh
Confluence of many minds
Many feelings
Striking different emotions
Languish in the depths
Of a soul
Never to vanish
Until exorcised

 By death

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

Songs From the Lunatic Choir

  They mean to steal
The fire inside my soul
The pain inside me
Bites, it is so cold
The rains are not forgiving
A January thaw warms nothing
Clouds burst, thunder crashes
Showering down ice
Cloaking my wings
With frozen pain
I’ll never fly
My life is ashes
Going insane
The asylum’s choir
Will sing
No second chances
Life is not sacred
No truth, no beliefs
No redemption
Scarlet colors
An empty canvas
But now
We are cast
As members
Of the final mass
No ransom
No promises granted
Cursed existence
Beneath the weight
Of the soul stained
Crimson covered glass

“And, drunk with my own madness, I shouted at him furiously, 
"Make life beautiful! Make life beautiful!”   
Charles Baudelaire

Monday, July 27, 2015


Fall the final curtain 
I am frozen in pose
My life was choked
Air drawn out
In every breath
Kept my head 
Beneath the surface
Again your words 
Leave me worthless
I float there
Without air in my lungs
Or life in my heart
Hover in utero
Waiting to birth
After one of my deaths
You can kill my soul
Leave me unwhole
But I will not die
Nor relinquish my flesh
My soul floats in ether
Shelter inside
Asylum's chimes
My mind
Nothing in me
Ready to survive
 What is left
But dying
When our lives 
Are toys for the masters

Sunday, July 26, 2015

Ares and his children

“A good trumpeter has the power to rouse fools into making slaughter”

“To plunder, to slaughter, to steal, these things they misname empire; and where they make a wilderness, they call it peace.” 

Publius Cornelius Tacitus

His children Phobos and Deimos follow his lead
Ares is impatient but enjoys their company
The acts of war involve fear, terror and bloodlust
And they act in unison
Father Ares, lusting of blood, desirous of hate
Slaughters his enemies, rouses his allies
His actions bring a conclusion
The bodies lay dead in a pile
In a ruddy confluence
A red pond of entrails
And viscera
Soon the dead are forgotten
By all but family
All but those who shared their lives
But now they lay bloating with their flesh rotten
And the morning after 
Sees the crows circle
Screaming at the humans
For their folly
And the souls of the departed

“Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold;
Even them who kept thy truth so pure of old
When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones.”

John Milton

“And it came to pass, when Joshua and the children of Israel had made an end of slaying them with a very great slaughter, till they were consumed, that the rest which remained of them entered into fenced cities.”

 The Holy Bible

“It is a day we remember systematic slaughter of over a million of our innocent fellow Rwandans, an orgy of bloodletting unprecedented in the history of our nation.” 

Paul Kagame

Friday, July 24, 2015

Gratitude for being Rescued

“I have drunken deep of joy,
And I will taste no other wine tonight.”
 Percy Bysshe Shelley

In the darkness I was alone
And then you found me
I lingered in the pain
Of life
And then you saved me
I worried that I would fall
And you lifted me
Echoes of my grieving
Existence had hurt me
I was wounded
But no longer
I might tremble in the night
I still scream
During dreams
Nightmares linger
Still but
Fear doesn't rule my life
Because you give me hope
You give me the strength
To survive
Your love gives me more
Than the pain takes away
The days are endurable
And the nights I survive
Because with you I have
More truth to fight the lies
As a child I believed
I'd be alone
I would always despair 
I needed you
Never thought you'd appear
A needle in the haystack
Confusion suddenly cleared
I would never have been able
To rise above without you
By my side
I love you
Only you
You are the reason
I go on
And that I am alive

1 Corinthians 13:1-13 

"If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal. And if I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give away all I have, and if I deliver up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing. Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; ... "

Wednesday, July 22, 2015

The Gloaming

The beauty of the new dying light
The world set fire by the birth of night
The cloud caught remnants
Shed by fleeting waking hours
Day turned gaunt
Working world wakes at dawn
While the world sleeping will haunt
The dreams and spawn
New stories to tell
In the green glory found
Every night
In the gloaming

A passing ship cuts through the water's surface
Separates the waves and the calm
In the darkness the moon's light
Can be a holy chalice
Here upon the water it shines
Like a distant guidepost
Reminding us of her nearness
Despite our being earthbound
And possessing no wings
To fly
Forever perhaps
But we can appreciate
The passing light
Of the gloaming

Staring upwards
Alone in solitude
Wondering if I am alone
Just watching 
The moon rise
And the sun die
As if some mysterious being
Changes roles, crossing
Over to take the guardian role
Of the watch
Over earth
Made more beautiful
In this
The gloaming

Silent but for a strange knocking
It echoes along with a washing
Of waves and wake against the walls
There is a calm here
Between the harmony of the sky's beauty
And the water's rhythm
It is broken only by humans
And rare, broken acts
That speak their own language
And the peace can only hope to help
Because unspoken broken hearts
Never know the answer
Even in the gloaming

“It is a grave injustice to a child or adult to insist that they stop crying. One can comfort a person who is crying which enables him to relax and makes further crying unnecessary; but to humiliate a crying child is to increase his pain, and augment his rigidity. We stop other people from crying because we cannot stand the sounds and movements of their bodies. It threatens our own rigidity. It induces similar feelings in ourselves which we dare not express and it evokes a resonance in our own bodies which we resist.”  Alexander Lowen

“But when one does not complain, and when one wants to master oneself with a tyrant’s grip — one’s faculties rise in revolt — and one pays for outward calm with an almost unbearable inner struggle.” Charlotte Brontë

Tuesday, July 21, 2015

When the Dead will Dance

Danse macabre
Dance death dance
The harvest of the human crop
Begins anew with every day
My bones rise
Follow in the line
Of dancers and the dead
They cannot stop
The parade goes on
And walking bones 
Are not in pain
They neither mourn
Nor do they sob
The parade of the dead
Marches on 
Whether to heaven
Or oblivion
They march together
Whatever they've achieved
Whoever they are 
Society might believe
That they are important
Or that they are not
But death is a democrat
And takes everyone alike
We might wish to live
We might be happy to die
Kings, Paupers, Knights, Beggars
Are the human harvest
Time to say good-bye

Monday, July 20, 2015

When Night Falls Upon the Earth

She is lovely
But not an enigma
Her ways are not mysterious
She is divinity
Never missing her duty
She is fearless
Her movements are willowy
Her duty to earth
Unspoken but deep
She looks upon the globe below
And when the moment
Is appointed
Her veil falls
And day's light ends
A gray for time
Traps the last light
A gloaming exists
Between day and night
And soon
Her black veil
Has covered the world
She mourns her lover
When the morning begins
But he will return
When the appointed time 
Happens again
And he waits
For her embrace
And in her heart
She burns
To embrace him
Again and again

"To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting."

e. e.  cummings

"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night."
Edgar Allan Poe

She Walks in Beauty

By Lord Byron (George Gordon)
She walks in beauty, like the night
   Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
   Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
   Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
   Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
   Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
   How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
   So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
   But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
   A heart whose love is innocent!

Thursday, July 16, 2015

My Love Isn't Less Because

If you tell me that
You don't love me
It will hurt
My love will become unrequited
But it doesn't mean it will end
If you tell me that you hate my name
You cannot stand me
My love will remain
Because love doesn't diminish
By the hand of others
I am not able to love
Only if I am loved in return
I am only then loving
For the reward
I love because I do
No matter how it might burn
Either in my heart
In some bitter regret
Or in my grieving soul
Because I am not loving
In order to be loved
Love is not capricious
Nor a whim
If it ends for any reason
It might well be a lesson
Because I will not forget
What my heart has done
I can only follow
And remember
I will not lament that I loved
Only that I am wounded
I will learn to be moved
From the mercy of the moment
When my heart reached out
And try to reject the sorrow
Of the pain
And remain
With a love unspoken
I won't love less
Because my love
Is not an emotion
It is life

Wednesday, July 15, 2015

Chains of a Slave

In chains from the beginning
A slave has no shame for his birth
Yet he has to account
For this curse
The chains keep me from flying
Breathing and growing
Yet I have learned
I can become master
Of the sky
By how I determine
The fashion in which
My dying
And how I live
By my choice
To lose the chains
Or embrace
Them around my body
For now and ever more
I can stay upon the earth
Safe and never tested
Or I can loose these chains
From my feet, and wings
And soar
And lose sight of the ground
It is my choice
My will
For the one
I call my King

Tuesday, July 14, 2015

I am a Stain

Maybe I am simply an infection
A bubbling virus or a bacteria
Causing death or damage to the brain 
Perhaps I am a disease 
Pulsing through the veins
A non-specific cancer
A disease of the heart
A strain of evil
Or a human stain
Because I know I am hated
I am someone unwanted
Abandoned at birth
Ignored and thrown away
Thought to be an idiot
An imbecile

Left to drain
Told to be quiet
In the silence of a life
Where everyone is allowed
To speak, to share
I am not proud
For I am a stain
And it is time
To leave
Drain my shadow
Leave no image
Empty my humanity
Pour down the red rain

I am a simple stain
Upon the white flag
Of surrender
No one will remember
That I was ever 
Ever here
But for the stain

Society has shown me
It has told me
It owns me
But to them
I have no use
Society cannot understand
A being like me
Who refuses chains
But refuses also
To play the hierarchy
The societal games

I am human and therefore
I possess value
I am unique
I was made different
I was made to be more
To the tribe
To the hive
To those who think
Someone like me
Is a being who is arcane
To the greater number
That judges me
I am worthless
Yes, I am a stain
And nothing can wash me
Except on the inside