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Ben Paynter

What It Takes To Be Heard

poem
after
poem
like little
raindrops
until

maybe
i make
a puddle

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I'll Let The Winter Blow

It’s a cold cold morning out there
But I, I wouldn’t know
My door is locked
My windows shut
I’ll let the winter blow

And there’s ice this time of season
But you, you will not be
The winter winds
The raging snow
Or ice inside of me

And I’ve heard my heart is frozen
But I, I wouldn’t know
My door is locked
My windows shut
I’ll let the winter blow

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Let The Fog Roll In

Let the fog roll in I say
From the mountains, and no tongue
Has told a lie it didn’t like
Nor sang a song it hasn’t sung

Let the fog roll in I say
I’d rather have it here than there
Atop that mountain with the snow
Where only birds can cut the air

Let the fog roll in I say
The sun has grown a boring tone
The streetlights make the shadows dance
And make the streets seem less alone

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Before Nightfall

sunset crashes down
on houses, I hear voices
of the day around me
the alarm clock from
this morning

“have you found
where you are going
to get gone, will you
go, choose wisely
this day is nearly ending”

I can’t choose
this day is over, the
voices are only
leaves falling
from trees

I walk into the sunset
still crashing down

[...] Read more

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O I've

lived a
life filled with
nights, all kinds
in rockers
held by wrinkling
hands, been in
and out of many
beds all sizes
shapes and
places, had
mothers and women
sing lullabyes
and drifted off
to a million different
dreams, tossed
turned and sweated
through them, all
of them even
the ones I don’t
ever mention. then

[...] Read more

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Kind Of Love Poem

there is the way
you sleep soundly
by the window with
the moon haphazard
crawling in between
the blinds. I asked you
before falling off to
sleep to please close
them “I can’t sleep
otherwise” I told you
“it’s too bright”, now
I can’t close them, it
would mean waking
the dead, instead I
am looking at old
pictures from the time
you told me, this
wasn’t a forever kind
of thing, now I’m
turning off the light

[...] Read more

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In The Midst Of My Sins

i wanted a poem
like some book
taken down and
dusted off opened
up like torn pages
from some script
“it should have
been written” like
this', I wanted a
poem with thick lips
big eyes and a
dove tattoo, early
words rising from
a throaty voice, two
drinks in, I wanted
a poem like this, hands
twisted sweaty
with praying, eyes
tight shut from
the light, I wanted

[...] Read more

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But When The Flames Of Fires Touch Your Eyes

The leaves are gone; the world’s gone to sleep
The grass is brown the earth is dark and bare
And if you look beyond that silent peak
Silence is there

Then in the morning when the world’s young
When all the children still sigh in their sleep
Before the fog is lifted from the ground
Silence creeps

But when the flames of fires touch your eyes
When everything you’ve loved leaves you alone
When even moons refuse to wax and wane
Silence moans

So I will walk upon this sidewalk loud
And sing old songs that have no melody
In hopes that with this lonely clamoring
Silence leaves

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The Will Of A Lover

Cover the ground with snow and white
Bury the town in soft moonlight
Watch the buildings flee from sight
On a lovers night

Chase the flakes with a windy blow
Wave them where they always go
Deep in wooded forest hollow
Where the trees dance slow

Lay us here, just her and I
Neath the snow and a lovers sky
Neath the snowflakes passing by
While lonely dies

Then let the trees and the moonlight sing
Let the snow and the cold wind bring
These flowers and stones to form a ring
And know that love’s not ending

[...] Read more

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This Bird, This Metaphor

There is the question of life and I
Questioned it again on my way to
The next town, somewhere in between
This place and wherever this road

Takes me, and I drew a bird once with
Only one wing and it flew in circles on
My page, around and around and finally
Gave up and sat just lead and lines

And now I follow these lines, this gray road
To another place where I will find yet
Another metaphor for life, it is a compass
Without a north, it is a lie without

A point, it is a grit toothed smile
It is a sunset without a moon, it is one
Step after one step, left than right, than
Circle and circle and slowly, slowly fade

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