Whispers

she felt like home,
but my home
was a destitute palace
of mixed feelings
and misunderstandings;
how many hearts shattered
within the confines of our walls;
broken dreams
and bruised egos

another dance to be danced
without knowing how to lead;
we veered and teetered
occasionally finding our footing
in the form of hopeful futures
and faraway places

Crafting similarities
like one casts spells in the dead of night
we sought out reflections
in pools of half-truths
but like deer in headlights
we could never fully grasp
the vastness of the painting

Though heartache and held hands
we wanted to climb mountains
and break barriers
free us from ourselves,
with writhing realities biting at our heels

We burned each other at the stake
shot blame like bullets
hid in the caves of our hurt
incapable of reaching up and out
beyond the stories in our bodies

In time, perhaps we’d have seen
each other
been able to meet somewhere
in the middle
instead of losing ourselves
in the distance

© 2026 Tashi Palmo All Rights Reserved

Seule – for C

loneliness is like a bubble

sometimes all we need
is for it to pop, Pop, PoP!
like a kernel in the microwave

at first, inert,

it doesn’t look like much
then, from somewhere deep within
a heated force of overwhelming power
shines through and breaks the shell.

© 2019 Tashi Palmo All Rights Reserved

Fabricated Sorrow

What is it, about being a woman
that drives us, to feel lust
nay, neediness, longing, expectations
of the opposite sex
to WANT, to need, to succumb
to loving us?

It’s like taking the first hit;
wanting every moment
to inevitably feel like the next.
A drug of the heart, a survivalist’s wet dream,
suddenly the nightmare of the other.

I loathe the void I’ve created
within the absence you’ve brought;
the coward who parades around
as a hearty lion, navy suit astounding
the driver of slumber long deceased
brought back to life in a dusty dream.

Nothing is everything,
it all resonates like bass hitting a temple
wishing for change, but unwilling to understand;
the dance slowly dies
as the reality of one love lost
bites the dust, of poetic abstinence.

Heed a lonely cry, in the distance
a single ring on a finger
symbolism of something so untrue
it might as well be dead.

I’ll die too young
to see the fruition of your honesty.

© 2019 Tashi Palmo All Rights Reserved

Loved – Ode to the Sea Pt. 3

Cry me to the Ocean
Accompany my words as they drift
Like sea glass, so beautiful and dull.
Sing me to the Storms
Caress my insecurities as they shift
Like babes sleeping, cradled by the lull.
Feed me to the Undercurrent
Destroy my woes with your gift
Like vultures, picking at the skull.
Take me to the Moon
Reflect on the depth of my tides as they lift
Like jagged rocks, smashing the hull.
Take me to the Edge
Hold my head under, make it swift
Like the drowning man failing to survive the pull.

© 2019 Tashi Palmo All Rights Reserved

Seen – Ode to the Sea Pt. 2

Staring out at your infinite nature
The melancholy of the World
Hits like a wave breaking on the cliffs
Vague memories sink into the abyss
May the fish be their keep

Tides rushing out, like your dying breath
A waning moon rings the end, again
Luck has never been a better actor
In this infinite opera of life and death
Mere misunderstood moments
Brought to life by a laugh, a smile, a touch…
Lest we forget the beloved, cradled in the deep

You’ll be a part of me forever, standing true
A shimmering star, or a déjà vu.
I will always be me,
And you will always be you
No matter how deep the knife cuts
Or how much I break and weep.

© 2019 Tashi Palmo All Rights Reserved

Lost – Ode to the Sea Pt. 1

Increase the murmur of your roar
Unbound force of eternally shifting worlds
Let the tides roll on heartbroken mounds
Banks of tears washed ashore

Your beauty captivates, breathless
Rendering young boys old, and old souls agape
Time immemorial bows beneath your shadows
Power to harness a million mournful moons

Many a few have wasted away in your waters
Embraced by the depths of the unspoken
Cradled softly by the currents
Of old wounds, and songs of solace

Kneeling in your wake, the last respite
Trembling hands, bracing for the breaker
As the rage subsides, glistening in the sun
You’ve taken him back, gentle in your favour

© 2019 Tashi Palmo All Rights Reserved

Kronos Embraces

Time. Irrelevant.
Conventions. Irreverent.
A perfect longing,
Slow and steady belonging
To a world one cannot place.
Occult creations,
Reincarnating reflections,
Sweetly coveting passion.
Succubus in plain sight.
Steadily arousing genitalia
Mirrors of moisture,
Soaking through layers
Of existence.
Back up against the wall.
Bearing all.

!Gasp!

© 2018 Tashi Palmo All Rights Reserved