Shadow Crow/Like a Pencil

Shadow Crow/Like a Pencil

A Poem by R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

Two pieces that go together


Shadow Crow


I fumble around in the dark


For the doorknob


Opening the door to my heart


I write poems and throw crumpled pages at the wall


Hoping they’ll stick


My eyes glued to the back of my head


Hoping they’ll stick


In a pitch white plane of silence


The noise of nothing screaming


Pounding my eardrums like a heartbeat


The repercussions of never fitting into this jigsaw world


Just another piece of the puzzle


I hitchhike through the narrow hallway of my mind


Trying to leave the labyrinth like a lost bullet


A tripwire of many climbing the walls of my skull


The metal melody metallic melodramatic majesty


In the lone man’s banquet of sanctuary


Tragic tapestries trappings of rhapsodies rattling ravelled staccato


Reverberating mosaics playing permeating radioactive Rorschach orchestras


Strawman anguish vanquishing dangling pancreas ankle-weights knee-deep to waist


Holding heavy hate over his head like a pedestal


Remnants of emissaries vicariously lariat into a mountain of bodies


Twisting and turning and knotting until they become one


Tongue-tied spirals kaleidoscope the nightlights of vice-grip the psyche


As the people form together into the jigsaw I could never be


Fumbling around the doorknobs for the lightswitch


In an endless basement of swallowed stars


Where even the foundation of light lost its way before the end of the tunnel


And somewhere amidst this trainwreck, I am still alone


Sitting by the stairway, like a telephone line crow


Under halftone piano notes


I return to the dark as I emerge to the light


Two heads with the same skull


Talons of Valkyries scratching the vinyl surface of the abyss


The skin of the morning dew


Stretching taut across the trypophobic rockface of Gaia


Valhalla’s alleyway’s for clandestine valentines scraping homo-sapient


You cannot wipe yourself completely clean


And start anew


Everyone leaves a stain on this world


The fabric of history was once a white canvas


The sky is not only full of bright colours


There is no guiding light to walk towards


Without the existence of your shadow


There is no door


Without the same empty force, watching, entering


Wishing for both shadow and light to begin blurring together into art


The seeing of two eyes


Crisscross paths


Both wishing to be on the other side of the moon


Wanting, losing everything they left behind


I fumble around in the dark


And find my way inward and out


(Third eye blind)


Walking the line


The chalk angel in the black snow


The tightrope of a kaleidoscope


Somewhere between the light of my shadow






Like A Pencil

I hold my temper like I would a pencil


A graphite knife of nightlights abyssal polycrystalline chrysalis


Like the flare of a city-lamp in Ontario winters


Golden light glistens hanging over half-frozen newspaper scraps dancing amaranthine


Half naked figures of mannequins cast alabaster shadows, art galleries


Pirouette like deathless epitomes of marionettes predestined maleficent


Mimicking how the hands of the clock take their time


Every precious moment like a movement of maestros intertwined


Every conductor a trainwreck of emotions and music redesigned


Nocturnal murmurs of phosphorescence apostles stars aligned


And bathe my oasis in memories of the finest art


Rewinding and unravelling like a windmill of flower petals


I hold my temper like I would a pencil


How the hands of the clock take their time


Every precious moment like a movement of maestros


Every crescendo a conductor


A trainwreck of emotions and music


A speckled sepulchres’ nectar


A shattered horizon intertwined rewinding Ursuline scythe made poltergeist


A church giving birth to its circumcision


Hallucinations praising euthanasia


Hypothetical weatherworn pedestal of drowning arms called stars


Armageddons’s arpeggios woven into fourleaf clovers


In metempsychosis’s metamorphosis


Meteor chlorophyll primordial as the morning sun


The celebratory metaphorical oracle torments solar-flares in sporadic madness


The spores of rigour Mortis ornery cornucopia meandering propaganda of pandemonium


Chthonian custodian of embroidery’s planetoid void of comatose ambrosia


The bottomless mirage of entourage jawbone francophones become daffodils’ pathogens


The chandelier sulfuric lyrics mural dreary metallurgy of iceberg clergy surging divergent hurricanes


To maim in God’s good name all the same


Blessed by deathlessness etching phosphorescent embers of the resin of pestilence


Insane malaise allegations playground amalgamation down to the roundabout foundation   


I am so tired of playing a game that rules over me win or lose


Heaven’s escalators take a flight of stares watching from open windows


Cathedrals zebra zigzag skin-tagging shadows of stained-glass lightning ichor of kaleidoscope


I hold my temper like a pencil


Shaving hours of my life away, sharpening myself, scratching white black


Like a knife


A record-players needle


And every word is another scar


And every scar is another story


As what is a body, but an empty page?


As what is humanity but a book?


A false bible to quote and praise city skyscraper god’s of humanity’s sickness


Something to cling to


In an endless library of bountiful beautiful cruelty


I hold my tongue


(Like a pencil)


A whip I am hesitant to crack




© 2020 R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

Author's Note

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
I promise I read every single review, and I generally will reply to them. I look forward to my next review, because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be happy to hear anything you feel needs sharing. Whenever you write on my shortcomings or breakthroughs, or the themes of my poems, or share ideas and friendly criticism, it decides my next poem to an extent. I will listen, learn and be thankful. And 99% of the time, you'll get a reply unless you're trolling me.

My Review

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in art, I love charcoal and sketches even more so than paintings...there is more to the
watching black and white films..."scratching white black"
love that we cover the page with words...lead intruding on white skin...

"a record-player's needle" (apostrophe needed there)

wonder how many would read this and wonder what a record player is....excuse me while I play tunes on my ipad...
"and what is humanity but a book" reminds me of Will Hunting...and Sean saying that he could read a book of him but know nothing of him has to be can't just be memorized.
This is the third piece i am reading by you...really impressive...i am still digesting the others...
but You are an amazing poet, R.J.....
Thanks for the reads.

Posted 3 Years Ago

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

3 Years Ago

And thank you for sharing what you like about this poem. Means the world to me that you like my work.. read more
This poem feels like an epic journey. Holding things like a pencil is a very sharp (pun intended) metaphor.

Posted 3 Years Ago

R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

3 Years Ago

Hey Kari, thanks for giving the poem a read. Glad you liked it. :)

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2 Reviews
Added on September 24, 2020
Last Updated on October 11, 2020
Tags: pencil, like, a, shadow, crow


R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)
R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)

Burlington, Halton, Canada

Most of my poems can be differing lengths depending on the time you want to spend reading them. You can avoid reading anything brackets, or read it all. If you want an in-between, you can read only th.. more..