To be ‘enlightened’ you must first realise that enlightenment is bullshit in the first place.
If you wish to further sophisticate yourself and emancipate yourself from your current form of humanity, become part of my harem by simply clicking the follow button.
We were each, the others kasak
with the walls painted in our dolour
A silence no heart can comprehend
And so came the hissing in our ears
A watched kettle never boils
You looked out the window
A dour expresssion on your face
A Tree too well studied never grows
The air clawed and clung between us
You heard it! As the crow flies
You motioned your hands into wings
Qaraar, that way we have never been
This was written for W3 where you can find the definitions of the title and the bold words used.
Freak out
Freak out, break out
Feel the rhythm, change face
Break out, freak out, snake out, slither
Schism
Written for W3
I will be okay
Which is of no comfort to me
Because I don’t want to be
See, the thing is if it were up to me i’d be soon before long
and I wouldn’t be a breath
or anything
And that would be my preferance
If it wasn’t for my cowardice
I carry this world on my shoulders
‘You can’t save the world.’ Says a voice in my ear.
I hold it in the hollow of my skull, smooth as a pebble worn by the babbling brook
Each syllable I have worn down
I have turned them till each edge is smoothed, childproof.
I know the words. I hear the words. I know what they mean.
but I don’t grasp them, quite.
I live under
where all sounds are shorn and clipped
dulled, distant.
Yet, clearly, I can hear my own eyes with each blink
clinking like coins.
Neon light spills over my dirigible head, reflecting back from the slick wet
pavement
beaming up to my twin coins
splitting my head into that ache I always carry.
The rain is cascading down like a waterfall.
Extreme weather events
Say that to someone
They don’t say much; they might even shrug their shoulders.
‘Don’t look up!’ I tell them.
They always look up.
They see nothing. They hear nothing. They look back at their screens.
I see it in the eyes of the wild
bewilderment.
I am too.
And each time I see that their freedom isn’t all that
that we each suffer in our own alien way
My head expands with a whimper
We expanded ourselves with the clang of hammers and tongues.
We clash, we break, we fix, we mend.
Stick a plaster over the gas leak from my dirigible head.
But what if not all things can be rooted
held secure, anchored, fixed?
I have seen girls with spiral eyes, staircases up to the light’ouse
Seen boys with ‘em too.
Irises gleaming white against bloodshot kintsugi porcelain plates
the white lotus pearl of electrical snow bleeding into all of us eyes
Lost in the splizer zeeth watching white noise in a tubers teeth!
Politicians smiling on TV with teeth for the radio
Roadkill badgers zipped past burred windows
a nation of nature lovers
and Tom foolery knows as much as fuck knows; ask him, he’ll tell ya.
You can’t save everyone
and it kills me.
Every. Damn. Time.
The window
Raindrops making tracks
Treacled air
The window
Blurs peoples faces
Just shadow
Hospital
Spat me right on out
‘Good luck now’
Tom Chaplin
Sings my feelings, keen
Under iron seas
Written for W3 prompt
This was written using the words in this weekends Sunday Whirl
A silver moon wept velvet shadows
stone dry voices rattled against gourds
the drone of industrious clamour
and buzzin’ lights rebound
clipped and curt
Childhood memories ripped and hollowed
As we crept by rust & echo
The spectre of death grinned behind my flesh
While my muscles dragged my lips into a frown
holding you in the grooves that etched themselves in my face
the memories of you behind tight lidded eyes
And before long you have become a summary
something no longer held or absaloute
abstraction pulls and pushes
And you ripple and fade
and I carry the burdern of this change
This silence that was here before you, but now its shaped like you
You were so small
yet the the sum of you was bigger than any whole.
My hands have since been washed
These same hands that held you
As your tiny heart slowed
And you slipped away.
I said, ‘i think he’s gone now’
And like that, you were gone
I said, ‘you’ve been my best friend’ and I lifted you to my face. I meant to say goodbye, i meant to say a million things.
But none was forthcoming.
Written using a few of the words from this weeks sunday whirl
Neon shapes your absence
on the slick cobblestone
my pulse startled into suspended animation
where the night never turns on its axis
Behind the silence comes the blue that comes with the sirens
as if we lived lives worth saving
the jazz band detonated music out into the street
And the wind whispered your name
And under the green-blue halo
I almost fall to my knees like cain
Don’t sell me hope.
I cant wait with baited breath.
Don’t tell me there is hope.
The most hopeful i’ve ever been is always simultaneously the most hopeless.
My heart cannot withstand more
I, who is, as ever, on a cowards walk
skirting the ledge but never daring to skip over the edge.
I wish to be dead.
I wish to be alive but without the grindtooth dread.
This guilt that pins my flesh to my skeletal passenger
waiting beneath
with its toothsome grin
to be free.
And what of this world
is there left to bleed?
If there ever was?
No. I am almost certain
this world….we pin meaning to it, in the trappings of pithy sayings.
Only because our birth cannot be undone
A fight to the death
on the priarie
Is a hot-shot way
to foot the reckoning
for the bright pink bloom of resurgence
knotted in perennial grass
Remembered in the dazzling dark silhouettes
the sun sets, an indifferent God
we wish upon
Written for Sunday Whirl
