Wherefore! i has’t scrumbl’d mine own scridgets searchin’ f’r that keyhole spy
i has’t seen bef’re, his malevolent seekin’ eye!
azure as the beastly heavens
That roof our heads
is yond bluest abyss that sits within his cav’rnous pits
many a m’rn has’t i awoken with grumbl’d gumption
how i shouldst calleth this ang’r quits
but th’re upon mine own beadin’ sweat of brow i scrumble up a fetchin’ frown
findin’ nay whimsy to yond spid’ry fiend and the webs that he hast and yet to weaveth!
Author: Matt
On The Apathy Of A Banal Life
The following was written for this weeks W3 linked here
All sundayfied in funeral raiment
each like wilting angels trumpets
noses down in pursuit of frolic and folly
vicissitudes of restlessness
poke from beneath the skin
startled by the suns dim-witted banality
into frenzied parodies of butterfly wings
skirting and fluttering to dashing urgencies
yet never quite with the tenacity to breach fully, the surface
and in solemenity to our trivilialities
we cut ourselves to the quick
Nodding Daises
A white
Tremble of daisies
Nodding buttercups oblige us
On and through
Trickling creek lulls us into sleep
A birds eye view all is still
Painted
Written for W3
Whiskey On The Rocks
Forlorn in fog
Must i muster a beam or two
to save you?
Well, I am short on keepers
So…
I suppose…
Listen…
By the by
I’ve seen men such as you
hermit crabs with abandoned faces
And spiral upon spiral staircases
behind concave eyes
Leading to God knows where
It certainly isn’t heaven
Wherever it is i’m afraid we’ll lose you there
So bring your hollowed self
And rock up with me
And please, call me Whiskey,
Thats lighthouse humour, you see.
Inspired by W3 prompt
Shame
The sun blazed through the blinds as if in morbid curiosity to see this desecration of a shrine. These rumpled sheets, roses to which we were the thorns.
We had torn from each of our faces that facade of british stiff upper lips, the proof of it underneath our nails. We felt stripped of our masculinity, laid bare there under the dust motes gliding effortlessly just as the rush of bitter embarresment gushed in our heart beats. The mirror framed us, holding us in contempt for our mimicry. We had been restless, we were not the men we hoped to be. We shared our shame with the silence of hunched shoulders.
Pyjamas
Folded neat
By hospital bed
Postman pat
Pyjamas
Cotton comfort for heart break
Laundry, homely smell
This is written for W3
This is a moment in my life, a memory, perhaps even my first.
Sunday whirl
We’re all tremble edge
messy ghosts in the flesh
left to settle
in step
the way the sea erodes rocks
our shelters as fragile as the rose
Rage
My eyes are spinning a wreck
And my heart is reeling the deck
I’ve become spider
And i’ve got you in my web
Or its the other way around
I need you to get out of my head
I’m possesed
I’m scared i’ll do something I regret
I’ve never hated like this before
But looking back there are plenty
That left me hurting, hung out to dry, empty
Yet you fuel my ire like no other.
I dont get it, i’m not a violent man
But i see you or hear you and there is this silent violence exploding inside, blasting me to shreds.
I’ve heard it all now
Let it go
Forgive
It hurts you more than it does him.
But my mind has become inflamed with rage
and this beast that has grown is shaking at my ribs
Like i’m a cage
I resist but that only makes it stronger
And if I stop, i’m scared of this fuckin’ monster
What if he runs unleashed, stops grinding down my teeth and gets into my fists
What if i go on screaming, frothing at the mouth
And never stop till i drop dead
what if i let go of this muzzle and he tears into you
God, i’m Frankenstien
I’ve seen it now
I’ve created a monster
I’ve seen him
In the mirror
rolling boulders down my face
Little parts of me, chipped away
I wrote this a few months ago while feelimg extremely bitter and angry, I wrote this to get it all out then pushed it aside. Was reading through some of my latest attempts to write to see if i couuld find any lines to inspire something to write when i found this and thought, nah i’ll keept it as is so here it is.
Melonephant
There was a melon on a chair
I dont know what it was doing there
But there it was as round as a square is square
It was like the elephant in the room
No one aknowledged it was there
I said, ‘there is a Melon in that chair’ I pointed, ‘whats it doing there?’
And everyone turned to look at me
And not the melon on the chair
Begrudgingly Human
Crouched behind my face
Tightening the seams of the masks that suffocate my screams
I’m all outta love
Empty full of hate
No more thread to be spun
To weave the tapestery of fate
Its all just too much
Being begrudgingly human
When all i want to be is…..
Existintial absence…..
