A meeting of words
a tap of the keys
our digitized selves
trapped in the looking glass
blue light eating our souls
divulging our secrets
into the systems eyes
never alone but always feeling so
or wishing you were
trying to paint over the cracks
too many years
to blink away the waste
lest the powers that be
might sample our misery
and find they like the taste
Author: Matt
Breath
Breath was drawn
leaving outlines of a life
but it occurred to me
as I fought my own chronology
time is a murderer
accumulating the lost
and so I wondered why I was hurrying
when he will get me anyway
and so I drew another breath
softer on the outline
much easier to erase
Sunday wordle: Beneath our civility a wry grin
I don’t need an umbrella
walking through this pseudo forest
as the leaves lose their leathery coating
blushing red as they blunder
as if embarrassed
by their fall
the elves of autumn
cleaning the trees
while the doves coo and woo
and the Jays covet a squirrels cache of acorns
and I, just a small part of the picture
walk and tumble through
pondering on the permanence
of our damage done like a tattoo
on the landscape while trying to find a place
non human to dispose of my civility
a wry smile hidden by a mane of hair
as I recognise I’m so much more at peace
without that polite formal mimicry.
Sunday wordle on a monday: That drowsy space
That drowsy space
between clarity and blur
a clear blue sky inside
the spacious open plains
inside the mind
every breath a wave
in the ocean that is the collection
of cells that is you
room enough in heart
to ride the tidal waves with grace
learning to surf
remembering the simple truth
that we all die in the end
so the meaning we seek
is the thing that holds us back
Sunday wordle: Doing nothing
Raindrops streaming down windows
fingers tracing a line
doing nothing
Slinking into the shadows
away from the fray
being idle, watching the rain
nothing to do, or say
no need to try
everything just is something
you’re not dazzled
like a moth
with all those blinding lights
glaring back from the sheen on the streets
like foxes eyes
the night a predator
sharp and free
but you won’t be the prey
in which it seeks
Wordle: I cry my land it’s tears
I cry my land it’s tears
touching the winter
in frost
the wheels of time having churned
our vigil to summer
burning in candlelight
Learning what living looks like
in winter time
when skeletal remains of leaves
dissolve into carpets of dirt
I didn’t manage to use all the words in the list.
I don’t know what this is
The clown pulled at his lips and folded them into a frown
before picking at the spot at the corner of his mouth
bursting a pimple
and then pretending to laugh
while his lips stayed true to his origami frown
in his eye sockets, he placed large pieces of coal
the fire in his eyes a mismatch
for the dullness of his misshapen body
stretching his feet into his shoes
he walked down the road
with a lot of scares to be made
Sunday wordle on a Monday: No prince
I picture her shimmering in the wind
sin, etched on her face
in the shape of a grin
disorderly conduct
a glimmer in her eyes
the girl without a name
always dropping by
and when she comes close
stories rise
about the miles and miles she’s been
looking for frogs to kiss
and now she knows there is no prince
Shared words: Poem 2 – Castles in my eyes
The reflection of castles in my eyes
take me away from this mundane life
the turrets marking the sunrise
my head a balloon floating on the clouds
down there on earth the sirens permeate our lives
a journey through emergencies
pulling the strings of our hearts
always being sold ‘discoveries’
with promise that it will be a new start
all that excitement of new eras
before they pull us apart
Sunday wordle: Children of the storm
We are the children of the storm
hung out to dry on the washing line
it’s all the fashion all the rage
to be outraged
a surge of hate
to counter our ‘revolution’
because we’re freaks
not ready for the role of human
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