Tethered to this space
The dripping of a tap
echoing time
Like a clock
But not fixed to chime
On the hour
Of every wasted moment
Just a drip of
Nothingness encapsulated
In baubles of water
Till it crashes down
Reminding us of being mortal
Author: Matt
QFF: Why do you follow me?
Hello readers.
I hope you’re all okay.
QFF (Question for followers), why did you click the follow button?
I’m curious.
Sunday Wordle: The village
The village swallowed you whole
And you became strangers
To the tribe you used to know
Even the best friends
As you spat on your hands and shook
A promise of brotherhood
Now everything quakes
In the balance
You thought friendship
Was made in stone
Your pride is hard to swallow
When your undoing was your own
Now you’ve a heart shaped hole
Waiting on the beating
Of another
“I will not,”
What is between the words will and not
is it an empty space
where in time you will soon be caught?
Did you protest enough before tying that knot?
Hanging loosely around your neck
In case you forgot
Was the floor beneath their feet an afterthought?
Gorilla asks: Righteous anger
Is there such a thing as righteous anger?
Feelings. I hate these pesky things. Honestly, I really fucking do. What use are they?
Ash
Your spirits splash
As ash
Washed away by the rain
After rings of smoke
From your lips
Forget their origins
And the stories
that once radiated
Through your limbs
Have snapped
Broken into orchards of bones
It’s me!
I’ve changed the name I appear as from M.J to Matt Johnson. I know it may seem an obvious change and, “I could have worked that out for myself,” but I just wanted to let you all know. Since I know the slightest change in a name puts me back on the list of ‘commentors that need to be moderated’ on sites i’ve commented on frequently. (frequently for me anyway….) So just letting you all know, it’s me.
Matt Johnson.
Sunday Wordle: Dave
He’s drunk on the sly
He snatches another bite
Too many fermented apples
Don’t tell his wife, she thinks she’s the only apple of his eyes
She don’t know he’s not fit to fly
She’ll have a fit when she finds out
He’ll have spun ‘er a yarn or two
But that’s just like our Dave
The sheer cheek of ‘im
I love ‘im all the same.
Flies
The flies buzz
In this oppressive heat
Not a care for your defeat
Flying above your head
Caring none for the bleak of your heart
They’re flying in the face of dark
Their buzz as if a laugh
Upon you, lying on your back
Trying to be dead
The flies were a glimmer of hope
It was true, you had begun the end
But even death disappoints
At this hour, my friend
Can a man dare to dream
Sit and listen to
The sound of the pitter patter
That abounds
Like constant white noise
Asserting no significant attention
Just the buzz of human relations
Like the wings of a bee
Humming the language of nations
Industrious working of this socialisation
Working its way through the psyche
Of many generations
While clowns look to the clouds
With wisdom in their jest
And hearts of lions pounding in their chest
Perhaps detained
But noticing every freedom
Has it’s own cage
And seeing that maybe
As caged birds flaps their wings
Can a man surely dare to dream?
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 