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
Poetry
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
Highly Strung
The clouds hang low, rigid, like zeppelinz
We hang low from them, like marionettes
Though, no, I am not a puppet
But, yes, I suppose it could be said that I am
Yes, lets call it highly strung
They make us dance to a tune i dont recognise
I thought i knew it once
I thought it was a tune i once tried to write
Back when I was the apple in someone’s eye
I think a worm, or was it…
No, I can safely say it was a worm
Corrupted that someone’s eye
They look, but they no longer see.
I may have been, per’aps the worm that wriggled
Or, no, it jus’ ne’e was meant to be.
No, quite right, it was all a lie, ne’er have i felt such love
To lose and bid goodbye
But, i have felt such things!
I’m almost sure of it, though i’m not so sure it was me
Written for W3
B15 replacement
I ‘ad jus’ such a hunch
It was gonna be one of them rum ones
As i set to the bus station
And the B15 had only gone and been replaced
By a flippin’ stegasarus
Can ya believe jus’ such a disgrace?
”Ow am i meant to ride betwixt ‘is osteoderms?’ I asked
To not such as a mumbled reply
‘This bloody bus service is coprolite’
I shouted to anyone who passed me by
Written for W3
The world is too much with us
The pigeons cut diamonds in the trees
And the wind cut through in whispers
Telling all who would listen
What they they strained for it to be
But windows were sealed
And fences whistled
With forlorn decree
That pagan Gods had been trodden and outworn
And the world is too much with us; late and soon
We’ll always be
Written for W3
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 