White noise space
liminal amplitude
I’ve seen in the screamin’ mouths
A quiet calm scream much too loud
A presence that stalks the afterwaves
Strings playin’ hearts
pulling them down to this snowfalled place
I’ve seen it
In brigthly lit TV speckled teeth
a blizzard left reddened
out of the mouths of babes
Out of which breezes the soarin’ spirit of violence storm
More clamour to the machine
Into which we were each torn
from our mothers breast
to become scorn
Poetry
Shrugged Like Grub
Slippin’ on me jester shoes
foldin’ meself a body to bemuse
faught the mud, got done proper good
smoked me up
like pigs in blankets
all ‘ung up, snug as a bug in a rug
said, ‘Eat me up! It’s part of me lifecycle!’
I shrugged like grub ya know like Atlas does.
Authors Note:
I wrote this in June of this year. I’m sharing it for W3.
I can’t write anything much right now, just got nothing, a complete block in my head and not for lack of trying.
Hope you don’t mind me sharing one I already wrote, that I thought might fit the bill for this weeks W3
Mr Eons comes for tea
Mr. Eons came to sit with me for tea
I confessed to him that I feel like he’s always there
Mr Eons shook his head and said, ‘Always, there is a sad melody that underpins the webs i weave’
‘I don’t really like tea’ I told him in between the tocks of the ticking clock
I turned to look Mr. Eons in his many eyes, ‘why do you never leave, always harvesting the flies in me! If i had buttetflies it would be a sign of motion. But here I sit. Here I waste away, and yet, I can see it in your eyes, it is not a waste when there is no waste to be!’
‘It is true, my friend’ started he, ‘you’re not even worthy of being waste, which is a waste you see. In your space another could be, but alas here you are, that I surely see.’
And the clock ticked, the wallpaper peeled
And his lips sipped and his legs slowly crept
And I cried and begged for breath untreacled
Mr. Eons wrapped himself around me
My teeth chattered in the dark
And my ears picked up the melody
as he dragged me into the darkest periphery
Anhedonia
These things I carry
empty baggage
Having not been through enough
To feel the way I do
Yet my empty heart is heavy
and nothing fills the void
To lighten the load
And that’s what loads the smoking gun
my skeletal cage can’t bear the bones
inside my skull
I can’t contain this insipid home
with treacled webs
of shallow deeply woes
Autumnal Silence Or The White Noise Of Crisped Hush
Silence
rings hollow
explosive
in the crisped hush
whispered in our –
blushing ears
–
Crushing crescendo
a round of –
applause
clapping against windows
in between
muted secrecy
Author’s Note:
This is written for W3
We Are Algorithm
Exiled to the babbling snake pit
ghostly sparrows wings
brush our hands
embroiled in this rage machine
praying for bark with no bite.
If history was rehearsal
now the audience is algamated
Dr Algorithm’s mutants
and just as the monster became Frankenstien
we are become Algorithm.
Seeking Primal Scream
These feelings are caged in civilised speak
but I’ve got a book of matches that strike against my bones
and every breath I take
Is oxygen to this rage
Inside my skull the passenger in my brain
recites all the shit you’ve done
the things I’ve said and the unsaid dead
grinding down my teeth
as my tongue twists and writhes helter skelter
Seeking primal scream
Sunday wordle: as yet remains untitled
We will be demolished in good time
no matter how eager we shout from our chests
we will turn where we are left to lie
Left to age again one more time
I am afraid, with much doubt there will be no stepping into white light
Those tales of afterlife, immortality will have been the biggest scams of our lives
So with all that said, this is the one life we know ourselves to have
And our legacy? Well, that’s not up to us to write
its all written in another’s mind
The clipped Sounds Of Drowning In Autumn
Welcoming the pitter patter of rain
we pull on our boots
walking hunchacked under looming clouds
the voices of builders amongst the bangs and drills
clipped in our cotton wooled ears Bleating absences sheepishly grey in our years
And through the hustle and bustle Depression whistles
as if through the teeth of a biting wind
Our noses cold, dripping with the tumble of leaves
Centipedes scratching at the leather of our boots
looking for crevices to dig through.
This is for W3
Spiral Skeletal Helter Skelter
I’ve got spiral staircase skeletal remains
in me jackboot hidebound laugh of a patchwork body
knock on wood, ya can hear the shallow refrains
rolling like marbles in me brain
I was ground to clown by tryin’ t’ stay supersane
now i’m helter skelter
a draft written up and screwed
thrown in the bin in a ball o’ white rose petals
a sham written in’t flesh
No doubt about it, no God could craft this.
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 