A crow flew west over our heads
as we stood, hands in pockets
and the sky blushed pink
as if embarrassed
not to be wearing winters colours
Poetry
The waves he broke
I regress
that child long since passed
coming of age the bark was etched and sketched
autumns blush hushed into the movement
falling gracefully as if all was as it was meant to be
a trail of desire he’d written into the landscape
he was wild as a deer
weedy and nervous
easily flushed
trailing away from man
he ran like the river below
bubbling and frothing with too much flow
branches snapping under the waves he broke
A cage of memoriam
I am a wolf
wrestling with the feast
of missing you
I have dreams of a reunion
only to wake with only these bones
so I tell myself
I’m better off alone
in a cage of memoriam for you
Can’t forgive
The calm has gone
but I’m not ready to let go
of the abyss that fills me up
you tried to fix a man
who didn’t want to be fixed
I am a radioactive ecosystem of refuse
they say forgiveness is the balm for anger
but my heart isn’t in it
I just don’t feel it
I’m sorry
Fictional news
An urge for that sweet ache
anything to distract from the grey
another sordid story
the day isn’t over till blood
is written on the page
The mighty Oak
I crawled into the pocket of a caterpillars universe
I saw the mighty snakes
hanging from beastly boots
the beaks of blue tits pecking away
to which they were my T-rex
and I saw time slowed
to one long blink of an eye
at night I prayed
Garrulus glandarius
Glorious Glandarius
Garrulus glandarius
Glorious Glandarius
Screeching your way through the sky
thank you for my home
the mighty oak!
Not my home
The needles write love on my knuckles
while the blades write hate
I will not be stilled
till earth and water whittle me down
I could only wish
it would be quicker somehow
these waters are troubled
I’m crumbling as rubble
becoming the froth on the water’s edge
a slow release and decay
I wish to be dust not tomorrow but today
I am not a sabal palm
or anything other rugged
I cannot withstand eras
this earth is not my home but a cage
Violence
There is violence inside of me
drawing words on my tongue
they go down my throat like blades
I could cut the world into pieces
with my sharpened neurosis
how long can I keep it within
my face contorting
trying to be what the world wants to see
while the butcher inside my head dices and slices
death a thousand times and more
born from love, carved into hate.
Sunday wordle: Something different to what I usually do.
Attempted to do a mini poem for every word for the Sunday wordle but my inspiration ran dry
Admit – A word that permits confession
as if words are solid
with mere flicks of the tongue
that could cleanse our dirty ought not to do’s
and what for but for redemption?
Flicks – A scar picked with the bend of words cursed
felt as if no other world exists
outside of their narrative
Scar – The stream that flows through
a rugged landscape
with all its liquid cruelty chiselling
us into formation
sharp as an axe after transformation
Remember – Scars leave traceable tracks
of remembrance
faces fade but what was felt remains
Dirty – Earthing oneself as if we became some other
cleansing in the soil to remember
the dust that made us
Hear – This pseudoforest sings your rite of passage
crows scalding you, your disturbance
of the rains tumult percussion.
There is always something that can live in the crevices of death
My words are cheap
and empty
just like me.
I say what comes
to the tip of the tongue
but underneath the letters
is a skeleton waiting
to discard this flesh.
I keep trying to commit to life, living
but I think I prefer death
without the dying
maybe I’m just afraid
of continuance
Like how the world turns no matter
the begging for it to stop
or how there is always something
that can live in the crevices of death
Because what the fuck does that mean to me?
It’s no comfort to me
that our energy continues to feed
the continuance of this monstrous world’s greed
~
Alternative ending
Because what the fuck does that mean to me
when the earth consumes you
while I’m still above the soil
shedding skin, dying and therefore still living?