My breath trailed out before me as light as a feather
and a breeze blew through the enchanted forest
and spread the richness of autumns gold
like a clue enlightening desire paths
scented with that nutty earth aroma of a seasons transition
in which storms are brewed
just a stone’s throw away
from empty streets
and bounties becoming few
A teacup awaiting winters brew
Poetry
The skeleton of prey
They laughed me out of my own body
they laughed me out of my mind
they pecked and pecked
and gobbled up all the parts of me
that left myself behind
They lit up and smoked me down
the butt of jokes fizzled out in ashtrays
poured down the drain
and through all this they bonded
a pack of wolves with their prey
tearing me apart piece by piece
and now the people stare at me
‘why can’t he be more like me?’
Because I am the decay
the left overs
from a feast
the skeleton of prey
The machine
I can’t bend into the shapes
the machine wants me to be
and I’m always coming back to this place
a conclusion
I am not strong enough
for the world, I am in
All the equations add up to this
ever trapped in what and who I am
and between what the world wants to see
the things reflected back to me
the reflections of all the types of men
I ought to be
Meditation teaches us to breathe and be
but breathing is the least of your worries
when you’re feeling like me
and I can only really breathe
when I’m safe from change and stress
so really I learn nothing
and all of this is just a waste of breath
I often wonder what relief it would have been
to have been left to die when I was a baby
instead of still learning how to fucking breathe.
I see the world ahead of me
and I don’t want to be a part of it
but the machine wants me
Sunday wordle on a monday
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
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
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