Plastic bottle lungs wheezed under rattles o’ nettles
along with the dusty breath o’ old sleepers underneath our feet
scuffin’ our lungs as we headed forlorn into the gapin’ maw of sorrows feat.
The gaps in our teeth whistled our rush
The air was terminal, a yawnin’ chasm o’ our fill
as the day gasped its final hush
And then we felt it, the jolt beneath our feet
Then came the chuggin’ o’ steel and sparks
a ghost train hauntin’ us with its owlish hoots
Steamrolling the breath perched in our lungs
our breath that held us tight in our hidebound chests
Exhalation felt like another absence
a truancy that staked our hearts as rebels
Ameneurosis
Poetry
Depressions Shadow Always Follows
Shimmering cats-eyes in my rear view
This road superimposed
in the void perched in encroaching whispers
my heart beats the ghosts
shedding you, this
Flowers at the side of the road in memorandum
Noting every absence
And to the edges of me
Is my shadow
A creature of deplorable emptiness
Swerving these rounded bends
Up and down these silent knolls
On the brink, it all hits again
That jolt that churns the stomach
The strings that stir the tears
And in my blurred vision
Its all just sparks and mirrors
Reading mirth in my skeletal passenger
As we reach the point of collision
Flutters Dance
Behind our eyes a mirror of voices
A chorus behind our stories and choices
Time spans a butterflies wings
weaving tapestries, blinked
our roots, doors unhinged
today’s present was never prophecy
but by flutters dance we are here
on the tail end of of butterfly prayer
Grimple Shrugged
Mr Grimple displayed pavonine flair
Feeling himself a favonian wind
Luck was in the air
So with umbrella to hook
He clung from the clouds
And when Betty looked up, boy did she cluck!
‘What the hell are you doin’ up there?’
All while she fluffed up her hair.
‘I’m bearing the lightness of being’ Said Mr Grimple and with one big shrug, lifted burdensome boulders
Upon the knolls of his shoulders.
The grind
We were twine o’ thread knottin’ time
bent us snaggle toothed spines needlin’ at the grind
We were fusty with British stiff upper lip
with sabre toothed vanity, mining us extraterrestrial in coal an’ lime needlin’ at the grind
We dreamed o’ greenin’ the land
cigarettes chained to us ‘ands needlin’ at the grind
We erased that which we wished to glimpse
In a trailblaze of exhaust fumes, steerin’ the grind
We extolled the land by mouth
And demarcated it with the other ‘and steelin’ uselve’s fer the grind
An attempt at this week’s W3
Prayer o’ land
A familiar shape
In prayer o’ land
Where the butterflies fritter
ying & yang
Siren Song
It beckons us back
with treacled sunrise
just one swim, the siren song sings
hermetically sealed in our ears
crashing cymbals, these waves
these waters know our skin
and all the souvenirs it comes with.
Carillon silence
Our shadows dislimn the land we extol
Bottle necked exhalations shrugged us up from our holes
to witness the passing shape of our lungs
as we sprung from gunpoint
And do dead daisies push up their brothers too?
In the silent spring of our futures
A carillon tolled silence.
Jack outta his box
A magniloquent wind up bastard
Chartaceous, a wasps nest
Verbose on’t tongue
Clockwork brain with rusted gyral
Death rattles us on tickin’ tocks downward spiral
Did I mention I’m certified unhinged
A wheel short o’ a penny farthin’
Aye, it’s true but thee can’t put me back in’t box
Cuz I upped an’ sprung
Jack sprung from ‘ere
Sunflower night
Sunflowers push through whack-a-mole ‘oles
In’t night sky
Golden flowered stars blurred by eyes
An airscape t’ feast time
Puffs o’ cloud scryin’ t’morrows sunrise
Droopin’ petals. rainin’ golden blossom.
Inspired by prompt
Also inspired by Van Gogh paintings, where I mixed up ideas from two of his paintings in my head to write this.
Maybe you can guess which ones?
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 