Carry the storm
In the event the trigger
is pulled
Pick yourself off
you will not quake
in the aftershock
of this shake up
these moments
Are like riding turbulent seas
they pass
till they’re nothing
these seconds
take up the hours
But these mistakes
Don’t mean
You have to scream
Poetry
The invader
You spin yarns
Like a spider spins its web
We’re just flies
Tangled in your head
Getting under our skin
Trying to invade our humanity
Because you lost yours to your vanity
No man is here
I’m much too weak
To don this mask of manhood
I am much too angry
To be fueled by something good
I wish I could say I’d grown up
But I’m only here for the sake of showing up
Wordle: No justice
Facing the worlds brutality
Standing after the scorn
Donning masks of clarity
So it looks like I’m weathering the storm
But these digs
At my sanity
Have let me see
The need for justice
That cannot be born
Sunday wordle: Man wears a fedora with a feather, he gets the chicks
Got his fedora on
with it’s ostrich plume
He’s a jaunty chap
He has the pick
From all the chicks
Cuz he’s just chill
And full of tricks
So as they say don’t come knockin’
When that caravan is rockin’
Empty space
Tethered to this space
The dripping of a tap
echoing time
Like a clock
But not fixed to chime
On the hour
Of every wasted moment
Just a drip of
Nothingness encapsulated
In baubles of water
Till it crashes down
Reminding us of being mortal
Sunday Wordle: The village
The village swallowed you whole
And you became strangers
To the tribe you used to know
Even the best friends
As you spat on your hands and shook
A promise of brotherhood
Now everything quakes
In the balance
You thought friendship
Was made in stone
Your pride is hard to swallow
When your undoing was your own
Now you’ve a heart shaped hole
Waiting on the beating
Of another
“I will not,”
What is between the words will and not
is it an empty space
where in time you will soon be caught?
Did you protest enough before tying that knot?
Hanging loosely around your neck
In case you forgot
Was the floor beneath their feet an afterthought?
Ash
Your spirits splash
As ash
Washed away by the rain
After rings of smoke
From your lips
Forget their origins
And the stories
that once radiated
Through your limbs
Have snapped
Broken into orchards of bones
It’s me!
I’ve changed the name I appear as from M.J to Matt Johnson. I know it may seem an obvious change and, “I could have worked that out for myself,” but I just wanted to let you all know. Since I know the slightest change in a name puts me back on the list of ‘commentors that need to be moderated’ on sites i’ve commented on frequently. (frequently for me anyway….) So just letting you all know, it’s me.
Matt Johnson.
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 