By a stroke of luck
I was born with a light bulb above my head
So they knew I was a genius
Right from the start
The doctors slapped my bum
And said “Ya’ve got a genius boy, just look at his light bulb!”
I came shooting out the womb
Talking and walking
I didn’t cry
I simply greeted the doctor like this
“Why hello dear Doctor, please clean me up, I look a right fuckin’ mess”
Imagine his surprise at my French?!
These consequences were unintended
When we struck the matches
And flooded our eyes with promises
The fields are rich with green
And the horizon promises anything
But these strings
That once entangled us
Now we’re free
© silverbackgorillapoetry 2016 August
Unzipping the baggage
Contained within
Only for you to recoil
And shove it back in.
“I was not prepared to hear over and over from men how the women – the mother, sisters, girlfriends, wives – in their lives are constantly criticizing them for not being open and vulnerable and intimate, all the while they are standing in front of that cramped wizard closet where their men are huddled inside, adjusting the curtain and making sure no one sees in and no one gets out. There was a moment when I was driving home from an interview with a small group of men and thought, Holy shit. I am the patriarchy. Here’s the painful pattern that emerged from my research with men: We ask them to be vulnerable, we beg them to let us in, and we plead with them to tell us when they’re afraid, but the truth is that most women can’t stomach it. In those moments when real vulnerability happens in men, most of us recoil with fear and that fear manifests as everything from disappointment to disgust.” Brene Brown
I warned thee
stupidity is contagious
now its spread
and we’re all shameless
walking aimless
claiming to be blameless
dressed in rags
completely faithless
Feigning patience
With faces lit by screens
becoming brainless
Almost on the verge
of becoming nameless
© Silverbackgorillapoetry 2016 August
*note: this may be a duplicate. i can’t remember if i posted this one yet
I’m going to wear slippers
While dressed in a smart suit
As I go along with my endless pursuits
Never could find a place
To put down my roots
Living out of bags
Always an urge just to up and vamoose
Forget brushing my hair
Fuck that bloody hair mousse
Forget looking spick and span
I’m no Bruce Wayne, no flipping batman
No six pack to be had
Unless you add the beer cans
‘Eh do ya think that one day
There will be a St Matthews Holiday
In memory of little old me?
No, no. I’m getting ahead of myself
Like I say, I’m not some bloody superman
I’m just a super, super modest man
I won’t love a woman to oblivion
I’ll love her just enough
But mark my words
It’s gonna be rough
A part of your soul has to die
To hold in that kind of love
© silverbackgorilla poetry 2016 August
I am a parisitic human
I don’t know quite how or why
I become to be molded to occupy
this special niche
Like a finches beak
molded by the seeds that are plenty
I am molded by something not yet known
i can only speculate
why I feel this way
and do the things I do or dont do
and indeed the things I do and don’t say.
But it’s all a big tangled mess
i am the dregs of society
this is my place
feasting on all that is yours
with little to no worth
just sliming along
trying to be a better man
but failing by the virtue of my nature
for I am of the parasitic human species
I’m not like you
with your worth and your earned respect
I am the dregs of the society
I wish I could be an arsehole like you
not caring what others think
not giving any thought to what you do
but then sometimes I glimpse
that side of you
that maybe isn’t too bad
and then I hate it, because then I can’t remember
if I’m meant to feel sorry for you, or pissed off
and you’ve already taken too much sympathy from me
being angry at you feels better
because I can’t take the sorrow of it on my shoulders
so go and be an arsehole
so I can stop caring too.
The horizon calls it the end
Of an era
What will the clouds say?
Cause inside my head they’re still grey
Can’t believe it’s come to this day
I tried to be the boy that couldn’t be moved
Now you’ve cut the strings
And I’ve been let loose
Oh god, now it’s all mine to choose
But I’m all alone
Wishing I could talk to you
They say go forth and don’t look back
But inside I’m still the boy
Who wouldn’t be moved
©Silverbackgorillapoetry 2016 August
One last kiss
As the sun sets
Defining this, the end
Of this, of us
Lips lingering on promises
We swear to keep
©Silverbackgorillapoetry 2016 August
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