In between somewhere
Not quite here, there
Or anywhere
Fate
The silence of falling petals
Reminding of the earth’s conspiratorial whispers
Speaking of your fate
To the little field mouse, I named Stuart
Stuart, you little furry bastard
With jovial whiskers
And little heart beat whispers
On the blessed night, you weren’t heard
With your whimpers
Now left as food for the owl’s claws
To rip you from flesh
Your death now sustenance
To keep that owl breathing breath
Rest in peace
You furry little squeak
Peace & harmony
I look for peace & harmony no longer
For seeking it is the biggest war
Man has ever waged
In focus
Focused, we fade in
Oblivious to white noise
Silence, like music
Humour
I have possibly posted this before. I admit here openly this is not a poem written today, but was written last year. I’m struggling at the moment to write a poem every single day of April. I’ve tried prompt words, nothing is coming. I’m creatively constipated. So I figured I’d find an old one.
Hearts transparent in the crevices of our smiles
Those who know what to look for
Always find
The sorrow lurking behind
The laughter in their eyes
Humour is a bridge
Over sorrow
Transcending us through the waves
Frothing grievously at our feet
Trying to drown us whole
We laugh at the stench of our morality
Becoming clowns in our own rights
Casting illusions over doubt
Boulervard Of Broken Dreams
Writers block. Can’t write anything today. 19th day national poetry month
At first I was inundated
With feelings familiar
To a once rampant heart beat
That faded into the distance
One frosty night on a darkened street
Where tears and ex lovers came to meet
The feeling to which I’d been acquainted with
Once before those many moons ago
I feel it beating but I swore to never let myself go
Not that way
Not again
And so I left her
In room 13
At The boulevard of broken dreams
(c) 2015
Writers block
What to say on the eighteenth sunrise
When the words won’t spin
The wheels in your brain
Scars
Cut my skin
And it’s like bark from a tree
I’m tough outside and in
All these scars tell stories
And every breath I exhale is a thank you
To the scalpels that have scraped
roadmaps onto me
Breath
The earth sighs its breeze
Like it’s following
The deflation of my lungs
And if you listen carefully
you can hear the leaves
Scrape across pavements
Tasting their crunch
on the tip of my tongue
I reach out to the world
My stone face chiselled by salt water
We sigh again
Like the rising and waning of a wave
Turning still
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 