All these things an accumulation
of things consumed
like fat in the arteries
or the cultural zeitgeist in the head
blended and pulverised
manufacturing pulp fiction
til the gun is loaded against our own skull
an audible gulp
before the flash and bang
empties our full
life
NaPoWriMo poetry 1: Hoping no one will notice.
Inspired by this ‘“To be a Flower, is profound / Responsibility –’
I tried to be a wallflower
but I couldn’t take the responsibility
an ecological niche
I couldn’t bloom to fit it
instead, I clung to the nail
creeping ever downward
a weed straggling lifeward
hoping no one will notice
The dying field mouse
A dying field mouse was the catalyst
For the tears turning to diamonds
Under the pressure of unrelease
An apologetic surrendering
To my failure to be a hero
My humanity drifting me apart
A wedge between me and my kind
A bridge I can’t cross
To look you in the eyes
And become a part of the rat race
I despise
That mouses black beady eyes
The abyss I looked into
Forever looking back
I am sorry little mouse
I couldn’t bring you peace
in your darkest hours
as you bid your long arduous goodbye.
All I see is death
Is there anywhere I can be someone else
I’m tired of being wrapped up
in myself
but I’ve seen out there
and seen the earth laid bare
it’s too much for me
all I see is death
looking back at me
mirroring my decisions and indecisions
falling into the abyss
of those eye sockets
Sunday wordle on a Monday: Scuffling with a ghost
I’ve been scuffling with a ghost
that fluttered by
after falling from the mouth of the sky
weaving through the dust
like tumbleweed
boom and bust
a story of angst
written only for us
Smiling irony
I saw myself in the abyss of someone else
and I can’t turn away.
Strip my skeleton bare of this flesh
in which this toxicity is enmeshed
The smiling irony
of the skeleton underneath
Survival instinct is my enemy
Survival instinct is my enemy
he’s always there when I try to be free
there was a moment when I thought
the end would come
but he kicked out
and I survived another fight
My survival instinct is my enemy
why won’t he listen to these thoughts in my head
I want to be returned to the earth again
Sunday wordle on a Monday: The Blackbirds Goodnight
The blackbird sang goodnight
in a string of trills
the sunset lighting up the trails
with one last spill
before the day reached its limit
hushed and stilled
Sunday Wordle: A house made of books
I am too small
and the world much too big
put me in a house made from books
instead of bricks
leaving everything to the imagination
with broken spines
as a sign
of worlds well lived
don’t leave me here constrained
in this broken body in bits
and the mind inside
that is folded a million times to fit
I can’t hold myself together alone
untethered in this storm
like a flag surrendering in the wind
comfort me with silk weaved wit and imagery
feed this insatiable hunger
for something to lift me from this black, black hole
don’t let me fall back to dust all alone.
Sunday Wordle: Death in our image
I cannot reach you
the shimmering mirage
of my dreams undone
there was no triumph
in the sigh that escaped my lungs
but all these moments that reveal
we had made death in our image
and I would be damned
if I did not quiver
at what we’ve become
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 