Carpenters in a crumbling house NaPoWriMo poem 18

An apocalypse reflected on our faces.
Beads of sweat dripping down
Or are they tears we haven’t wept
Yet?

We glow like cigarettes
being smoked down to the last
Sharpening our bayonets

Fighting for remnants of the past

An orange glow
Lit us up
No time to turn on back.

We are carpenters in a crumbling house.





For full transparency the title and last line is inspired by a reply to a post on Quora

Armageddon NaPoWriMo 16

The tank might be full
It doesn’t mean we should drive
Where would we go
When we’re all out of seconds
Armageddon
This arms race will forget us
In the blink of a butterfly
In the wings of time gone by

An apocalypse of hearts
Our falling house of cards
We will light up
And remember the laughs
and the nights we cried
And we will forget
this was the night we died

Angst NaPoWriMo 14

We anchor ourselves to illusions
Desperately hanging on to ideals
A battle between lofty dreams
And the abyss we’re forced to stare into

If we just breathe
And stop beating these primal urges
down into our anguish
maybe we’d be spared
The bloodbath
Awaiting us on the other side
of this Armageddon

If we could look upon the dirt
we try to abandon
With admiration
Maybe we could be held afloat
Instead of drowning
And
we could deaden this angst
That disables us

What have we done? NaPoWriMo poem 11

The wind whistles against the fences
That we put up to hide the menace
The birds sing, and the trees whine
Against the barbed wire trenches
As if we were at war
And on the other side is no man’s land

In our houses built from bricks and mortar
We’re without
And perhaps we are immortal
Shunning all that is mortal
Under illusions that we are moral

And as we hurtle towards our great demise
Some look out of their windows
And come to realise
More death has come
All while we’ve continued to shun
And they get to asking
‘What have we done?’

Language as a microscope

The human is a contortionist
Bending and folding into boxes
Dissecting the world into words
Trying to communicate to…
Who? no one really knows
We just do it because we do

And in our prisms
With ink spilled
With erroneous conclusions to come to
we share a shared unknowledge that we are not who we are
but some other

Becoming restless
We all conclude
We should go ‘back’
Whatever that means
As if we left somewhere

When we get back to nature
It is said
We will understand

To which I must ask
When do you claim we left
That to which we are intrinsically attached?
It’s the words we use that built these walls

Language, a microscope to help communicate
About the world
But we forgot to step back from the scope
And see we are within
all the things we point to ‘out there.’