We are the children of the storm
hung out to dry on the washing line
it’s all the fashion all the rage
to be outraged
a surge of hate
to counter our ‘revolution’
because we’re freaks
not ready for the role of human
poem
Wound NaPoWriMo poem 10
Tired beyond comprehension
The world too full and empty
Nothing to be awake for
No desires to fulfil
But for this thirst for something
not quite resembling anything
Just a pain
festering in an unseen wound
Who am I now? NaPoWriMo poem 5
If I could start again on this carousel ride
I’d tell you to fuck off before you got into my mind
But here you are living rent free
On this empty landscape of mine
Not even useful like a weed
You’re just invasive
Scarring my heart
As you till and dig the dirt
Agitating every part of me
Growing your narcissistic supply
Killing all that was native in me
Sometimes I wonder aloud
‘Who am I? Who am I now?’
Provoke
Don’t provoke me
I’ve got a monster
Caged behind this calm
The good, the badass, the ugly
I’m going to space
With Jack
And his mate Mack
We’ll be space cowboys
Running rogue among the stars
Jack will bring his wife
Honey is such a laugh
And Mack will bring his knife
And we’ll scour the stars
For game, unicorns and dragons
On the moon or failing that L.A
Who can tell the difference anyway?
When you’re all drugged up
On scandal
Revealed in photographs
We took in Santa Monica bay!
And we’ll swing among the stars
Get our names in the lights
We’ll swing from Jupiter to mars
Just like Frank Sinatra sang!
We’ll be the rogue space cowboys
the good, that’s Jack
The badass, that’s Mack
the ugly? That’s Matt! (me)
(c) 2016 Feb
Missing the beauty
Delirious are drooling boys
As beauty will have missed him
Because as she blew him
He missed the deer among the trees
(c) feb 2016
The rainbow forgot
I am all the colours the rainbow forgot
Grey, black and teal
I am the have nots
And I was born
Grey bubble gum
No one knew
Of the thoughts
I’d provoke them to chew
And I was born
Teal cigarettes
The signs were in the smoke
They couldn’t forget
And I fell into
A pot of black paint
At a young age
They called it Matt black
Who’d have thought it
Think about it, what’s my name?
I am the colours the rainbow forgot
I am the have nots
(c) 2016 Jan
Faceless
I’m taking on my demons role
staring him in the face
I take a step back
Sharpening my knife
I reject the monsters bark
Cutting his mask
From my face
It’s been sewn on
And underneath
I become no one
Which is a new monster
In of itself
What have I done
I stare at my nothingness
Mouth gaping open
Without a sound
But I can hear my scream
Inside my labyrinth
Who am I
What am I meant to be?
(c) Jan 2016
Mastery
With the thud of the feet
A heart that refuses to admit defeat
With sweat upon my brow
And the blood shed as I take another hit
I shall not bow out!
Too late, gotta hold it now
Let the blood drip
From my lips
Look into my eyes
you’ll see the beast
He’s been unleashed
Out on the prowl
Ready to take it
Break it
Tear down these walls
So tired, I didn’t think I could make it
I prayed to a god I didn’t believe
Said “Please, god, forsake me”
And he handed me a sword
Said “We’ll battle this one out son”
And so the beasts have run
“Who is your enemy?” he asks me
to which I replied “Everybody! The world! Even me”
“Only one of them is correct, my son”
And that’s when I saw
My reflection in the silver
And I knew then, I knew
The number one worst enemy I must master.
(c) 2015
Posted on previous blog
The boys we were
We sat and watched the trains
Listened to their wheels screech on the line
Our faces dusty and muddy from play
But we always fell to silence to watch the trains
Going this a-way and that a-way
And we mimicked the sounds in our games
“WOOoWOoooo”
We’d run too close to the tracks
And our mothers screamed “Get back!”
And oh how we laughed
And our faces looked on with anticipation
As the rumble of a train could be heard
In the distance
And the paper mill would sound an alarm
And we’d burrow down under a bench
Because under there we’d come to no harm
Our grandfathers told us of the wars
And in our imaginations a fight was ahead
And we were evacuee’s waiting for a train
And our little dusty faces
Peered under hats
And our grandparents would clean us
By spitting onto a handkerchief
And we’d squirm
And wash our faces again behind their backs
Now the boys we used to be
Sit frozen in sepia photographs
Written in 2014-2015 (c)
