poem

Sunday whirl

MattLeave a comment

Turnin’ up limb fer limb
Piece by piece
Blood shatters our mission in glass
Vitrified by the kiln in us ‘earts
We walk’t line ‘Tween fire and laughter
Thee only truth
Is the glimmer in us eyes
That thee mined af’er
Our porcelain faces crack
In a furnace o’ fists
That’s t’ smack o’ it
No turnin’ back from’t rubble o’ it
It’s true, we’re burnin’ t’ world at both ends
It’d be a crime if we knew any different

Sunflower night

Matt12 Comments

Sunflowers push through whack-a-mole ‘oles
In’t night sky
Golden flowered stars blurred by eyes
An airscape t’ feast time
Puffs o’ cloud scryin’ t’morrows sunrise
Droopin’ petals.                                     rainin’ golden blossom.

Inspired by prompt

Also inspired by Van Gogh paintings, where I mixed up ideas from two of his paintings in my head to write this.

Maybe you can guess which ones?

–

Matt2 Comments

There is a sadness
No orchestra to fade
In the marrow of my bones
No melody for tears
the world and its antics
Marred the eyes that roll – marbled down the drain

There is unquenchable anger
Caged behind ribs
Though we know with collective sigh
That forgiveness doesn’t meet knuckled shame
And we were fringe, in lions mane
Accumulating rage

Even paper tigers sliced us
Our fragility holds no thrill
Apex predators? Questionable
And to think we’re most vulnerable
Within our exoskeletons
Rushing from z to a

And what of the badger
Flattened
The world might just slink away, indifferent
in the spin of tyres

Surplus to requirments

Matt18 Comments

I’m a frazzle of lion’s tooth
blow me away and ya find flotsam growin’ roots
me thumbs trapped betwixt me braces
as I play chicken by nobody’s rules
careenin’ as I mean to run
round sharpest corners
stragglin’ offshoots on the stems of me breath
a rattle of nettles and neurosis
I’ve become the urbans wilds
no doubt I’ll be soon be eaten
by the jaws of machines
at the behest of the councils’ wiles
after runnin’ feral, labeled ‘surplus to requirements.’


Authors note:

This is written inspired by today’s prompt.

This is an offshoot; this poem could be said of a growing manic neurosis, the parts that remain wild at the edges, too anxious to tame.

It relates to the themes in that it’s ultimately about belonging or lack thereof and becoming excluded, yet remaining at the edges.

Words of the day prompt: Convivial, hotch

MattLeave a comment

Is it per’aps your convivial nature that ‘as us swingin’ from the chandelier
With delightful intent
To light up the room
As we grace uselves in’t presence of yorn?
I’ve not much fit for a king
I can’t dance an’ I certainly can’t sing
So’s supposin’ I don’t quite get the hotch outta me step
An’ I quibble at me face with me ‘ands
Would ya (sorry you, Sir) still measure me jests
With a clap and a laugh
Mebe a hoot if fancy teks you to such place?
And incase in you forgot me name, It’s Wilbert Walter
Gorbert
You may ‘ave ‘eard me called Gorbet Sideburns
In reference to the ‘air on me face.

A Garrulous Old Chap

MattLeave a comment

There was this garrulous old chap
he wore a beige cape with blue dotted lines at the wings of it
he talked a fine tune
but I’d be damned if I could cipher it
he smoked a pipe and the smoke would billow up to his bright blue eyes
as If to make a point of them.

He was a town crier
by which I mean that rather literally
screeching his woes with a guttural wind
leaving a discordant note in his wake
but I loved him besides all that
It’s wasn’t just the gems in his eyes
it’s the way he smiled
and the way he buried me nuts in his garden.