Poetry off the cuff: A Snippet of time

The birds perched on the powerlines
little musical notes

People sped by in their exoskeletal suits
hands-on wheels and eyes on their pursuits

Weeds grew toward the sun
only opening when the rays would meet them

A man sped by with a mower
and the flowers bled pollen

The birds sang songs of blood and sex
a territorial language penetrating the sky

Traffic lights glowed red
as did the embers of time

Another sunset
before the next sunrise

Lyrics: Our alienation

They should have left me to die
before I
became an abstraction

I am alien. (to be repeated twice)

made out of talk
our alienation
we’re abstraction
driven to distraction
our alienation

We are alien
I am alien

or are we
Origami people
and put onto earth
as if we never were
a part of her.

made out of talk
we’re abstractions
driven to distraction
our alienation

I am alien
We are alien.

(back to 1st verse)

We are alien

Our alienation.

Urban Lumberjack

I’m an urban lumberjack
Wielding an expresso
And an axe
Got a roll of smokes
Always share ‘em with my mate Jack
And he spoons ‘em off to our friend Mack

Jacks wife and I
Got that sexual tension
We do the dance
When we get the chance

Jack don’t mind
After all, I’m the one with the axe!

(C) 2016 March

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The guitar weeps

The guitar weeps
Men in blue suits
Dancing lights
And girls swish their skirts

Candy coloured Identities
Go berserk
On the floor
Musical masturbation
Dancing like
we’re stripping bare

A form of emancipation
Loving decapitated notions
Of religious word
Tired of loving
What was never there

They call us dirty
As we drink our rum
And smoke our tokes
We’re acting like
We’re from the 60’s

Taking a detour
From prudish disgust
Baring it all
Under midnight lights
Of burning lust

Randy bodies
Wounded from a god
Not here or there
Trying to free ourselves
From ideas of sin
And that of hell

Are we obedient
To the rebellion?
All the pushers
On the streets
“Take another! You’ll be free!”
Neon lights
And screams misheard
For pleasure
As we screw
Into tighter
Trying each other on
With no one to spare.

(C) 2016 March

*notice: Any ads and/or supposed ‘related’ ‘similar’ posts are not endorsed by Silverbackgorillapoetry

Pick up ya dog shit

Dog shit
It fuckin’ stinks
So why do you
Make me roll in it!
Ya fuckin’ prick!

Get ya shit bag
And fill it!
Ya prick!
Some of us got baskets of milk
Takin’ it home
So I can make porridge!

But ya’ve gone and left ya dog shit
Right in middle
Of fuckin’ path
I tried to get around it
Couldn’t cross the fuckin’ road!
Curb was too damn high!
I was stuck!
Trying to swereve round it

Pick up ya dog shit
Ya fuckin’ prick.

(C) 2016 Jan

*notice: Any ads and/or supposed ‘related’ ‘similar’ posts are not endorsed by Silverbackgorillapoetry


The tension
is in the sound
Of car doors closing
Of wheels stirring
The wind whirring

The strain
Is in sirens blaring
Flashing lights flaring
The tired eyes staring

The constriction
Is in the sound
Of coffee mugs
Dripping taps
The silent gaps

The binding
Is in the whirlpool
Of silky smooth tea
The steam that rises
Clearing our sinuses

The squeeze
Is in the formation
Of language
Trying to display
This anguish

The choking
Is in the tears
Of throats narrowing
Alienated from the world
Detached, harrowing

Severed ties
With humanity
Twice removed
From our sanity.

(C) 2016 Feb

Corduroy trousers

Corduroy trousers
Always sound like
they’re about to set fire
as old men shuffle
through their retirement
Taking the time
to refine their temperament
So the wife
Will wind ‘er neck in
Stop naggin’
For all the gamblin’

Now he has learnt the humour
In tryin’ to outdo her
And he pulls faces
Through shop windows!
Bets on the side for another pack ’o cigarettes
And when she turns back round
He smiles and points out her assets
His smile feigning innocence

And at the weekends
She goes to their usual haunts
The ladies book club
Where she can moan
About his nuisances
But with a lingering smile
Upon her lips
With an affectionate humour
Because she knows
She is his.

(c) 2016  Feb


Her eyes a painting

In Venice

A boat made of Oakwood

Glossed to a perfect shine

Making my way through

The iris, a tunnel in her eyes

Lost in the turquoise reflections

Of an art painted to perfection


In the night

The frame changes

In her eyes

The moon reflecting

On ripples of water

As we take a canoe

Paddling on through


“Were you even listening to what I was saying?”

She smiles, wine glass just below her lips

A pendant hanging just above her cleavage

I smile back

Back in the room

Must have been dreaming.

(c) 2015