Everything deflates me
including the rise of the sun
and in the air, writes the total sum
absolutely nothing
Poetry
In reflection, Dr Frankenstein
Keep me contained
between these beats
A contortionist
building a face
to hide the beast
Slither and writhe
under the sheets
our teeth, they grind
tongue twisted and tied
Bursting through button spines
a bloody ritual to feast the eyes
monsters created to mortify
preachers spitting to mobilise
they ‘hate’ it but, it’s time to crucify
In reflection, Dr Frankenstein
A slippery slope
phallic dream
another monster to contain
why have chains without a mob to entertain?
Roots
The roots that run through us
severed
digging my knees into the ground
trying to find symbiosis
that doesn’t find us as grubs of a parasite
surely I am the larva born from mutualism
and not this humanity
in dagger and cloak
Yet what good has a human done
but tread roughly where one should tread lightly?
If I return to the soil
the ground will surely find me
and tether me to this life
where I and the earth become like one
yet individual in how we translate atoms
Swan
a long neck reminiscent of dinosaurs gone by
she places you in her eye
You
beholden to this
the shadows of the swan
in feather and lust
a purity that sheds dust
just like us
Pain and release
Another shimmer
the lamplight glimmers
my back turned from the world
my face contorted to hold the pain
a surge of resistance
falling to its insistence
moments like this
the thorns of anxiety drop away
any way this ends
is release, either way.
Living on a soundwave
My mind terraforms this alien soundscape
Tendrils reaching down, down, down
a spark of something unseen
an inverted skeleton
without a smile but a frown
propelling myself as a jellyfish
up, up and out
Electric sirens seeking me out
A torment of screeching ghouls
screaming from my mouth
A stream of consciousness 2
The sounds drew ripples around us
containing us
wrinkled and transformed
waves of consciousness anchored
bearing witness to this gathering
of all matter created in our image
a conglomeration of everything and nothing
a hoard of haves and have nots
a buildup to ‘just fucking stop!’
Too much, too much one
too much none
a climatic climb
an anticlimactic drop
rust falling from antiquated props
traditions burning candles
with prayers answered, not
swindled of thought
trajectories yet untold
falling below this ocean
of accumulations sold.
Stream of consciousness
The music matched the swirl of the leaves
or it was the other way around
and down another layer
that one prolonged note underpinning it
wrote my feelings in the air space
a sadness I felt remote from
yet there it was, a dark spot that harnessed my breath
harassed by the accumulation of matter
closed in by the shadows i must accept
my conscience drifting in the utterance
of leaves falling with indifference
the world seemingly born from negligence
an apathy I can’t stomach
butterflies reaching my nervous disposition
trying too hard to abide
The chaffinch
The chaffinch sprung from its perch
as if lifted by the music in my ears
Its wing beats seemingly to my eyes
fitting to the rhythm and the time
couched into this space
music augmented the moment
Sunday wordle: Under
The yellowing of our fate
was just the suns bluff
it had soothed our souls
with its spill of rays
but alas, fall had torn
flushed leaves asunder
ready for the raspy breath
of winters plunder
the hiss of the breeze snaking its way through the leaves
no longer
as lifes greedy show of green
finds a safe haven below, under
wrapped around the larvae
of next years wonders
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