Trying to bribe time we’re going to change
words easily spoken
we’re working on it
How much time do we have
to be a work in progress?
I think to myself
as I look out of the window
of the machine that cradles us.
Trying to bribe time we’re going to change
words easily spoken
we’re working on it
How much time do we have
to be a work in progress?
I think to myself
as I look out of the window
of the machine that cradles us.
A crow flew west over our heads
as we stood, hands in pockets
and the sky blushed pink
as if embarrassed
not to be wearing winters colours
I regress
that child long since passed
coming of age the bark was etched and sketched
autumns blush hushed into the movement
falling gracefully as if all was as it was meant to be
a trail of desire he’d written into the landscape
he was wild as a deer
weedy and nervous
easily flushed
trailing away from man
he ran like the river below
bubbling and frothing with too much flow
branches snapping under the waves he broke
I am a wolf
wrestling with the feast
of missing you
I have dreams of a reunion
only to wake with only these bones
so I tell myself
I’m better off alone
in a cage of memoriam for you
The calm has gone
but I’m not ready to let go
of the abyss that fills me up
you tried to fix a man
who didn’t want to be fixed
I am a radioactive ecosystem of refuse
they say forgiveness is the balm for anger
but my heart isn’t in it
I just don’t feel it
I’m sorry
An urge for that sweet ache
anything to distract from the grey
another sordid story
the day isn’t over till blood
is written on the page
I crawled into the pocket of a caterpillars universe
I saw the mighty snakes
hanging from beastly boots
the beaks of blue tits pecking away
to which they were my T-rex
and I saw time slowed
to one long blink of an eye
at night I prayed
Garrulus glandarius
Glorious Glandarius
Garrulus glandarius
Glorious Glandarius
Screeching your way through the sky
thank you for my home
the mighty oak!
The needles write love on my knuckles
while the blades write hate
I will not be stilled
till earth and water whittle me down
I could only wish
it would be quicker somehow
these waters are troubled
I’m crumbling as rubble
becoming the froth on the water’s edge
a slow release and decay
I wish to be dust not tomorrow but today
I am not a sabal palm
or anything other rugged
I cannot withstand eras
this earth is not my home but a cage
There is violence inside of me
drawing words on my tongue
they go down my throat like blades
I could cut the world into pieces
with my sharpened neurosis
how long can I keep it within
my face contorting
trying to be what the world wants to see
while the butcher inside my head dices and slices
death a thousand times and more
born from love, carved into hate.
Attempted to do a mini poem for every word for the Sunday wordle but my inspiration ran dry
Admit – A word that permits confession
as if words are solid
with mere flicks of the tongue
that could cleanse our dirty ought not to do’s
and what for but for redemption?
Flicks – A scar picked with the bend of words cursed
felt as if no other world exists
outside of their narrative
Scar – The stream that flows through
a rugged landscape
with all its liquid cruelty chiselling
us into formation
sharp as an axe after transformation
Remember – Scars leave traceable tracks
of remembrance
faces fade but what was felt remains
Dirty – Earthing oneself as if we became some other
cleansing in the soil to remember
the dust that made us
Hear – This pseudoforest sings your rite of passage
crows scalding you, your disturbance
of the rains tumult percussion.