Brimming underneath the sounds of ordinary
A loud humming silence is brewing up a storm
a thirst the world could never quench
disturbing dusted ground
Shimmering lights and the creaking of lips
Forced into smiles
But it’s too late to be okay.
Poetry
Anger
Once swept aside
In anger
Anguish always follows.
I know this. But I’m an angry bastard anyway!
Sunday wordle on a Monday: Original
You think you’re the last groove
in the vinyl
the last song
to fill the void
The one and only
the final original specimen
here to soothe the cracks
of those designed ‘none organically’
Like you and your one and only kind
Train coach
He’s taken refuge
in an abandoned train coach
Off the grid, against the grain
People keep telling me he used to be sane
But I figure he’s saner than me
fer takin’ himself outta the game
Recycle
I’m leaving trails of forgotten intentions
haphazardly heading nowhere
Waiting to be empty again
so I can be filled
and recycle myself into someone else
Staccato
Thursday poetry a day late: Screw
Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will haunt me still
Ricocheting around my skull
Till thought is null
With only oughts to do
But no drive to pull them through
Living inside a skull
Inside a mind, inside a brain
Royally fucking screwed
Not who I hoped
I am not the man I hoped to be
The boy who looks back doesn’t look up
To me
Wordle attempt
Earth whispers rumours
Of her indifference
And we can do nothing
But listen
Remains
They wrote their love on trees
A love to last beyond themselves
Blurring the boundaries
Between yesterday night
Hands within hands
With diamonds on fingers
An avalanche of aftermaths
Falling like leaves in autumn time
A run in the woods
An uncovering of words
Slipped on landslides
A deer frozen
In the lights
Freezing all these stories
Into snowflakes, intertwining
And the tree still remains.
