Anchored to the earth
Standing tall
Despite her bellowing wail
Making you quiver
But you, you’re a stickler
For strength in the face of adversity
Falling and rebirthing
Stood with such grace
If Jesus was a tree
I’d take a leap of faith.
Poetry
Nuances of nature
The ways I sees it is this
Heartbreak don’t leave
On the whims of a calendar
It stays as long as it takes
And ya can’t put yer brain in a sling
To ‘elp fix the nooks and crannies & breaks
To a heart the’ is no too early or too late
It neither dawdles or rushes in a hurry
It just rises and wanes
And the truth is our brain can’t
Protect us from the feelings
We harbour & cage
Kicking up a kerfuffle
At the nuances of natures way
Wordle attempt
A soul is better when like
an empty jar
The more spare space
The more free you are
To give the gift of mercy
Upon those too full
Of hurt and hate
Fucks
I’ve only got a few fucks to give today
Delirious in purple slumber
Lazy is as lazy does
Hazy in pink bliss
Don’t disturb unless it’s about my mother
Or the ship is going down under
No fucks to give to a rowdy neighbour
No fucks to give to the boy who cried wolf
Too little too late
Trying to live amidst
My own haste
Anxiety accelerating my self – hate
No fucks to give
None, just some fucks on reserve
Just in case.
Shooting the breeze
Shooting the breeze
With my mate Jack
Playing Russian roulette
With cigarettes
Forgetting the warnings on the packs
“We are idle beings”
Jack begins
“We say we domesticate ourselves
Well I’ll ‘ave you know, Matt,
‘tis the animals that domesticated us”
An impressive moustache
An impressive moustache
Is an ode to itself
A man equipped with such
Magnificence
Is sure to be an influence
Good or bad though
The answer is ambiguous
It’s all in how the man
Uses his moustaches significance
Basket case
Elaborate lies
Weaving baskets
Ready to carry you away
when you’re wearing your best straitjacket
Sunday wordle: Map of the world
Smoking another coffin nail
To ease up your stilted words
Trying to get your message out
Tracing all the lines
Of hurt
Like a map of the world
Orange
Seventy-seven years have passed
And you still interpret the world
In bouquets of orange
Writer’s block is real
The absence of words still heavy
Nudging creativity to nothing
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 