Turnin’ up limb fer limb
Piece by piece
Blood shatters our mission in glass
Vitrified by the kiln in us ‘earts
We walk’t line ‘Tween fire and laughter
Thee only truth
Is the glimmer in us eyes
That thee mined af’er
Our porcelain faces crack
In a furnace o’ fists
That’s t’ smack o’ it
No turnin’ back from’t rubble o’ it
It’s true, we’re burnin’ t’ world at both ends
It’d be a crime if we knew any different
sunday poetry
Sunday wordle on an actual Sunday
No one is free I thought
the wings of truth split
into papers
cogs in the engine
shredding that to which we bear witness
turning what we knew
into something shiny and new
to fill this emptiness
Sunday morning lie-ins
our only day in which we don’t have to strive
and I thought this, this is the price
people think they have to pay
for freedom
and so I ask
What is freedom anyway?
But some elusive dream we’re free to chase?
Sunday wordle: Doing nothing
Raindrops streaming down windows
fingers tracing a line
doing nothing
Slinking into the shadows
away from the fray
being idle, watching the rain
nothing to do, or say
no need to try
everything just is something
you’re not dazzled
like a moth
with all those blinding lights
glaring back from the sheen on the streets
like foxes eyes
the night a predator
sharp and free
but you won’t be the prey
in which it seeks
Writing practice
Trying to cajole myself into practice
Too close to losing it while having something
Preferring to be wild with noting to lose
Snake
Haul my ass out of bed
Sharp mind
Forget last night
branded with its scars
a snarling monster in its cage
within the hearth of my heart
Snaking through the veins
till it’s tattooed on my arms
A great pain
Folded into crazy homes
Frozen behind windows
Staring out, eerie eyes
Hazy behind rasping gusts of breath
Before curtains close
To hide this poverty
Of mind
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
Wordle attempt
Earth whispers rumours
Of her indifference
And we can do nothing
But listen
Sunday wordle: A night in the woods
Take the sting from my craw
Shimmy on down to the woods
With me
And we’ll pretend like
We’re on the moon
As we look at the stars tonight
Lets merge with the leaves on the trees
Tracing our way back
To the monkeys
Before we chop the wood
And light a fire
Becoming human
Again
Wordle: disbelief
It’s clear that fury
Is taunting your body
A test to see you learnt your lesson
But you still quiver at war
In disbelief
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