In the sink of our hearts
A thicket o’ rush
where the river runs
A volcanic bomb o’ flush
rinsed our faces scarlet
A momentary hush
The days dawn had broken
and the music held yesterdays momentum
the melody tied our stomachs down
anchoring us forward
and the sun looked criminal
shining upon us in the midst o’ such a dour mornin’
Sunday whirl
Scorn
White noise space
liminal amplitude
I’ve seen in the screamin’ mouths
A quiet calm scream much too loud
A presence that stalks the afterwaves
Strings playin’ hearts
pulling them down to this snowfalled place
I’ve seen it
In brigthly lit TV speckled teeth
a blizzard left reddened
out of the mouths of babes
Out of which breezes the soarin’ spirit of violence storm
More clamour to the machine
Into which we were each torn
from our mothers breast
to become scorn
Flutters Dance
Behind our eyes a mirror of voices
A chorus behind our stories and choices
Time spans a butterflies wings
weaving tapestries, blinked
our roots, doors unhinged
today’s present was never prophecy
but by flutters dance we are here
on the tail end of of butterfly prayer
Siren Song
It beckons us back
with treacled sunrise
just one swim, the siren song sings
hermetically sealed in our ears
crashing cymbals, these waves
these waters know our skin
and all the souvenirs it comes with.
Dragons Glimpse
Golden shimmers upon dragons glimpse
Secrets spread in wild fringe
The air holds the names of battles, grim
Where illusions stir us from our skins
Cradled in the world that churns us in
The skeletal remains of our chagrin
Trapped in cage of ribs
The butterflies flitter away our whims
Sunday whirl
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
Evolution confesses itself through us.
We are holy confession
Of relic beasts
In our hearts reptilian rage
Magic drift
The stars aligned for no one
But then there was
And now us
This all tracks to
Evolution
History echoes
In our inky veins
Cats cradle
Sunday Whirl: A touch of sadness
A touch o’ the ol’ sadness labelled us pelts
Ya can trace ya finger down’t tracks o’ crows feet
But don’t let yaself linger
ya might come’t know the legends that mark’t skin within
a life well laughed despite
the melancholia that tends t’ turn the wheel
I’m bundled in.
Me rags o’ flesh ‘old forests
much of a muchness
needlin’ pinetrees
Pine sap, my tears, the plantation weeps
Maps of hate
The underworld Twists and trawls
Tearing at the strands that thread our masks
A beast Writhing in the crowds amassed
Hatred prowls the tips of Tongues
And the grey man with a yellow grin
Gathers the squall
We bear witness, this shift of fate
Criscrossing new maps to the temple of infernos gate.
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 