Written using a few of the words from this weeks sunday whirl
Neon shapes your absence
on the slick cobblestone
my pulse startled into suspended animation
where the night never turns on its axis
Behind the silence comes the blue that comes with the sirens
as if we lived lives worth saving
the jazz band detonated music out into the street
And the wind whispered your name
And under the green-blue halo
I almost fall to my knees like cain
A fight to the death
on the priarie
Is a hot-shot way
to foot the reckoning
for the bright pink bloom of resurgence
knotted in perennial grass
Remembered in the dazzling dark silhouettes
the sun sets, an indifferent God
we wish upon
Written for Sunday Whirl
It were an unholy feast
To which he gnawed with verve
With mad coals of green flame against his alabaster whites
Starin’ through that dreadful snare o’ his own eyes
drippage o’ ichor from his lips to his chin
Tentacles twist and writhe betwix his bladesome teeth
The corners o’ his lips curlin’, turnin’ every which way as he tore into the grisly flesh
o’ that pig-snouted fang’ead
Authors note: This is inspired by the words linked to and a project i’ve been working on.
The sun blazed through the blinds as if in morbid curiosity to see this desecration of a shrine. These rumpled sheets, roses to which we were the thorns.
We had torn from each of our faces that facade of british stiff upper lips, the proof of it underneath our nails. We felt stripped of our masculinity, laid bare there under the dust motes gliding effortlessly just as the rush of bitter embarresment gushed in our heart beats. The mirror framed us, holding us in contempt for our mimicry. We had been restless, we were not the men we hoped to be. We shared our shame with the silence of hunched shoulders.
We’re all tremble edge
messy ghosts in the flesh
left to settle
in step
the way the sea erodes rocks
our shelters as fragile as the rose
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’
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
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
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.
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
silverbackgorillapoetry.com 