writing

Then I Do It All Again

MattLeave a comment

There are gremlins in the shallows of my face
Pick pocketing the needles that they tried to use to knit back together my brain
I dont have the heart to tell them its made of glass
And it breaks. Sometimes i fill it like a vase
with flowers and that.


When i walk around town people mistake them for a hat
They say, ‘hello’ and i softly speak back
But they rarely hear me
And then they turn to their friends and screw up their face and say, ‘rude!’ With a huff
And a gremlin pulls me by the ear and says ‘look at that. They think you’re a twat’
And i think Maybe i am so i take the flowers from the vase and let them wilt and die
And then i say to myself memento mori
And then i roll into bed
and rest my sorrowful head
Then I wake up and do the whole rigmarole again.

The Gargoyle Head And The Pigtail Girls

Matt2 Comments

The concurrent voices rose in ominous chorus

Oh scrudge my face up from its lionesque stonework

First ya tek ya posies and ya put ’em in ya beaklet

I hast been ‘ere etnero lungful o’ woe

Then ya tek ya eyelets and ya wipe away the mist so ya can see from ’em

There ne’er was much ado about the greylings and how they tied thier tongues to the shambled shailings

And when a ring o’ roses grow
From ya eyes to ya elbow

I bunkem up the shailings and the dwellings speak the lingo of the flaylings


Then ya scream into the fire and…

And the whirl turned on its axel, precrius on its spindle

Ashes, ashes
we all fall down for the reapin’

And the seasons passed on the leavlings who posessed no choir for the ‘earing

Written for W3

Inspired by the rhyme ring a ring o’ roses and a previous W3 challenge.

Tenter’ooks

MattLeave a comment

with the spin of the chill
that kindles no fire
the waxing and waning of ghosts respire
Known only and softly on the walls of wholly alone fellas and frills
the great differing tide did oyster their ills
And with pearls on their tongues clammed shut
suspended there from their own tenter’ooks
they bound themselves in nooks and books
until a great dawn may gather a look
and on inspection from the glass that stole a spy
No one could really remember why
these fellas and frills were still suspended there
yet no sleeping dogs could lie
so as testament to lifes swift flight in the eye
shallow graves were dug in their minds
for acrimony outlives its vessel sometimes.

Toad-faced weasel

MattLeave a comment

O bellowing cows lowing ‘ere in our ‘eads
these painted visions upon the glass do beckon
A sirens call did rend the air
Whilst toad-faced weasels reckon
sellin’ us our woeful woes
And woe betide the eagle looking right to us
While that toad-faced weasel smiles
with pockets full
And in his mouth death does grin with tombstone teeth beetlin’
from putrid gums
that bismirch our politics
Between the stench of his teeth
writhes the lore he does scribe
each word a curse upon our little island

And it has been said we are the sheep
if not with the angry herd
that stampede
and fly the flags for patriotic passion
But from me, one lowly sheep
I am telling you
That I can smell the bullshit.

Authors note:

I apologise to any toads and weasels for using their likeness as an insult.

Whiskey On The Rocks

Matt15 Comments

Forlorn in fog
Must i muster a beam or two
to save you?

Well, I am short on keepers
So…
I suppose…
Listen…


By the by
I’ve seen men such as you
hermit crabs with abandoned faces
And spiral upon spiral staircases
behind concave eyes
Leading to God knows where
It certainly isn’t heaven

Wherever it is i’m afraid we’ll lose you there
So bring your hollowed self
And rock up with me

And please, call me Whiskey,
Thats lighthouse humour, you see.

Inspired by W3 prompt

Highly Strung

Matt10 Comments

The clouds hang low, rigid, like zeppelinz
We hang low from them, like marionettes
Though, no, I am not a puppet
But, yes, I suppose it could be said that I am
Yes, lets call it highly strung
They make us dance to a tune i dont recognise
I thought i knew it once
I thought it was a tune i once tried to write
Back when I was the apple in someone’s eye
I think a worm, or was it…
No, I can safely say it was a worm
Corrupted that someone’s eye
They look, but they no longer see.
I may have been, per’aps the worm that wriggled
Or, no, it jus’ ne’e was meant to be.
No, quite right, it was all a lie, ne’er have i felt such love
To lose and bid goodbye
But, i have felt such things!
I’m almost sure of it, though i’m not so sure it was me

Written for W3