I’ll smoke another cigarette
to put another nail in my coffin
I keep thinking I might be getting close to rest
but still, I keep on going
torn between fear and loathing
Why do I keep trying to do my best
Can’t I just stay in tracksuit bottoms and vest
loafing around with no will to do anything
but in jest
Why is everything always about progress
what if I just want to stay here
where I regress?
They say it’s okay not to be okay
but I still think I feel ashamed
Is it okay to not be okay
and stay the same?
writing
Sunday wordle: Lord knows what looms for us
The weed did creep
revealing the
slack in our towns
of concrete their
roots spin and whirl
taking grip in
the crack of our
retreat with a
curl
it searches for
the light a glimpse
of what we for-
got, Lord knows what
looms for us our
eyes did strain to
see the stain of
blood coming for
us.
Authors note: I have not one clue about the different formations of ‘poetry’, so forgive my attempt at some kind of… well, whatever the fuck it is…
The machine that cradles us
Trying to bribe time we’re going to change
words easily spoken
we’re working on it
How much time do we have
to be a work in progress?
I think to myself
as I look out of the window
of the machine that cradles us.
A crow flew west
A crow flew west over our heads
as we stood, hands in pockets
and the sky blushed pink
as if embarrassed
not to be wearing winters colours
The waves he broke
I regress
that child long since passed
coming of age the bark was etched and sketched
autumns blush hushed into the movement
falling gracefully as if all was as it was meant to be
a trail of desire he’d written into the landscape
he was wild as a deer
weedy and nervous
easily flushed
trailing away from man
he ran like the river below
bubbling and frothing with too much flow
branches snapping under the waves he broke
A cage of memoriam
I am a wolf
wrestling with the feast
of missing you
I have dreams of a reunion
only to wake with only these bones
so I tell myself
I’m better off alone
in a cage of memoriam for you
Can’t forgive
The calm has gone
but I’m not ready to let go
of the abyss that fills me up
you tried to fix a man
who didn’t want to be fixed
I am a radioactive ecosystem of refuse
they say forgiveness is the balm for anger
but my heart isn’t in it
I just don’t feel it
I’m sorry
Fictional news
An urge for that sweet ache
anything to distract from the grey
another sordid story
the day isn’t over till blood
is written on the page
The mighty Oak
I crawled into the pocket of a caterpillars universe
I saw the mighty snakes
hanging from beastly boots
the beaks of blue tits pecking away
to which they were my T-rex
and I saw time slowed
to one long blink of an eye
at night I prayed
Garrulus glandarius
Glorious Glandarius
Garrulus glandarius
Glorious Glandarius
Screeching your way through the sky
thank you for my home
the mighty oak!
Not my home
The needles write love on my knuckles
while the blades write hate
I will not be stilled
till earth and water whittle me down
I could only wish
it would be quicker somehow
these waters are troubled
I’m crumbling as rubble
becoming the froth on the water’s edge
a slow release and decay
I wish to be dust not tomorrow but today
I am not a sabal palm
or anything other rugged
I cannot withstand eras
this earth is not my home but a cage
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