Wasting. A poem.

Wasting away for you
It’s the least that I can do

Collapsed into myself
My own considerable hell

Lying here balled and foetal
A fate completely total

Floating in dead space
All oxygen sucked away

Darkness perpetuated
Emptiness encapsulated

Exhausted and beset
Consumed with regret

Wasting away for you
It’s the least that I can do

House Sitting and the Musical Muse

Next week I’ll be looking after my friends’ house as they go on an overseas cruise. They live in the centre of town near the beach (tough break, huh?). I was planning to use the time to read, blog, do uni assignments and play Xbox, but then I had a great idea. I have a heap of songs I’ve written over the past twelve months, and while I’m housesitting I’ll have the perfect opportunity to record them.

If you have been following long, you’ll know I’ve managed to record one song in the past year, because I’m living out of storage cartons and minimal floor space, so it’s hard to set all the gear up and then pack it away again afterwards (read about that right here). I will have eight days to record—minus the time to set up and strip down, so say seven and a half, less time to do other stuff like go out to dinner, take in the town, work out, go to the beach, etc.—hmmm…maybe I won’t get anything recorded after all…

No, damn it! I’m going to persevere. Even if I only get one track recorded it will be an achievement (a disappointing achievement, but an achievement, nonetheless). I’ll be there from Tuesday next week, so I’ll post about my progress daily (yes, more boring recording blogs. I guess I’ll slot some poems in around them, just to keep the site interesting).

Ahhh…quiet, inner city living, access to restaurants, beach and shops. As a broke mature-age student, it probably isn’t as wonderful as it sounds, but I have some money squirrelled away that I can drag out. Not much, but enough to enjoy a restaurant meal (or two). This will be my working holiday. Take that, cruise ship!

Tyre. A poem. 

An average car tyre
Covers thousands of miles
Before it gets to the end of its time

Rarely a smooth ride
The tyre bumps and slides
Goes round, then flattens and dies

Some days I’m a tyre
Just rolling through strife
And always left wondering why

And if I’m a tyre
That explains why I’m tired
Of going round and round all of my life

Another experiment in meter, timing and rhyme. It’s based on limerick structure.

I like to try different poetic forms. Free verse is cool, but sometimes I think I use it a lot because I’m a bit…lazy. 

But maybe that’s just me overthinking again.

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