Small Talk. A poem.
It’s just small talk. Idle conversation. But every sanguine movement of her mouth and every captivating word that passes those bewitching lips, buoys me like the drowning man lost on a tormented sea. She is the lifeline extended, dragging me … Continue reading Small Talk. A poem.
Haiku Friday. ‘Sands’. A haiku trilogy.
Sands. A haiku trilogy. 1. Beachhead Beachhead: we arrive. They abscond over the dune sea, we soon give chase. 2. Flight The flight of the few. Seeking life beyond the dust, they long to escape. 3. Lost The sand shifts … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Sands’. A haiku trilogy.
WRYT. poem.
What are you thinking? A pen and pad displayed When the mind is set ablaze With notions of notoriety. All literal conventions will pale into non-consideration: a parley of truth and lie. What are you thinking? All this concordant bliss has left you here amiss, wandering through tattered halls in a mall without end, hankering for a bargain to make you more complete. What are you thinking? What distortions do you receive A bright and puissant reprieve from all the empty googling that makes up your days and leaves you none the wiser. And poorer, much more so. What. Are. … Continue reading WRYT. poem.
Fell on fell days. A poem.
Fell on fell days. Coaxed anxiously from the storm that rages mutually in this misconceiving heart. Fell days, fallen, overtaken, redistributed, emotions cascading like misdirected energy streams through angst-filled fibres. Fell days, in here, somewhere. No return? No matter, better … Continue reading Fell on fell days. A poem.
Paradox. A poem.
I am me and me is the quantum of you and me and you and I %$&# HATE This World Earth Terra Planet People Society Civilisation Virtuality So Much. BUT I was me but I’m not sure who I am now maybe I’m not who I think I am %$&# LOVE This my World your World their World our World whose World no World So Much. Continue reading Paradox. A poem.
The Sale. Part 14.
My fingertips were worn from scraping constantly against the inner wall, tracing our way through the maze. The electric bulbs in the stone and earth ceiling flickered dimly and our shadows gently danced on the surrounding walls as we stumbled … Continue reading The Sale. Part 14.
Machiavelli. A poem.
You are my Machiavelli, tug my strings until I scream. Your ceaseless manipulations keep me dancing to your whims. While I smile and play along as I always will, it seems, be my lonesome Machiavelli and spend some time with me. Continue reading Machiavelli. A poem.
A Poor Poet’s Cause
I’m putting together a book of poetry to self-publish, hopefully before Christmas. I’m working on whittling the two hundred plus poems I’ve written over the last nine months down to about fifty, as that’s the general size of most poetry … Continue reading A Poor Poet’s Cause
Abraxas. A poem.
Abraxas, find me sullen and scathed. Take thy mighty vengeance and bury my soul with all the rest, deep below whence it won’t be found. And bellow my name from your golden walls, cast my pain in chromium steel upon … Continue reading Abraxas. A poem.
Pain. A poem.
Pain is my best friend. He lurks in fibre and ligament, playing hide and seek amongst time-worn bones and weary blood. He enters my thoughts and hopscotches through my brain, tugging on discontent and dreams better left alone. He wanders through my cells, arteries, and veins, grasping at the walls of my heart in a gentle bear hug of regret. He is the one friend who will never leave. Eventually, he will set the table and dine upon the last of me. My first book of poetry, The All or the Nothing, is available now as an e-book from most … Continue reading Pain. A poem.
Haiku Friday. ‘Renewal’, a haiku trilogy.
Renewal. A haiku trilogy 1. Passage Please, grant me passage that this testament should see another sunset. 2. Buried And here I lie, buried underground. A cadaver for your amusement. 3. Daybreak I will claw my way back from this … Continue reading Haiku Friday. ‘Renewal’, a haiku trilogy.
Bliss. A poem.
Today, she gave me bliss. I was confounded but content, my feet mired in tar, holding me firm. My mouth unfrozen this time, heart quickened but not expired. Conversation played across a court; a sporting event, a contest of champions. I would send the ball, she would receive returning service like a tennis pro. So perfectly matched, like two people moulded from the same supple clay of our sculptor’s eloquent fancy. How can such beauty be real? Does it only exist to haunt my dreaming and waking hours? I wanted to profess to her ghost my wants and needs, how … Continue reading Bliss. A poem.
Cel. A poem.
Each day in this cell passes like a film cel, a moment captured in acetate, rinsed and repeated, on perpetual loop. The subtle changes in aspect of each textured frame, a motion blur of constituent parts, every event a cinch mark. If only we could edit our dailies, to make sense of the narrative, to remove the chaff that haunts like a dime-store critic in the background of every shot. The emulsion soon grows thin, the script is pure melodrama and the cues are overly-theatrical. It can’t be saved in post-production. This life, winding in 35mm, fed through perfs before … Continue reading Cel. A poem.
Finish Line. A poem.
Down again, in November showers that wash the sin from my crown. Out walking my black dog in the rain, skirting hills and wither deep. Just another day in here, Under my skin Under the hood Where the engine strains and groans as it drags my weary chassis to the finish line. Where I’m content to lose again, to choose again. And choose life this time. Even with its witless overtures and empty virtue, it holds the one thing that burns like fire and wakes me from my bitter sleep. Continue reading Finish Line. A poem.
The Search for Everything. An album review.
Being a poor student I don’t often buy new CDs (how times have changed—in my previous middle class existence I would buy two albums a week). Being a guitar player I (sometimes) gravitate to guitar-oriented music. Such is the case … Continue reading The Search for Everything. An album review.
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