Posts tagged poetry

One forged for me, she stands before the storm.
Two chocolate eyes melt civilised monsters,
Her tongue can dance his truth in spoken form,
And for her he crafts the men that cite his verse.
She stands like Lady Liberty, and sings to me
What seems like overt prophesy
Embedded in her fingers; the hope and love
That guides my focus up above, and onward
As she squeezes, releases me
To fly, because she gifted me with wings.
I try to mend her feathers, but the tools I lose
With clumsy rambling, those words I’m gambling
Will shortcut the journey. But she knows,
She smiles,
                  She waits,
                                   To fly with me someday.

They season the mud,
Nature’s blood, its testimony proclaiming
Ancestral pride, and a glimmer of a
Far-gone smile.

Salt it with your stupid… condiments?
Compliments and awe.
They call him their best friend
But they have never spoken.

Ignore the pain, the raining in the woods,
In the words; they clutter-clatter-clutter
On the roof.
They’ll evaporate someday.

They broadcast their silent heresies
That speak to me in haiku policies
And prodigies. Self-proclamation sells
Their enigma; their mystery cowers inside a hollow box.

They don’t always have themselves
To answer for, or to, or from, to
See it all. To witness a new beginning
And feel something end.

— and thus the world is born
Out of lashing light, light without
Warmth. Too much kindness was never here;
And that is why beams don’t brighten,
But burn like ice.

Spider’s legs, fleshy and fat,
Crawl beside me, as I try to make
The snow leave, but it won’t.
Its fibers are tangled, around me,
Become my vice.

Where is it? — Treasure entrapped
In the sheets; perhaps. I, the confused
Elephant, feel the pangs that are
Pulling at the anchor. It’s 
Tainting my blood

That is not there, nor here,
Nor does it exist - but did she? Words
Remain to boil my mud, but chill
It’s beat. I myself have none;
I never could

Expand upon my anarchy, or tell
Myself; why these salted cheeks?
My doing some times, and other times
They were too. Smoking the silence
Like it’s the last

Smoke he’ll ever have. The lights
Don’t work, so he eats, whatever she 
Left him from the corpse. It tastes
Bitter, but he eats, and keeps eating what’s
Left. In the past

He might have been wiser. He might still
Steer clear of this future, unless the music
Seduces him to another, or the letters
That tumble out of him tear
Him to pieces.

No no no, see

THAT is where you are wrong and nobody else

Is right. You want the hole filled but it isn’t

Big enough yet. Here, 

I’ll help you dig. 

Those tough questions have become easy invitations

Because somewhere you resiled from being

Someone less. And that must be where the hole

Came from - that makes sense.

So let’s fill it up.

But first, let me help you make it

A little bit bigger.

It is cold in here, even though we jump and twist

To thumps in the floor; friction does us no favours.

It owes us nothing, but you

Will continue until it pays up.

But it’s your fault that it is cold in here.

Once upon a time you traded your heart for a clock

Because you preferred the sound of the gears

Clicking together, like applause,

An endless internal applause and your eyes will light up,

But you traded your heart for a clock.

You stand with fiery globes that extinguish doubt,

Momentarily. You are stone-cold joyful.

A voice that resonates into ears but not spirits,

An envelope without a letter,

But everyone agrees that it is at least a nice envelope.

If we wait, we might hear the world turn from your lips

That command more than we know. Less than you

Can understand. Clean out your insides with bleach

If you can, I can tell that’s your plan,

But I can’t yet hear the world turn from your lips.