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The Lost Astronaut Poem to Self

Have you ever felt your insides boiling in the heat of a Morning Martian sun?

Because, here you can explode immediately so I advise you to please not come.

There is a planet, just one along that’s a little cooler, with water a plenty.

But, I warn you now you won’t be welcome; you’ll be ripped open before some bastard counts to twenty.

So I advise you to stay at home or better still go somewhere else!

If you stumble across their alternate selves, remain very cautious; in another universe, man + man, still = nauseous.

 

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Slightly Derelict House

The half-life – existing in Ordinary Street.  In a home that’s regressing, decaying at your own apprehensive feet. The curtains, undrawn, mournful in unique shades of burnt. I continuously prolong to stand; outside, be curious, where nothing can be learnt.

All that remains is allergic and weathered, bleached by an encompassing light, a colourless nothing fading from every passers sight. The welcome gate has long since gone, dissolved by powers of apathy, crumbling everything, no longer strong.

Carried on a gust, is a child’s drawing of their favourite haunted house, daring you to walk up the path like that famous miming mouse.  Someone is sealed inside their novelty box. Merely do they exist, inert, in one of their cellblocks.

This was this once the warmest family home. Mum and dad, the kids, each sitting on their styled floral throne, around the television like decent and normal folk, laughing like gas leaks at dad’s latest bad joke.

If you care too much now, then you are very strange. You can’t spare the spare time and so creeps something random, unimportant, and you’ll be fine, so walk on regardless in your very British sunshine.

Wintering

Branches bare

Black and white print

Cloud covered blanket

Adds shadow over tint

 

The frozen ground

Unpliable and plastic

Threatening, overhead

Dropping white static

 

The Sun feels its age

Winter owns this place

The warmth of my body

Versus the freeze of outer-space

 

I shiver in a fit

I breathe as a dragon

Red/Blue and swollen dead

I’m wintering, a cold cannon

 

 

Night and Day

The day is the same as the night,

Except at night there’s less natural light.

And so the night is the same as the day,

But the day lends itself away.

 

Then if the day is the same as the night,

The night hides the obvious from sight.

Only the moon outstays its welcome,

Hanging there as a forgotten kite.

 

Not can be said of the moon and the sun,

The moon controls the night and tides for fun.

The sun is the day and directly cannot be seen,

Improves your mood and raises self-esteem.

 

Without these forces then where would you be?

Are you a tree hugger or drawn to the sea?

Do you have a connection? Receive power from the moon?

Will you run to the sun, be a shadow by noon?

 

Frog In Fog

Do as I do said a frog in the fog,

and he flopped into a pond.

How lucky was he,

for he couldn’t look beyond.

Do as I do said the frog in the fog,

and he leapt out to dry.

How lucky was he,

for he didn’t even try.

Do as I do said the frog in the fog,

and he swallowed a fly.

How lucky was he,

for his word is no lie.

Do as I do said the frog to a toad,

suddenly some lights; dazzled, he froze.

The toad belched, you’re in the damn road!

The frog in the fog, so it goes.

Bald Love

 

12 year old Jack found his feet very loosely tied to some railings.

His 11 year old girl-fraud proceeded to stuff newly cut grass down his trunks for the sheer love of it.

She found the whole thing hilarious. Jack was pleased that she was enjoying his company, if a little confused.

At school, the next day, he found out that half the school though he was a baldy!