Rain,
a sister to her brother
mercury,
tapping on my windows
like tiny bombs,
with a message that’s simple,
‘It’s raining!’
Naturally, I understand,
as clearly as the water itself,
for silent prehistoric rain
gains no respect.
Shock of a Fairground Fire
I could just make out the rotating horses, hear them; braying in the fire, leaping above an abusive smoke.
It seemed that despite the ever loosening grip on their painted reigns, the deafening funfair did not cease to roar upon it, with hellish flames.
Accompanied then by sounds of yesterday’s children, I witnessed the horses escape to the fields of evergreen.
I and them, together, they then turned and shared my shock of a fairground fire; hungry for what remained of their vintage carousel.
Noise War
A dog raises his head and barks while a man drops his head and shouts.
The dog barks and lifts its head as the man continues to shout.
Near-bye, a waiting car, its engine revs in frustration, the man shouts at
the car.
The dog continues to bark at the man, at the car, at itself.
Then, across the road, a woman, from her house, opens a window, and she
shouts from afar.
The man looks at the woman and shouts while the car engine revs that little bit
louder.
When a child is heard crying, the car then screams with revs while the
dog proceeds to bark at everything.
The woman in the houses’ phone rings. Her ringtone replicates the
the sound of a barking dog.
She answers her phone and says, “Hello?” Suddenly a temporary silence
deafens the neighbourhood; shortly before everybody feels the drum of
mysterious aeroplanes.
Boarding Details of a Slight Return (Nostalgia Poem)
Sky rays
The familiarity
Turquoise Sun
Welcoming sound
to everyone
Faceless ghosts
Repeat
Faceless hosts
Repeat
Personalized movie
Scenes to fit
One front row seat
To stand or sit
Fires are cooler
Multicoloured flames
Rose tinted
Memory fooler
Unacquainted to
remembered names
With a slower me
and a slower you
Me and me
Washed out
Beach garden house
Together
and another you
Visualize and memorize
Repeat.
The Caretakers Moon
The Ice Is Hot When It Thaws
As the ice in my hand gently thaws,
my butterfly’s go and fly better having gone, and yet, I haven’t even begun.
I’ll climb the mountains, I’ll wade in and along with the streams.
I am forever magnified in there waters like a vibrant bug in a glass jar.
But do I think hard? Do I? Do I think?
The answer is yes, for too long. So long that it’s no longer thinking at all.
How I can waste time so easily in haste.
Now, lesser do I wish to think, for i am with beauty and in dream.
The Grass of Glass
Outlining
the grass of glass
Bokeh
from the sun-rising
and morning tears
For morning cry is dew
In focus
Three words on a sign
and I’m soil
shovelled to the ground
No ball games
Brainwashed
The last man to find Denholm didn’t know what to think. Denholm, on the other hand, is the very word think, having done nothing else for centuries. Denholm stores the answer that everyone craves; the meaning of life.
Denholm has currently outlived, destroyed and humiliated seven generations of voluntary human vessels. These vessels have physically transported and slaved themselves through injury and neglect over countless, irrational commands.
One thing is for certain, Denholm always remains, with one desire, however painful, inevitable exclusion from society is; endeavouring to revolutionise the backward world he was forgotten for dead in.
Now, decades after his last walking/talking case of limbs, Denholm senses a new visitor tapping inquisitively at his encapsulating tank. The clear fluid gently caresses as it ripples with subtle response, Denholm swells and thinks, ‘everything will be different this time.’
Planet Human
With the Sun burning holes in everyone and the fog entering us at will, the world is pushing us around.
We decide, we don’t need the world and find ways to propel ourselves, creatively, through our planet’s atmosphere.
Our flesh and bone leave home, playing out various mimes to our past interests; some cycled, some swam the breast stroke, some sat and watched TV and waited to be carried by the wind.
Meanwhile as we render our hobbies useless we’re now aboard nothing except ourselves. At the point of entry to a most spectacular bar, from such a devastating height our beliefs are shattered.
As we continue to travel in the bar, through portholes we catch a glimpse of a traditional marble, so small, a ball of purity with such an engaging transmission of strength. We are beginning to slur our thoughts, slouching, getting drunk at the all night bar.
We decide that we think it is late, but right now, it will be forever late. Together, we all agree, that for the time being, we are better off loitering here.
Then the last order bell rings. The queue is infinite. Some-kind of door opens and creates a powerful vacuum, it spins us around playfully like bland snowflakes; head to tail chain of unwanted meat. We are out of our control.
Whilst spinning, we discover that the galaxy is a comic genius, when the punchline is timed perfectly against us and we all float off towards billions of twinkling lights. To the next planet then, maybe, but first we must become sober and enrol, for there must be a job waiting for us all.
Sleepy Dead
While I’m in bed, I’m trying to sleep.
When I’m trying, I sometimes think.
No-one sleeps by counting damn sheep.
There’s too many and then they go out of sync.
Hang on what is that? Feels… Looks like bloody wool!
Did they escape? They’ve made a right mess.
That’s weird I can, I seem to be looking down upon myself, on the bed.
Oh! The covers have fallen on the… What the F***, It can’t be!
Where are my limbs? I’m killer sheep meal!
I am just but a head, a right knee, oh, and a heel?
Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
I Eat Let.ers 