One gummy bear…
Two gummy bears…
Three gummy bears…
Then the lemon gummy bear trail suddenly went cold.
That was before the wrapper I found discarded;
By a youngling, so I was then told.
One gummy bear…
Two gummy bears…
Three gummy bears…
Then the lemon gummy bear trail suddenly went cold.
That was before the wrapper I found discarded;
By a youngling, so I was then told.
Wheels rattling
Hardened grip
Push shunt
Kerb trip
Toy fallen
Toddler crying
Comfort-comfort
Parent trying
Winning line
Neck stooped
All losers
All pooped
Loaf of bread, best before date 1-2-16
Banana, best before date 2-2-16
Skimmed milk, best before date 3-2-16
A bottle of wine…
Barn eggs, best before date 4-2-16
Whole Chicken, best before date 5-2-16
Sugar, best before date 6-2-16
Bottle of water, best before date 7-2-15!
Dates, best before date… correction
One bad joke, use by date…
This poem’s best by date…
Everything expired… rotting freely.
I cannot speak in this room, my tongue is sewn to my inner mouth like an old rolled up, tatty, old gym mat, left tied in a locked and forgotten storage room. I am now reduced to a baby regarding my quality of speech, no-one, not even myself will understand my dialect now.
Subsequently, my eyes are like CCTV cameras, tirelessly scanning people I will never know. Such resources require feeding before I again starve myself from predictable individual markets of specialised code. Right now I do not want to buy into anything, other than some much need for some personal inanimate objects, or Mother Nature’s pleasantries.
Then, surprisingly, a section of room clears, I notice someone familiar to me; they sit directly opposite as if waiting in a crowded underground station for a train that will never arrive.
Immediately, faces and limbs move blurrily around them like a meaty aura, descaling time, they somehow cut a somewhat dominant figure with a slouching posture; sitting in an otherwise frenetic sequence of scribbled picture flick images.
All the while, a hideous wallpaper pastes the background; unnaturally large and repetitive design of supposedly beautiful coloured flowers. Seemingly this Rorschach of entangled petals also emits a pungent scent from hells garden, choking our airways ever so slowly. Or, a ladies offensive perfume that loiters excessively as she struts passed on death-defying stilts with a cocktail.
Slowly the wallpapers flowers grow, entwine and weave, swallowing all that stands near it, suffocating the lost and forgotten drones that are top-heavy while on the edge of walls made from verbalised, exhaled breath; an endless wordy fever swells the room into sickness.
Then a sudden refreshingly pure breeze blows playfully, it caresses my moist cheek, my unacquainted companion acknowledges the very same, welcomed oxygen. As I raise my right hand to my drying face, I notice at precisely the same moment they do the very same, it is as unnerving as it is welcoming.
It is then we leave the room together.
Dry twinkling grains
Soft sucking imprints
Moulding
Swallowing spaces
Between your toes
Temporary still
Of someone’s moment
Until erased
By unempathetic sea
A liquid giant
Sand pushing machine
Of Its own arcade
No coin-op
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?
I have a comb in my hand
What do I do know?
I have a comb in my hand
I have a wallet in my hand
What do I do know?
I have a hanky-chief in my hand
I have a comb in my hand
What do I do know?
(Bang!)
What was that? What was that?
What’s was that noise?
What’s that noise?
What do I do know?
What do I do know?
I see a face
I can’t remember
What do I do know?
What do I do know?
She’s smiling
I can’t remember
I have a wallet in my hand?
What do I do know?
It’s all gone
Can’t remember
I feel so tired
What do I do know?
Tired
What do I do now?
I have a comb in my hand
She’s talking to me
What do I do know?
Can’t remember
Ok
What do I do know?
Put my coat on?
Oh oh oh
Where are we going? Where are we going?
Doctors, oh oh oh
What do I do know?
What do I do know?
I have a hanky chief in my hand
I feel tearful
What do I do know?
I observe and I
Stand on edges
As I hear millions of
Meaningless words spoken
As a deterrent
for those that are needed
All Languages
Sending me
To an episode from my
Implicit memory
As I cope I smile
Then I choose not to
At precisely all the right moments
Eventually I care not
I am somewhere else
If you’re like me
You wait to be
acknowledged
Or to be completely
ignored
That is expected
If you’re like me
The here and now
Will have its time
in the future
To be useful again
And I write