I don’t mean to be boring
Or feel need to be liked
I don’t want to seem pretentious
Or told that was well typed
I don’t try to be fo sunny
Or morose for the sake of you!
I don’t write because i love weather
I write to keep my shit together!
Tag Archives: poetry
Laughing in my Sleep
I took shape… I was like a dolphin with endorphins… an endolfin maybe,
and all the while, somebody was flying around at ground level;
on a rolled up gym mat.
Yet, the children walked by, never blinking an eye; it was the only thing they could do whilst getting lost in the playfields.
It was then, when i had returned; waist deep in pond water; lifting a sorry flower from the aqua; reminding me of intricate, unfolding origami, it bloomed instantly in my wrinkled palm.
Oh… me and the encompassing crowd,
we barked and clapped like a close knit colony of slow-motioned seals; high on friendship and wonder.
Exit, Entrance to Exit
The whites of her eyes trembled like approaching dual headlights in heat-haze.
Each pinkly foot all a blur; cradled loosely by a pair of slip on cups; adjoined by two nonsynchronous shotguns; lock and loading; firing her across the nightclubs remix of slip and adhesion.
Her slight outline; disappearing/reappearing; a visual offbeat to the paparazzi furore that follow her with discord; some giddy travel through extra-terrestrial lights of seizure.
To a close country border,
Fire doors! she cried, unlikely to be heard… or in thought.
Now here is the swing and hinged odds; potholed by scattered youth with inebriated limbs; blotted by dazed fireflies that danced in the smokes.
Surrendering to official air, the same air that blows your sweat gently across your neck into deltas on your chest, only reminiscent… to be felt.
When gravity falters, this Mother Earth is momentarily off her axis.
Her daughter follows one snaking line of shy neon; in and out of sight, forever smaller, staccato, in black, can paranoid be the night?
Souvenir
Now that being there; is now always near
And since then where have we’ll been? –
By the fridge near that bridge…
Leaning on the ridge of ‘Decorated Windowsill Hill.’
Wind Paintings
Some sunlit Sunday when the wind began to paint; swirling lines around windowed tombstones,
Chroming dull, jutting decay and the ironic dancing of litter; saturated with audacities,
Shading the herding commuters with realism and the scattered loiterers in impressionism.
Not forgetting the multi-toning of everything with tornadoes, and the requisite highlighting with hurricanes.
Then for some; the inability will be – to see the bigger picture; with all the unnecassary force
Of incessant rains upon swollen, rolling seas.
This weather has found it’s new career.
Young Medusa
Her hair: unusually short
Her height: strangely tall
Her feet: somewhat large
Her hands: abnormally small
Her skin: a peculiar canvas
Each eye had a seperate rule
But so sick was she of ridicule
Her smile destroyed them all
Nowhere on Pause
That moment before the future,
That directly succeeds the past.
If you’re lucky you’ll even catch it,
Through its travel; though it never lasts.
Listen to the Music
I listen to the music
That attractive noise
I’ll listen to The Fall
To The Beach Boys
I listen to the music
So candid
Therapeutic
A stinging to my ears
So enjoyably caustic
I listen to the music
For instant nostalgia
Of where I was
Who with
Or when I found ya
I listen to the music
I love that drone
So finally I can sleep
Until the notes find home
I listen to the music
It conjures such love
Into my ears
Let it roll with a loose shove
I listen to the music
Feeling happy or stressed
I’ll listen when calm
Intoxicated
Badly dressed
I listen to the music
On various compilations
Those imperfect and personal
Golden-oldie stations
I listen to the music
Like a hit from the hits
I listen to the music
When the moment fits
I listen to the music
And here’s the chorus now
I’ll listen
Until the music’s over
… T’Pau!
Beachworld
As you stare; stop looking… for answers on every wave, and under the tiring sun that lowers into its new water bed: forever creased. Each nearing roll of surf perpetually attends to the beach where you wander; reaching out and soaking, smoothing scars of soft land and human hand, from land loving creatures.
The bubbling roar of white noise; rising and dipping in volume; teasing your ears into hearing frequencies from lost radios stations: faulty and alluring. Every time this happens something is taken from you, soon replaced by a specific space to lighten your walk inland.
All this… as you stand, feet sucked by gooey miniature rocks that table gels of dead jelly fish; glistening like little brains of the sea; forced up upon confusion and violence from the mighty froths of wash.
Lets Talk About the Weather
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s lay in bed slightly longer, and nearer together.
Hello, how are you?
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s decorate the house in pleasure.
I’m just fine thank-you!
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s be blind to age and be young forever.
And how are you?
Let’s talk about the weather.
Let’s plan our holidays and remember the last endeavour.
I am good… thank-you!
I Eat Let.ers 