The words,
that once flowed so freely
gone!
A mental blank
cliche, after cliche
filling a mind to melting point
all these thoughts
but no words fill the page
and I start to wonder
The words,
that once flowed so freely
gone!
A mental blank
cliche, after cliche
filling a mind to melting point
all these thoughts
but no words fill the page
and I start to wonder
She, who came in
from the wind and
drifting snow.
Yes, I know
you mean a lot to me,
I know it's hard for you
to have such an open heart
in this mad weird world,
I know you're scared
(to be hurt, to be blue)
Trust me:
yesterday was spent
with a lovely sea-shell girl:
today must be worse
small city Twilight
of ecstacy and terror:
dark forest mountains
Apollo's returned
to shine on crow and farmer:
so bad, it's an ache
that longs to be held.
we want to make the world a home,
we want to prove
that we struggled with the world
as Jacob struggled with God
and we won,
it's so inevitable
First of all,
slash your fore-arm and let it
bleed all over the page
(poetry's rough)
Next or if you've done that
(so many poets have,)
let me say I've not the poetry thing
A painful shift held together with smiles,
Ones that make your face ache
And your hands shake,
While you’re taking orders.
Awkward conversations with a manager,
Or a friend,
About a close friend who died this week. He was only 18 and I am so lucky to have known him x
Oh, to leave the world unseen
wild, undefined, unknown
except for a few small cities
roads and forests
(simple trees rooted in tradition)
unconnected to the world vast,
They slide away, the days of yore,
From wood to ash, from ash to flame
Like pages turning in the frame
Of an old book, and then no more.
Look: in this question of our hour,
“How can you miss the
obvious weight to my
smile since you left?”
“You were always weak”
I know that I can survive.
“The truth is I never loved you”
After visiting Aphrodite's Rock in Cyprus.
this is more or less where I was... although it was two different ones.
All things they must end
the road around the bend
the light the candle lends
the letters that we send
the life of the fleetest sparrow
the reign of the greatest king
A ruthless virus,
dressed as a security guard,
got it in an art gallery(busy stirring a cup of coffee)
with a tommy gun
blew it to hell
(hotmail and Facebook and Brittanica all at once,
It's not that life has no meaning
or that all society
and philosophy's hollow
I know well enough
that's not true
But I have a hunger to speak
of the deepest things,