Ode to the men and women who have died in a blizzard

Something for nothing

An equal exchange of thoughts and ideas for those out of mind

and out of time to buy a christmas present

Wrapped in newspaper

Headlines reading that 76 die in a blizzard

A nor’easter 

I cave in

Letting myself go with the wind

Take me with you, you said

Let me fly up there in the sky where tears dry on the cheeks

Of children who let go of their balloon

Im tangled in the powerlines 

Mangled branches and braces

Chewing gristle

Thistle tea and scones with clotted cream.

I sorely miss those days

Crazed attempts at being someone

Who could run up and down the aisles of a supermarket

Scream at the top of my lungs

Eating worms

But surely there’s a better way

I’m sick

That’s it

Kill your darlings

Kill them all

Smother them in their sleep

And steal their belongings

I was going to jump into the ocean

I wanted to drown

Fill my ears, nose, mouth, and mind

But I didn’t

And that’s all I can say

I think there are 2 types of people in this world

Nighttime strolls with nameless men

Craning  their necks to see over the sea

Seething with potent rage and fervour

Waiting to explode on my face

Cradling it between their thighs and asking me how i’m getting home

In a hot air balloon.

Freedom can come in many shapes and sizes

Sometimes she smells like tar and compost

Sometimes they take me to the top of mountains and draw me in pastel

Sometimes it punches me in the face on the dancefloor

Sometimes you take baths with me

Sometimes you are printed on a receipt

In the pages of unwritten manuscripts

In timeless afternoons

In soft grass

Sometimes his voice gives me goosebumps

Sometimes it sings and I cry

Sometimes you have your way

And sometimes I have mine.

disorder

 

Beyond, below a sea that sinks and bubbles there lay 2 sweet women made of gold.

Their names were lost on sunken ships and in lightning bolts.

They sang to young men who ate rotten apples.

To men who have fire between their legs.

They are the women of love, of loss, of meandering hunger.

Of caution. Of stained glass, sharded hearts.

Of nameless feelings caught in a southerly breeze.

Of pure rage.

They sing long into the night. Whispering verses.

Cursing those who turn away from the rising sun.

Run. Run Run Run run run run run run.

Purposeful forceful astrological fallacy

These people are frozen in time.

They are becoming of themselves.

No if, ands, or buts about it

They don’t know where the beginning begins and the end begins

Because starting is the hardest part

The start

Lethargic attempts at makeshift love

Proven methods of procreationary

Stationary emotions stagnating in the living room

Under the sheets of my bed there lay a filth

A layer of foul grime

Rhymes and meters dribble from my mouth as i sleep

Staining my pillowcase

Washed away in the afternoon sun

Are you healthy ?

I create fantasies in my head of ways i want to see the world

Do i need him ?

Do I Need him ?

Don’t I need him ?

I don’t.

Find him buried in the backyard underneath a barren apple tree.

Bearing his body to me and telling me he loves me but not enough to care.

Not enough to make an effort.

Because the soil is spoilt, tainted, barren.

Lacking nutrients.

Lacking in some way.

Shape or formless i find ways to conjure you in dreams and in nightmares.

Versions and permutations of a self I’ve created becomes muddier and muddier with each iteration

I lose myself in myself

I lose myself in you

I lose faith in the things that would bring me joy

I forgot how much i enjoyed dancing 

Spinning and bouncing and jumping

To a beating heart string

Plucked and fucked by someone who didn’t even know my last name

I am going backwards in time to meet myself

Asking him silly questions because I knew he would like them

He loves himself too much.

Not enough world for him.

Grasping at the corners of paper boats

Thinking this would be it.

I would give up my left leg for something to have gone differently.

I am a Green yellow man who sits on the edge of today and tomorrow

Swallowed whole.

By the women who sing from the bottom of the sea.

Waiting.

The Partnership Divide

There lay a path, just out of reach

beyond sea & boundless sea; 

where at the end, it may surprise

sits a lonely willow tree.

Its branches lick the summer sky

pushing upward with the breeze,

where lovers sit & lovers cry

in their masses and with ease.

They look upon their chosen mate

& speak softly in their ear,

“I want my china dinner plate

and your Netflix for a year.”

Here, where tears flow in abundance,

 & the screams, heard far and wide;

this sacred place I like to call

‘The Partnership Divide.’

Where love, with paradise is lost

or just hidden out of sight,

for when divorce comes out to play

over everything, they’ll fight.

They do pay the price of passion

yield the fruits of lovers past

for ardent acts of mindfulness;

they shall never cease to last.

In this black hole, devoid of hope

where love is lay rest to die;

you see the worms that grow inside

the late apple of your eye.

It seems, at first, that love is dead

but this wisdom I will give;

“You can’t prosecute with evidence

that’s all corroborative.”

 

Simple Poetry

a simple poem,

a single poem

read for enjoyment.

Coffee-stained inspiration

How do you begin to write ?

How do you stop the pen from hovering just above the page to create something ground-breaking, revolutionary, and completely original.

In my limited experience; you cant. The product that stems from the pantheons of thought and is transferred to the piddly little page, is never as expected or as inspirational as one hopes.

The product regularly ends up being more trouble than its worth. That, for me,  is this little piece of poetry. A spilled coffee stain filled me with some false sense of artistic confidence as I began to write, flirting with the idea of creative brilliance,  the opening lines reiterated this unfounded feeling of bravado but as I continued, the poem devolved into simply spewing words onto the page that seemed barely connected to anyone but myself. But I still post it in the hopes that someone else can find some semblance of enjoyment from my ramblings.

I sure as hell don’t.