Wings & wounds

Moods that form like ice.
Primitive and wild.
Divide these thoughts one by one.
With the seed of hope lying in the heron’s stomach.
Out of sight, and beyond our boundaries.
The breaks of tolerance have worn away.
And the world calls me now, out into the dark.
Listen.
Dream about the future. The annuals of time.
Plastering over the cracks and the doubts.
But hollow is the past, honeycombed and fretful.
Don’t get lost.
Un-buckle and rewind.
Begin once more as the heron spreads its wings.
Looking up, what does it see?
What do you wish to feel?
Simple ponds and stagnant waters you wish to leave behind.
There’s a calling, from the sea.

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Peck

There, can you hear it?
A relentless tapping.
Incessant as the dark which captures the night.
It comes and never leaves. Beating out the marrow of my bones.
Do not shake your head in disbelief, it’s a nightmare for which I seek relief.
Hello, it’s me here the fluttering reminder.
You inside me, what is that sound?
It’s breaking my will and senses down.
I’m the little bird that was on your windowpane.
I came inside when you opened that vein.

And now you tap inside my skull all day?
I’m here yes, and happy to say;
better me than the moths and ghosts.
Who’d nibble at your heart like toast.
If I move to the light, will you follow?
I told you once, your head is not hollow; you know that I am here to stay.
For how long?
Well, I couldn’t say.
I hope my fluttering would lodge that organ.
Of pulsing grey and tangle webs.
Of thoughts and hopes inside this head.
Lodge them why, what do I need?
I am safe alone, without any need;
of impulses that force me out of comfort.
Or being lost, failed abandoned then hurt.
I tap and knock as an irritant reminder.
You’re wasting time here, like a static sidewinder.
An empty column of force and wind.
That’s fading fast, anorexically thinned.

(Sigh)
I know, you’re right, but what can I do?
I had my dreams, but away they flew.
I’ll tell you what, there is tomorrow.
I’ll start it all then, and dreams will follow.
Then I will carry on with my tapping.
To keep you from your easy napping.
I said tomorrow I’ll chase those dreams.
For now please cease these needless screams.
Of forcing me, when I’m feeling forced.
Very well my friend, you steer your course.
But If not today, then tell me then.
If not then why, and perhaps then when?

Weekend

Strained and untested.
(You’re not the only one)
Friday night and frantic.
Planned to get arrested.

They’ll pick up pieces of you in the morning.
Who flew your sanity out of here?
Drunk without a warning.
Stabs at conversations so unclear.

Saints be praised such holiness.
Washes over these tired feet.
Picked apart then slowly undress.
This divine and damaged piece of meat.

Violence

Still sleeping with the light on.
Yet the shadows find you.
Creeping, and licking at your soul.
Silently, they claw at your throat.
Spilling your dreams across the floor.
Tomorrow sits on your windowsill watching.
Yesterday slithers out the backdoor.
You let the violence inside when you stopped believing.
When the prayers ended, the devil crept in with the rain.
It eats you from inside, this doubt.
Spins your soul on a thread to weave into nightmares.
These days, your empty bag of bones drifts through the hours.
Captured in screenshots with vacant eyes and sad smiles.
Even god cracked open your skull to peek inside.
But all she found was dust and despair.
I can squeeze the blood and pain from you now.
I can rest the history of the decade on your spine.
Hearing the vertebrae crack and crumble.
Then rip the cells apart looking for love.
But there will be nothing to feel.
Nothing makes waves on your silent sea.
For you are numbed to the world and your own salvation.
Collapsing eternally into now.

Lifting

Vanishing points appeared on the ceiling.
Little holes in my veins.
These little deer that course through the bloodstream.
Looking for the forest from the trees.
You force me to close my eyes to a world so hung in regret.
Precarious, like a spun sugared spider web.
Catching daydreams and ideas of escape.
That lifting.
Yet submerged in a dream where the walls crumble like chalk.
A hallucinatory step into monumental design.
Copying my name into the book of the dead.
That book that I read, where fate can be altered.
And we can change the path of time.
Which now forever ticks in my head, as I swallow each new morning.
Choking on the aftertaste of yesterday.
Lifting into a dream.

Sky burial

Make way for sad opportunity.
An internal march into time.
Who here has the energy, to battle any longer?
Only kings know when their time is done.
How to lay down forever, which position do we wear?
Tired and tested.
Joyful and sublime.
Making way for time’s sweet blanket.
We do not crawl to the end.
Or lie here waiting for the angels to carry us.
We hurry, back and forth between moments that mean nothing.
In the eyes of god, or the great beyond.

Lay me down

To sleep, in a dream that never wakes.
Flying on stars and tears tonight.
Lay me down.
Into the air or the earth.
For that is where my soul seeks silence.
Covered for a hundred years, a thousand tears.
Rusted and weak.
Lay me down, to sleep.
And tell me stories of the future.
A harkening of new truths.
When this time has died into a yesterday.
I will wake, and drink the world in again.

Years subside

Twilight and daybreak intertwine.
Casting shadows and dawn on these eyelids.
People come and talk to me of passion.
Then they linger, and talk to me of death.
I feel stuck inside a moral station.
Watching the trains as I in decide.
I feel a murmur of god, yet the call of the wild.
Battling against the push of gravity.
No longer feeling its pull.
How the years have folded like a napkin in my lap.
Dirty and used.
Yet I wonder. I wonder if I’m hungry still.

View from the top

These sights wash these eyes like concrete.
Nothing moves me.
There is an absence of surprise now in my bones.
The world unfolds before me, much the same as it did yesterday.
Ashes never change.
It’s such a shame that everything stays the same.
And all these prayers go unanswered.
The wasted youth of trying to figure it all out.
Coming up empty.
Pots of fool’s gold and the things unneeded.
Yet bought at such a price.
The devil counts the souls as the sun goes down.
These conversations I have now, should be with myself.
Ten years ago.
Instead of to God.
Who always only ever laughed.

Swallowing tomorrow

Who reads a smiling poet’s words?
Ones that bridge the chasm from heartache to heaven.
Do you care to wash in the tears of the lonely?
Or splash yourself in city rain, dirty from the walk of life.
These moments we catch and keep.
Lock inside where the heartbeats remind us we’re still existing.
Coveting and creating.
Moving and replacing like tectonic continents of sorrow and elation.
Self-serving commotion in a noisy crowd of others.
Screaming to be heard and praying to be forgotten.
Who wants to read a dead girls dreams?
Slashed away like the wrist on a foggy November.
Or trapped in amber to survive generations.
We are the pendulum kids, swinging from north to south.
Mouth and eyes open to catch it all and swallow as we fly by.
With tears in our eyes; not knowing if their happy ones or sad.

Feeling maturity’s pull

Feel the stranger in the skin.
Bones that stumble into another day.
I wish that I could go back.
And remember the person I hoped to be.
Wide eyed with a smile as big as heaven.
Now it pulls down like guilt.
Watching the gravity collapse every time the sun rises.
And feel these dreams demise.
On a forgotten land of possible.
I see through the eyes now of someone I never wanted to be.
An alien soul who moves from right to left.
Unpicking the threads of good and coughing up a sadness.
I wish I could go back.
Back to being the little boy.
I’d tell him not to grow up if he could help it.
Run back to Neverland.

Lurk

Malcontent to stop me dreaming.
A bitter play that keeps revealing.
Scenes upon a static stage.
A macabre heart for this new age.
For doubt replaces it’s bloody setting.
A pumping organ that keeps forgetting.
That you lurk inside this past.
A haunting ghost that always lasts.
And wades on through our murky trauma.
Pining for a love that former,
took the place you now reside.
And kills this love, you try to hide.

Her own little joke

And all this talk of giving up.
All this talk of collapse.
Makes her soul spin and throw up.
Makes her mind relapse.
As she chuckles inward, quick at first.
Thinking back to how to how she fought.
Through the blood soaked perils, through the worst.
And all the things life taught.
She smiles now at their silly.
Their lives breaking down through phones.
How their summer sun turned chilly.
Now that ignorance is in their bones.
She wonders if they will ever feel.
How she did through the pain.
Through poverty, through lack of meals.
The constant bombs that fell like rain.
But she’s not bitter, she merely laughs through the windows.
She knows they’ll be just right.
They’ll fall on each other’s pretty pillows.
That they Photoshop every night.

Never be here

This mind and muscle, tries to escape gravity.
To lift off into the unknown, and go far away from here.
Hanging onto nothing but your identification.
As you close your eyes to jet stream, and fear of falling.
You feel it now in your veins.
Coursing through the difference like a teenager.
Struggling for understanding.
But they could never see. They would never know.
Eager to cover you in unprecious stones.
Which is why you must leave.
To sail on the solar winds that taste of honey.
And forget the palatableness of decay.
For a distant shore will feel sweeter.
Than this rocky edge of 30.

Don’t believe the past

Unwrap the dreams for another day.
Place them on the table while the time slips away.
Cough up a resolution, to the disorder and the chaos.
Let them take your blood type.
Dig you up like dinosaur bones.
These bones, so tired and hollow.
Broken from the strain of life.
Blink. Breathe. Begin.
Box up those nightmares.
Sweep the past into the corner of the solar system.
Douse yourself in oil and light a spark.
And blaze into a new collection of hours.
Of your borrowed time on earth.
For who knows how long we have.

I don’t want this future

Sand flurries through these fingers.
Time crumbling away.
I stand motionless, allowing the wind to rattle my bones.
A cobweb in my mind tightens.
The earth shakes and my moon falls.
I want to return, go back. Sit and wait on the edge of existence.
Dip my feet into the pool on unknowing.
All the mysteries have answers.
All the faces now have frowns.
These clothes, this skin; all illusionary trinkets to dazzle and distort.
A box, a prison I have dug for myself.
My temptation tiptoes into time, and takes me away.
Above the towns and the moments I made.
I return to the tree from where I fell.
Safe and secure like a nut underground.
Buried and forgotten by last year’s squirrel.
I sit and wait, casting eyes up to the heavens.
Allow for the rains to wash it all away.
Soaking it deep in my veins to breathe a new now.
With my future, yet unwritten.
Writing in the coal I’m turning to diamonds.

Dissolve

In the moment we fade, into shadows and dust.
Corroded and broken, like heartache and rust.
For time is motion, both forward and back.
And into the darkness, our minds birth the lack.
Of knowing limitations, of body and mind.
That we all fade away, over spread golden time.
Once oh so pretty, that the angels despaired.
How a dream would unfold, how souls ceased to care.
And the ghosts swirled around in a sad misty dance.
Where the passage of fate, and time took their chance.
To rob them of hope, to turn night out of day.
Where love and of beauty, will dissolve away.

Scratches inside the skull

Hear the clouds, rolling and calling.
Rumbling across your spine.
Vertebrae by vertebrae it moves you.
Like a little child crying out in the dark.
The air gets heavy. And the rainbows die.
Anything you wanted, falls back.
Turns into time.
The rain you feel on your fingertips.
Are the tears you cried as a child, busting the dam.
Flooding your spirit, marking a way to the funeral of a childhood friend.
The one you wished the most for.
Built those dreams with sand and innocence.
Playback the videotape in your mind before the lightening burns the image.
Filling your eyes with fog and fury.
Of a lost dream, crumbled and put to sleep.
Snatched by the monsters and left to die in a foreign atmosphere.
Alone, in a time glass.
Covered each second in the sand of regret.

Ghosts

A Collaborative poem with ‘Enshrined Poetry’ (not the first time, more here).


It splits my soul.
Dragged back towards these melancholy shores.
Running through the downpour of emotions and memories.
Slick and sticky.
Covering me completely.
The ghosts gather, licking their ectoplasmic lips.
Feasting on the flesh of a thousand mistakes.
The subtle beasts, stealing my lazy reveries.
They haunt me still.
Rumbling up and down these bones, while I shiver towards catatonic sunder.
The god shape hole is backfilled with the deeds of the devil.
A By-product of love maneuvers and binding selfishness.
Like evolution.
The toxic waste of time.
………………..
Oh El I, El I….
………………..
Sweet and short reprieve.
What libertine hope is haloed into these thought chests?
Where ghosts hold the keys and cover the locks.
They never had the power of speech, yet their words haunt and taunt me.
They know the reasons for these tears.
Smiling at the circumstance.
With a spectral hand they reach in and catch me off guard.
Talismans dropped and facing away from mecca.
They whistle my lingo, until I’m driven into solid black and white.
Kiss me over and over again, staining my broken lips with shame.
As I absorb the white noise.
The crackle and hisses coil.
A mountain of monsters merge into one.
All names fade away, into the pinhole of the shadowless.

 

A Place in the stars

(Not part of, but in conjunction with ‘Echoes in space’)

Lots of people were afraid. Rationale and irrational fears grew like ivy in the cluttered world he lived in. As Jerimiah grew up, he found fear was just a pat of life. His sister had always been afraid of spiders. Snakes too, though spiders were a more every day hazard, bringing out an alarming response from her no matter who was around. He never forgot the day she found one in her bed when she was going to sleep, the screams had echoed down into the street making the dogs in the neighbour’s yard bark. They had shared a bedroom in the old house then, out of necessity more than anything else. It wasn’t until he was five years old that he had a room of his own. Of course, this came with the collapse of his parent’s marriage and he would have traded in a second the large bedroom at his father’s house, for the pokey one he shared with his sister. At least that way they would still be together. But people, like marriages collapse. His sister departing only a year into his larger bedroom life, not from a spider attack, but from the leukaemia that had corroded her from the inside.

Jerimiah was afraid of one thing, and one thing only. He was afraid of time. How it snuck in on him and those he loved. Snatching away those things, and people he held dear. Turning, tumbling and changing his little world that he would want to keep secret and safe under a bell jar. He would look up into the night’s sky and see the stars blinkering above him. Fixed into position like reliable Christmas lights, always there like the season, waiting to bring joy. It wasn’t until he was much older that he learned the true nature of space. The twirling chaos that attacked the cosmos, with everything in flux. But for that six year boy within him still, he would always see safety and security in the stars. His friends that were always there like jewels in black cement.

Jerimiah though was understanding about people’s fears. He understood why his sister had been afraid of spiders. How her mind would run with a thousand possibilities of what could happen, and the deathly mist that surrounded them and the poisonousness possibilities. Much like he understood people’s fear of flying. He had met an old lady on a flight to Rome once before, sitting in the aisle seat next to him. She was so afraid, her white knuckles had gripped onto the armrest for the duration of the flight, her eyes closed as if in silent prayer to keep her aloft, and to land safely in the eternal city. He had wondered what she was so desperate to live for, what in her life was she so afraid of losing. One’s death being usually a horrible climax of pain and distress, but momentary. What was she so afraid of not completing? What had her life really been about?

He had sat there himself on that small plane, thousands of miles above the French Alps, watching the snow-capped peaks shimmering in the sun. If they were to descend; collapse in a fiery demise and be strewn in wreckage across the snowy landscape, what was he missing out on? What in his life was he left to accomplish or leave behind? He would be missed of course. His partner would be distraught, and tears would be shed. But life would go on, time would cover the hurt up in sand and silence. Changing once more the nature of things.

Time. His biggest enemy.

He had landed in Rome safe and sound, the flight not having crashed like many unfortunate others had. He had quit is job that very day, enjoying a nice little holiday there instead of the work he had come there to do.

If he had known he were to die at the age of thirty three, Jerimiah would probably not have done things much different than he had. He would most likely have avoided a lot more arguments. Those stupid back and forths with people over things that mean nothing to wider universe. He knew time was always against him, under his feet like an escalator he couldn’t stop or slow down. In this way, he lived a full life. He understood the preciousness and fragility of life. He squeezed his partner a bit more when they hugged and kissed. He meant it more when he said I love you. Perfection was not to be a part of his existence on earth, yet Jerimiah saw the bigger picture. It was all a blink in the eye of God, and he knew he had no time to waste.

When at thirty three, he reached the top of the escalator, he glanced over the side to see how far he’d come. It all looked so small and crushable from his vantage point. He was alone, but he wasn’t sad. He could see his friends glittering their celestial magic as diamonds across the inky black. Their luminosity radiant and strong like a million burning suns. And he took his place in the stars, content and happy that the clocks had finally stopped ticking.

Reverse back to tomorrow

I travelled down that road, only to get lost again.
Trying to get back again.
If I meet you there, I apologise; I would’ve failed.
Seeing the destruction in your eyes.
A strength you needed was not coursing through this DNA.
The magic in my makeup was only to enable disappearance.
To be made of steel, with golden wings.
Would be a tale for another time, and another version of me.
These signs that I pass, trying to be born again; or to shift the paradigm.
Tell me not of where I am headed, or where I have gone.
They only illuminate where I should already be.
Holding out for tomorrow to be different today.

Spider webs trapped the sun

In her room where the lamps flicker.
Within the corners, like those in her mind.
A devil does sit. A demon does wait.
Clicking tongues and painting her red.
She pulls away from this earth.
Disconnecting the gossamer thread that keeps her fire a flame.
Pulling her teeth out to give them something they needed.
A token for her pound of flesh.
She clipped her own wings so stay.
Only once, yet she lives with that decision.
Tarred and feathered in her dance of the daisies.
Each one waiting to be plucked.
So when the night draws in and those devils shift their feet.
Around her heart a deathly mist doth coil.
Unprotected.
Dangerously defeated.
Flashing her years before her like signs on a road.
Too late to turn back.
Too late to change the destination.