I face rebellion
The words stall and stutter.
They sidle onto the page so stubbornly and sullenly.
They shift and squirm and slip from my uncertain grasp.
They twist and turn and tangle themselves up in tortured, tedious, threadbare tales.
They distract me.
They defy me.
They disobey me.
I face rebellion
My words have made a stand.
The only shape
they will make
is you.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Why?
He is not so special
A barely competent conjuror of words.
A story-teller with a quiet history
A once almost-beautiful heart now lined by scars
A lover with perhaps half an instinct for what touches a woman.
A man as lost as those who find him.
He is not so special
‘So why,’
she asks herself,
‘does she want him?’
A barely competent conjuror of words.
A story-teller with a quiet history
A once almost-beautiful heart now lined by scars
A lover with perhaps half an instinct for what touches a woman.
A man as lost as those who find him.
He is not so special
‘So why,’
she asks herself,
‘does she want him?’
Saturday, July 5, 2014
My Own Prisoner
I entered nothing
Nothing entered me
I'm but a shadow
Hovering over the idea of existence
Lackluster living
Day into day
Night into night
The future lies hidden
Blackened, dormant, and lost forever
Mundane and uneventful
Frozen while grimacing in pain
Numb from the lack of elation
To keep on breathing would be to strain
And as winter cascaded
A stress in my chest began to tighten
Without remorse it taken hold
This anguish seemingly never-ending
I entered nothing
Nothing entered me
I'm but an outline
Filled with nothing worth mentioning
A life of empty fun
Minute by minute
Hour by hour
Time just slips away in the end
Left distraught as I stop to pretend
Nothing entered me
I'm but a shadow
Hovering over the idea of existence
Lackluster living
Day into day
Night into night
The future lies hidden
Blackened, dormant, and lost forever
Mundane and uneventful
Frozen while grimacing in pain
Numb from the lack of elation
To keep on breathing would be to strain
And as winter cascaded
A stress in my chest began to tighten
Without remorse it taken hold
This anguish seemingly never-ending
I entered nothing
Nothing entered me
I'm but an outline
Filled with nothing worth mentioning
A life of empty fun
Minute by minute
Hour by hour
Time just slips away in the end
Left distraught as I stop to pretend
Nomad
Betwixt and Between,
The Me who Thinks,
And the Me who Does,
Is an invisible Chasm,
My thoughts fail to cross.
Every sensible knowing,
My tongue picks up,
Are those that escape,
And seem to have,
Fallen through the Cracks,
Amidst few unguarded Neurons.
Most times
My thoughts walk up to the edge,
And Free Fall into that deep Ravine,
Never to be retrieved,
Leaving me in waiting,
For a Thought Pole ,
With a line, long enough to touch
The bottom of that Invisible Chasm. Still waiting
A Nomad in the Mind
The Me who Thinks,
And the Me who Does,
Is an invisible Chasm,
My thoughts fail to cross.
Every sensible knowing,
My tongue picks up,
Are those that escape,
And seem to have,
Fallen through the Cracks,
Amidst few unguarded Neurons.
Most times
My thoughts walk up to the edge,
And Free Fall into that deep Ravine,
Never to be retrieved,
Leaving me in waiting,
For a Thought Pole ,
With a line, long enough to touch
The bottom of that Invisible Chasm. Still waiting
A Nomad in the Mind
Wordplay
While my Before met my After, my Now looked on. Now was Now Here with NoWhere to Go. Yet I stood with Before and with After completely oblivious of my Now which was NoWhere else but right Now-HERE.
Over the years I have learned to look with love at my NOW which was my Before, knowing it will soon be my After. In my Now, I am learning how to hold it with gentleness, to treasure and cherish it, as it lay between my Palms, and Slips of Time.
Over the years I have learned to look with love at my NOW which was my Before, knowing it will soon be my After. In my Now, I am learning how to hold it with gentleness, to treasure and cherish it, as it lay between my Palms, and Slips of Time.
Claim
They make me laugh
These boys
With their 50 Shades clichés,
their limited vocabulary,
their barely disguised uncertainty,
their ‘do it because I say’ mentality
their unlikely claim
to a suit.
They surely only thrill
the most naive
and undemanding
of girls…
Yet perhaps it is me
that is old-fashioned.
A remnant
from some distant past
One day soon
I shall write it all
as it was
And then hang up
forever
this suit
and words.
These boys
With their 50 Shades clichés,
their limited vocabulary,
their barely disguised uncertainty,
their ‘do it because I say’ mentality
their unlikely claim
to a suit.
They surely only thrill
the most naive
and undemanding
of girls…
Yet perhaps it is me
that is old-fashioned.
A remnant
from some distant past
One day soon
I shall write it all
as it was
And then hang up
forever
this suit
and words.
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