Category Archives: POETRY
All poetry styles.
N/ Atrophies needed
my wish is for no person to resonate with these words. Live happy for as long as those who help you negotiate happy *
Musing from a head disassociated from its heart ( insert arrow ).
A musing of a separation only the disillusioned would consider.. an Art.
Perhaps all I need is a cup of ‘Let’s go dutch’ English Tea..
To announce I miss my Teddy bear tea zen.
I always thought a broken heart would keep me writing ✍️.
Now whose woes are teasing ?
Now, I know that I’m not broken hearted 💔 ;
What keeps me from writing is a form of atrophy?
I’m hardly breathing …..
The highest treason.
I fold in .
My blush is as good as my spade ♠️.
My heart tastes like the finer cuts
strips off a Wilkinson’s razor blade.
There is a difference between a heart ❤️ and a spade ♠️.
The space between the dashes of our existence.
Just words & Numbers .
Won. Not pretty .
It was never to be.
The word –
My only foe woe
Prescribed; but more than I usually allow myself.
I’ve been d
furious at school.
Sent them a message .
I don’t want to interact.
I know I will have to be momentarily just dandy, for my bee when she gets home, however I may retreat
I don’t want to interact. I want to be alone .
I Hope to have a shower soon, sleep or be a perfect mom, person .
A place – people feel secure , free , loved – not merely an abode.
My body has grown;my head – I want to disown.
I have no place to go
I can run away
Without my own
from the lengths of life’s demands – another 25 metres * here I bloody go!*
There is no
Nothing to burn.
need replacing- precious support to keep my dignity inert or is it alert?
We live in a millennial world.
I want to be .
I want to be not.
La vie en Rose
All the regrets , the mistakes , the people I’ve lost.
I want to leave – die
Before you or my husband , mom and leave
As I am now.
It’s easier knowing you are still breathing
With an upside down frown. Said the cliché crow
I’ll engulf my darkness
With eyes closed, a mind blotted with discombulatory thoughts
Thank you .
The crown of the Willows irrepressible woes
A moment – a weed – a daisy in need –
Is the last sentence a creed?
Who will ever know?
Except the one I title as this: my only foe.
If you took away my infidelity
Would you let me have my way?
If these words were flesh
Would you bury my bones
Dig up the grains of sand
Blow my spirit so the the people who could never say
The bones could never declare
For a day
Unless you said I was fair.
For a moment
An hour longer than you dared to muster
To declare I’m the loyal mare
I dare you to share
For another day might tame
The girl who cared.
Or are afraid to .. …
Saints need sinners
Everyone can feel like a
All it takes is a
Dose of creationist bacteria inciting
on grounds countering humanity.
Freedom shatters pedalling gamblers.
Cards spiral up.
Offers new found grip on this moment.
Cha cha amorous
Latin her body speaks.
Acquaint within ear shot of an organic pulse
Inertia rests in patchouli scented tomstones.
Nobody sheds dull
the skin held in chains invisible.
Everybody still ignorant to the body disappearing into Huxtable’s fable.
Iris shows off her pupils under natural sun light.
Rainbow replenishes chakras.
Illustrated by the refusal to keep a voice hidden
Saints need sinners. New mantra forwards a thinker.
Embrace beats without hesitation.
Life moves along with or without your participation
Line of Deliverance
In the shadowed shades of my blues.
I tenderly look for another who I can summon as one who lives life in honour,
Of all that is true.
Those who speak the spoken word in all its iridescent hues.
Colours drape my inner wardrobe.
Yet, I clamber for my grey, nuances of noir.
Catastrophizing all the whites for showing up my yellow gnashers.
Against a blustery pale backdrop of mountains blanketed by capped ice.
Brazen, I stand on the highest peak.
Cheeks misted by tears.
Contemplative in being joyful for the moments of inner peace.
Cast out this unwanted wardrobe.
No more colours in clandestine!
The drab shabby (not so chic) curtains concealing my true identity.
My makeup is not for every entity.
I’m asked to write the truest sentence I know.
Hemingway knew a way to interweave words worth more than bread made from the finest patisserie dough.
Scraping pennies to get by the hard knocks.
We do what we gotta do to get by.
Poverty causes ‘bros before hoes’ and ‘chicks before pricks’.
Keeping my pins steady as balls curve to nebulant sides — it incites fear into my inner stream of consciousness, dialogue conflicts –
Savaged by doubt and insecurity.
I’m on a trip with a Make believe demeanour.
One to conjure up more stamina and longevity-
To warn my inner Hecate to hesitate before she dare pro-curate.
Write to recover through seeping, bandaged wounds.
Riddling the mind with infectious curiosity,
To want knowledge is the power I crave.
It’s my security.
Droplets of lonely anguish torment my darkest spell.
I am the white temptress tempted to awaken the beast inside.
Though, I know it will be the catalyst to an eternity of mocking turmoil.
My final destination is not the country I occupy.
I’m an immigrant
I’m a traitor.
Colonised and imprisoned by outdated Imperialists.
The world is full of egotistical folk in full throws of the delirium tremens.
Murmurs of fragile Life keep me close to the fire.
It scintillates what I know is inside — lying dormant.
Ready to drive out the cancers multiplying with faces frozen,
In that blissful look of the ignorant .
I raise my sword.
It bleeds ink.
It is my heart : my deliverance.
I can’t fathom another way to jolt my instincts to kick out, and rise to take another breath.
I’m the one who needs these murky waters to survive . Forget I too need oxygen and gills to stabilise my Eco system.
If my world was captured by a drone;
I would want it to show me evolved into a hybridised pro-humanity amphibian.
Swimming side by side
dolphins & whales ad infinitum.
*( inspired by my garden& watching my washing dry. I tried. Ha ha!)
Pink shaggy rug
New man with a Brazilian just looking for fun.
A hanging basket.
No drills to screw it into the place
Hitting my alphabetical lah lah
Momentarily on a bent knee phallically, potted plant lowers its fees.
The law of gravity serves the man
The feminists of this generation …
Some bushes thrive on moisture..
Those lil weeds grow faster than mother’s ducklings -highly strung.
A bush with no name but heavily influenced by the 70s – missed the bell bottom end of Fearne cotton’s
A gnome is a gnome by any other name
unless you call it a gargoyle then you’ve followed the rules and found yourself an OG
under the bridge – you defecate graffiti will pay for shelter:
A fedora hat,purple blush hearts,a stiletto , glitter ,fire
Even for your sin.
Looking into the eyes of a monster BIG mama bush -I daren’t trim her
fear she will suck me right in her tush.
A relic of tears
A blaze my malbora stallion.
Clearly I’m flaying
Is it me?
Or is it you?
For the years we scarpered away like dissident spew.
Acceptance should come from our real 3-D form.
I find it in the eye of the cyber- sphere storm.
Thunder used to scare me
Evidence was heard with me on skid row.
Now, I love a good drummer, to play my heart,
so you too have to face it and know.
Who are my friends among so many foes?
You may know my name.
You may have heard of my doings.
Gossip is for the feeble minded –
Yes, but all it does is reduce you to what I call are my fewings.
Lacking in truth and compassion.
In denial of your own feuds.
It’s a shame you, fewings, have to shine a light on my silky nudes.
Paint a picture – tell it.
Make it your own.
When you get closer to the next ear,
make sure you credit yourself with what you have weaved into that picture and sewn.
I may be mad and success is giving me an incredible hand.
We all have to play.
don’t go eyeing up all the spades.
End up back to level one and start off as a one-man marching band.
Look into my eyes.
Don’t like what you see?
Well, my dear .. what is that makes you want to get the hell up and do the blitz and flee?
see your own self?
Feed your ego with ya very own distiller killer.
Rattle my bones.
I am transparent.
I know your secrets.
They are not mine to go and unleash like they are a target for a spent errant.
Ignore me if you must,
but then don’t go using my name in a scattered attempt to unearth some dust.
If you want it.
You have your own soot.
Talk about that.
At least you are sure to have more than half the goddamn loot.
Opinion is not the truth,
but suffer fools gladly,
if it gets you to feel like some kind of Mickey mouse sleuth
Little lady dancer
She dances to my fascination ,
a soul that is filled with imagination.
carefree , bliss….
..no gravity can hold her –
Oh,what a kiss!
add a heel, another toe ,a shuffle and hop.
She leads the lot with her teeny tiny bop.
Four years ago. Born in the full sac.
Midwives tore at her home to make sure she would not lack
Life – no scream.
He had to be so mean.
She’s not breathing.
What the fuck ? I haven’t even recovered from all the sweat pouring and heaving
Skin on skin contact.
Enough to instil some sense of relief.
Four years later she is tall and graceful,
The word – darling springs to mind.
I look into her eyes,
I am blown away by the compassion I find.
She is my little lady –
Thank God I never stopped being a chancer;
because today I get to see my daughter ,blossom as a true dancer.
Will write poetry for love
I’m supposed to be the one who is feeling strong
Yet, I have got the biggest feeling I am getting it so wrong
Stick by me in sickness and in health,
You have never let me down with all your lovin wealth
I feel I have let you down
I don’t need to see no frown.
The truth is as my mind slowly unhinges
The incessant call of sleeping Grimm makes sure it stays on the fringes.
Loud and shrill,
My mind took a detour- scarpered for that biggest hill.
All I want to do is be your deserving queen,
the one that acts out on the things I mean.
Mind is running away after hearing a great big boo.
I am no poet
It’s not hard to show it.
I just want you to know,
even in this state of harrow.
I love you
even when I am stripped of my bow and arrow.
You are my king
with this fact alone –
let it be known that in the end
we will soar,
even if only with one wing.
inspired by this T -shirt )
Mike / Nike bananas – waaaah?
Don’t believe in a day a tee.
Don’t believe in a dye a tee.
I believe in emotions.
A moral .
If I listened without interrupting ( never filmed my candidates on camera) I’d be past the ignorant rear view mir row ing
dialed hind sight one wave too late.
Long pause… ( episodic moment).
Should have put a hashtag
(#) radiation *may cause seizures * * drug use * misuse * violence * harsh misuse of a vape * .
Film censorship can be deceiving.
I watch many films primed or netted for my viewing,
I see the warnings
How these kids ever going to adjust to life calling ?
I need a bit of tuning.
I started this off topic ness from listening to a past recorded conversation. I’m out of my depth .
I’m out of my depth.
I’ve a 6 4 2 bounce back pillow from the silent sisters who muted on their way to the unseen pleides.
Peel out of the mould
Did I lose you to a Mike bananas T- shirt that the mad republic would ask a beetle to submerge.
These words die with a relic…
. . . . . . . 7 dot dive of dismal drivel.
4 responses to “Mike banana”
Keep it up…. that was remarkable
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thanks,The Most Why’s. 😀
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I was having a mad 5 seconds.
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