Time stands still
Waiting for my child
To pick her up from her school.
I’m no fool
Schools not meant to be cool.
Just another institution
Similar to a prison.
My constitution was made to rebel
For a cause
Waiting around on top.
Never thought I’d glimpse a shadow of my former self -over the hill.
Curse these minutes.
Frozen into a state of blissful ignorance.
Wrapped up into a stationary kit.
Sudden bowel movements
I feel ill.
Bad humour lost to a desolate sky.
Simmer into another ghetto outfit
Sparse Sunshine shimmer flecks
Until my skin unravels into motion.
For this moment
I’m not a suicide kid
Instead, I’m knocked out
By a dead dong ringer
Them there eyes
Catch sight of her eyes.
How they glimmer!
* inspired by the school run & national poetry day & Life
I’m genuinely happy to be alive. Not because life is perfect today but because I’m happy, humble and honest.
Write to recover
Create to recover
Communicate to recover
Connect to recover
Collaborate to recover.
If shades came in pigmented blues
Would the world recognize the significance of colour as opposed to hues?
Would living in colour stop it’s either this or that?
Would grey get a chance to convince us to investigate?
Would crashing into a slick navy
crude and lost at sea,
Inspire old fashioned candy knots to carry us all back to safety?
If black wasn’t so noir
Would fashion dictate less to those in the savoir?
Would flags become less patronizing?
and white flags more entrancing?
A hue is a hue by its very name
A colour can decide to change and play – a child-free game.
Would we see who profits from wealth – would we want to change this scene?
Would hearts come together under a purple strewn night?
Lovers take pleasure dancing in the rain, see each other in a different light?
Emotional attachments are often aesthetically pleasing
Only to the one who is eyeballing the muddied one’s high pitched squealing.
Clarity of light sought in souls and not in places of questionable heaven.
Admirers eyes to skies
Solid legs still rooted in the ground
Unifying all genders of brethren.
How wealthy we are to have a landscape of colour
Don’t ignore its beauty in the search for another.
I’ve never done this type of poem. The format is straight forward.
Title 2 syllables
Description 4 syllables
Action is 6 syllables
location 8 syllables
ending 6 syllables.
And the final rule is that it can’t rhyme
it won’t hurt much
scrub off the scent of his odour
bleach the bath with your morning shit
love costs more heartache
Passion less magical
Cats demand cuddles
A clean page soaked in wasted words written in yellow ink
The music falls on deaf ears
Unread unopened books will let me down – or will it be my imagination?
I glance around the room of despair comfortably numb for three hours until a child smiles for her mom’s unfounded fears.
so inept by a blackened imagination
colours wither away, winter outsmiles
stilled yet not frozen. those exhiled frowns en route stragglers exhiled to Siberia.
I’m desperately desolate that these nightmares took the by pass . Limits to hope of revelling in reality once more spring
bursts into a yawn , light stretches worn out clinging onto last winter’s stained sweater.
A scream demands tending to kettle whistling for it’s masters attention
it begs summer to part with mercy & grace
so inept by a blackened imagination.
I wish my words had more clout than my mortal weight. Once I wrote, spoke with the light,
A stream of consciousness without a tug from my mind the size of a crate.
Rhyming I sought not to intentionally copulate with.
Nor hesitate my hand from my inner ink.
Words never intentionally separated from their interwoven fate,
From the moment these star crossed others dared to kiss with a brazen grace.
I bear these words with the strength of a boulder ready to crumble
Rush my inner thoughts
Crushmy inner thoughts to a damn them to hell chowder of inner hate.
A feud of words. I hope these won’t be my last or I’ll leave this world a disgrace.
Monday’s face has plenty to face.
Tuesday’s face has plenty to chase.
Wednesday’s face feels less need for mace.
Thursday’s face can be detected by a mere outlined trace.
Friday’s face can be detected by it’s bedroom taste.
Saturday’s face has a fashion full of party clothes in a suitcase.
Sunday’s face hides from a morning that is Mondays to face
My pain is an insufferable spurt of growth as your own
If I led you into my darkness
Would you you identify me as your own?
Or dispose of me if I were to say no?
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 .. …
If there was ever a time to put your words on display
National Poetry Day is the time to use your voice to say
What is in your heart
What do you feel
Reveal the emotions -at inner play.
Don’t admonish your words merely to paper
Don’t admonish your words merely to your mind
Shout out: I’m worthy. What I’ve to say is enough for today and another and another and ..
National poetry is for more than one day
Make each one count
Not merely the words you deem fit to convey
Your worth is more than hiding away behind myriad of masks to please those who get in your way
Your words are worth more than those whom you justify your truth without causing affray.
Your life story : Not merely poignant
Make your impression
Make your mark
I’m here to stay for more than a moment
more than a hashtag.
Use your words
Use your voice
To guide you to a better life -your way
For better or for worse
You are brave
So, seize your day