Poetry Blogs (contemplation)
The Last Breath Of Evening
The sky is bruised purple at the last breath of evening
The air stilled from violent storms before the last breath of evening
From the new sunrise and the slow burn of a waking day
Stretching ahead in unknown pleasures to the last breath of evening
A day of honest work and muscles that ache
With the strain of reaching the last breath of e...
Saturday 13th June 2020 2:42 pm
A summer's Christmas,
A winter's Easter,
Sun blazed reflections,
Moon chilled features,
Decaying bright shadows,
Renewing dark radiance,
Exogenous void within',
Lagging just to rush,
The constantly inconsistent,
Concealing joyous sorrows,
Being contiguously distant,
Thoughts resistantly flowing,
Nerves electrically static,
Wednesday 20th May 2020 11:20 pm
A world of desperation.
The face and the faceless.
Indescribable yet on the tip of my tongue.
Impecability holds the key to power.
I stare out over the city on my park bench throne.
The morning hours calm my mind.
Crows speak in their own tongue.
I reflect on a night of dreaming.
The number is 4.
Time to let go of what I can no longer carry.
My saving grace is ...
Monday 10th June 2019 2:29 pm
I want to run, far far away
Where the grass is green, and the children play
Where the sun is beaming and the skies are blue
Where the days are longer and my dreams come true
If I could fast forward to that happier place
Perhaps ill feeling would disappear without a trace
Though If I cheated time, I might cheat myself
Perhaps challenges and realisations are encapsilations ...
Thursday 28th May 2015 6:13 pm
Laying against the darkest wall,
Memories clogged in contorted shock,
Losing consiousness to everything in all,
Its brightest moments dashing up the clock.
The stars dissolve as the sky swiftly falls,
Balled unto the shredded grass,
A lightened match, then a blow to the flames jaw,
Water sunk in the jeans of my last.
Cladded grief material upon my wrist,
Sunday 5th October 2014 1:54 am
I ponder the etiquette of nursing a pint
and whether some might find it impolite
if I made it last just little while longer that I
might watch the rain that crawls on the steamed windows
making broken ghosts of every passer by
each of them eager to avoid
catching the eye of the living and I wonder
which one of them broke winter’s heart such as to make it
Saturday 28th December 2013 8:27 pm