Poetry Blogs (2018, forgotten)
Don Matthews on Not Looking Forward to My Old Age, Specifically Arse Wiping (2 hours ago)
M.C. Newberry on Not Looking Forward to My Old Age, Specifically Arse Wiping (2 hours ago)
I’m losing my mind.
Don’t you understand?
I’m desperately reaching out for your hand.
Don’t leave me hanging, slipping, falling…
down into the endless abyss of darkness,
Never destined to land.
You’ve saved me once before,
But this time there are no safety ropes.
I’m free-falling, plummeting, going down…
My only hope Is for you to save me now.
I’m losing my ...
Monday 18th June 2018 2:59 pm
forgotten are the times
our laughs filled the air
gone are the times
we wished would never leave
in blistering august
Tuesday 6th March 2018 10:34 pm
Daisies in a meadow's bend,
Water dripping from the pale rocks,
And the moonlight shining deeply beneath the hallowed earth.
Do you witness the sky’s transient beauty?
Do you see the world’s unholy inconsistency?
Or do you perhaps wander ever blinder into the abyss of rock and dirt.
Forgo the witnessed lands behind the gravel topped mountains,
The light ricocheting off the wind,
Friday 1st September 2017 7:13 am
We tried to right what was wrong.
But we couldn't hold on long.
We tried to fight for what was right.
But we failed under the enemies' might.
Pain and suffering, despair and greed.
That was their creed.
Freedom and safety, love and honor.
That was our banner.
Try as we might,
They won't give us our rights.
Exiled from our homes,
With the cold deep in our bones,
Sunday 3rd July 2016 3:43 am
Your body was found dead in your flat, three months gone and smelling like hell.
They came and took you away, to the morgue downtown, an unhappy place.
Clearing your flat they found £4.88, not much to show for a lonely death.
Always on your own, eternally in death. How sad no one will see you buried, a pauper’s death, the undertaker the only witness at this solemn occasion....
Wednesday 15th January 2014 3:25 pm
The dead man sits on his sofa and watches TV
in his East German tower block apartment.
Cash in the bank pays his bills, no eviction notice here.
What was once a real person is a mummified corpse, all wrinkled and shrunken.
For three years he's been like this, a TV critic.
Bored fucking shitless, dead.
From soaps to films, he's endured them all.
Monday 9th September 2013 12:20 pm
I am but the mottled bark
of a tree once firmly rooted,
peeled from its stately trunk
and within my hollow carapace
echoes an inert drumbeat
that keeps the cadence for
a march of ornate trappings
soon and sooner still, one day
this crepuscular orphelin song
resonant in its languid longing
shall surge with the rising tide
the sound of its condescencion
as it strikes th...
Sunday 25th November 2012 2:54 pm