Poetry Blogs (2019, desolation)
poemagraphic on I never lied in the rose garden. (Cummings and goings) (1 hour ago)
poemagraphic on I never lied in the rose garden. (Cummings and goings) (2 hours ago)
Chanting prayers, dreaming of ships just beyond the horizon,
Another day, another hour, just another minute he wishes to live.
No other choice but one, no other food, no other flesh but his own.
No other way to feed his unfortunate child.
In the middle of nowhere, on this desolate rock, he cut his upper arm.
Blood, not a drop allowed to waste, meat, sickening yet juicy sweet...
Sunday 21st July 2019 6:51 am
Another moist, reluctant sunrise
through the night sweat morning dew
the worm pushed towards the light
Across the lawn
the over stuffed pigeon
puffed up her unkempt plumage
cooed a taunt
How dare you wake up today
How dare you show that you tried today
she pinched him up
heaved him away
apatheticaly consenting to his fate
Monday 17th October 2016 12:34 pm
a weak light rises over the chimneys
the grass is the colour of piss
smog prises its fingers into bronchial lungs
a dog with three legs barrels down the street
curtains stained with inquisitive glances
stare out at the paperboy on a rusty bike
a cat crawls under a red Cortina parked on bricks
November exhales a grey breath on the windows
Sunday 24th November 2013 7:46 pm
Have you ever felt the icecold
gales of aloneness?
I do not mean
lone lee ness
which is something altogether
and even desirable
I do not mean
deserted or desolate,
neglected or torn;
for those words are shallow
compared to "alone".
I mean aloneness –
some subterranean thin...
Thursday 28th April 2011 5:55 pm