Stuff and nonsense

Arrgh! Make the bad poetry stop!

…

Arise, awake! The moon has stripped
her steely robes to be dethroned
by the bright might of sun. Through
fogged windows, a sliver of day slipped
in to christen his sleeping head. Others bemoaned
the morning but he packs his bag, finds his shoe,

Locks the front door, makes his usual way
into the weariness of the world. Despite
the weariness of the world. People wait
for him and his attentions plus/minus delay,
some with song in their eyes, some with light
in their footsteps; others with weight

in their hearts, and ailments many more
to mention. At times it is relentless, at times
there is breeze and quietness but these
moments drift like dandelion seeds – poor
to the catch. As the last bell chimes, his ears
echo, knowing that the chimes do not cease

Until time itself suspends. He returns back to
the resting place with heavy bones and tired arms.
Can it be bedtime already? Where has the hour
gone, where have the moments run off track,
Why has sun retreated to sunken position? Alarms
Are set for what is to follow, the dour

Smell of impending future returns to the air.
Perhaps with eyes closed the night will
follow suit. As the clocks go tick,
The fridge hums, the floor tiles bare
their coldness, the wind draws to a still.
And he falls asleep…dreaming of music.

This is what happens when you listen to too much Darren Hanlon. Though can one really listen to too much Darren I wonder – any man who writes a song about squash most certainly has a special place in my CD collection.

…

He sat down with pen and newspaper
She walked in halfway between the strips
Of comic stills and the day’s word finder,
As he studies the page’s Cryptic, he skips

Through 2 across and 15 down
Furrows his brow and throws pen aside.
She sees the paper and notes the frown
Picks up the pen, places letters inside

The empty white squares – a crucial clue.
As she runs her hand through his hair
He shows her obscure acronyms, new
Anagrams and synonyms, between fair

Kisses they fill in the missing parts.
With puzzle solved and solutions uncovered
Are completed lines and contented hearts.
Against all destiny: a pair of star-crossword lovers.

I watch my RMO with fear; fear that I am looking into a crystal ball with even less to offer, fear of working 9 hour shifts without lunch, consultants, registrars, or passion.

I watch my friends with awe; awe as they grow and embrace their worlds, as they fulfil their potentials and more. Grace I give to them…

I watch the shifting weather for a sign. Watching, waiting…

…waiting for change, hoping for change. Realising that old habits die hard, and 10 years from now is most likely to result in further ingrained ways, rather than any revelations.

…

Yuck, here we go again. Please don’t bring this up in normal conversation, it’s embarassing enough as is, and besides, I’m sure you’ve got better things to talk about. Why I feel the desire to churn this stuff out confuzzles even me. I guess deep down, I’m just your everyday masochist.

Self-rating scorecard:

Technicality 3/10; Creativity 2/10; Subtlety -2/10; Credibility -3/10

The noise of routine streamlines past as I
Stretch between the voids of chaos and silence.
It has always been an aching series of moments,
Joined together by my actions as player, by my
Recurring thoughts, and my perpetual loneliness.
Am I alone? From what little time I have had I learnt

To recognize the primal fear that we all share,
The instinctive fear that prevents us admitting what
Might be true. Without gods and angels to guide us,
There is nothing to stop me, nothing to tear
Back to blame, I am free to die, but pinned and caught.
A free death does not always mean freedom. A reverse

In power coupling a change of mind sires
The possibility of a different path. But I live
In a safety net of someone else’s plans
And blueprints, fed their dreams and desires
By the truckload. What I have to give
Is not enough. I am not enough. I can

Live your legends, but the image you seek
And the one I offer will never merge as one.
I tread eternal on the edge of sunrise
And sunset, without existence that speaks
Sanity or clear insight, save to run
Towards the heavy question to pound the lies

Into dust – dust to dust; the answers have the strength
To burn your castles to the ground. Take back your nine to five,
Fuck my high income, separate your thoughts from my own.
Do you want to know what I feel? At what length
Would you keep my thoughts hidden from yours? I’m alive,
And dead, suicidal with reason, and I speak alone -

What is it that I want? What is it that I want? Some
People are blessed, but all my life I have never known
For sure. And for all my weary cynicism, I see
I’m as helpless and romantic as they come,
Lured by the fragile promise engraved on bone
China: Of what will pass, and what is to be.

I forgive you if you never want to look me in the eye again. I’ll post something straight after this so it won’t be the first thing to read when the webpage loads.

You might be horrified, you might be impressed – impressed that I actually managed to finish writing such drivle without defenestrating* myself.

And if your reaction is wtf?? then maybe that was the response I was always hoping for. Go figure.

–

She owns many, she secretly hordes
Them like a dragon, injured by cruel swords
Of men and small things, crept light
Dragging tattered ruby wings which tight
Shielded the last of kingdoms he lords

Over; only she knows she cannot keep
Them to herself. Time trickles and seeps
Silent in pools of moonlit caves to merge
With an unresting, unsatisfied sea. A surge
In current wakes crustaceans bathed in deep

Numbing slumber, caresses them coldly
With strange altered harmonies which boldly
Claim possession of a moment that fails
To happen. Punctuated crescendos trail
Through swirling handfuls across the worldly

Mass of particles, crashing as waves
To meet some stranger’s ear. Slaves
Of sound, why disturb the hermit who wears
Her shadows like a frightened child? The tears
Lying jagged in her visions will never pave

Paths sutured by sunlight’s broken beams.
You! – pierce the core of sleep and dream,
Set about deconstructing the world of id,
Deny the innocence you so carefully hid,
Fracture silence with dissonance and scream.

—

*Defenestration: act of throwing someone or something out of a window. I love love LOVE this word!