When I have nits
Grown ups say
They are bad
And the itching
I’ll agree
Will drive you mad
But have you seen
That grown ups tend
To get a little thine
on top?
And out of their chins
pops wispy hairs
That’s because
Knitting nits
Knot your hair
Make it strong and thick
And beyond compare
It dont fall out
to get stuck in your chin
So I say grown ups
Lie so I put the nit comb
In the bin!
In summer it was a wild place
But not now
No not now
For the frost has come
Stretching out it’s fingers
Freezing the forests heart
The snow had failed to follow
And a pale mist swallowed the landscape
Subliming onto the trees
In crackles
The lakes heart was not touched
Though the pools at it’s extremities –
Froze fast and clear
Laughter broke through the clouds
Aeneamic sunlight
Scattered and played
Upon the ertheral scene
A lonely traveller wondered
Wondering who had unleashed the joyous laugh
They could not see the whom
So they called out
Willing to share what sustainance there was
From a worn bag
For some human company
A happy trade though it would potentially bring death nearer
Only the wind howled in answer
Writing from a picture at the Cheltenham Art Gallery and Museum.
The loop spins round and a round
Grey honed metallic – monsterous
Smooth with no teeth, waiting expectant
The Drip, the drop of emotional rot
The pain that ripples, the pain that cripples
Waves of creativity sunk by angst
Repeating, needing, weeping…
Over and over, you and me
Thoughts bleed out in the night.
Athletic movement, smooth grace
Honed muscle strains…
Up up and away
Up up and over
The polvolt drops
An ooff impacts the mat
Shells of air
Embrace cusions
Encapsulate
Wave froth
Spitting foam
Within echos –
A stiller life
Fear that stillness
Quiet and static
Stasis reached
Chaos quenched
A race begins
When I was first online,
I got responses all the time,
but as the internet has grown,
the stats have shown,
a sad decrease…
in my geek cog turning grease.
The universe probably wants me to stop,
to give up my multitudinal blogs.
But I shall not… listen,
And churn out the words of the mill turning midden
To spout out my thoughts,
of all sorts,
weather the world be interested or not.
As for me writing just kind of hits the spot.
So when the internet says go home,
Emphatically I always so NO!
And shall instead let my mind roam,
As my fingers type a tome,
At least until…
I am interrupted by the GODDAMN phone!
(extended version from a Facebook post made in 2012)
Dark rims
Under blue eyes
Smooth cheeks
Creased
Lips fadded
To crenulated dessication
Bones ache into the night
Monsters of a kind
Wait beyond this
Behind the noise
Of the crowd
Calling
Whispering
Muttering the insanity
Life’s rhythm
Life’s crime
To stay still
All must change
Driving the mind
To that hard place
Withered and bitter
Centered on the new
Jelousy may join too
Monsters of the Id
Hatred may take root
Within us All
Skin
Hard as rock
Impenetrable
But only to the mildest of blows
Air as gentle breath and waters salt tears
Eat me away – hit hard and I will shatter