Lines, angles, curves
Luminescing in the dark
Splitting the white light into froth
Rainbow bubbles fill the room
Amalgamate, collect, consume
Spheres colliding, membranes merging
Stretching, morphing – fission
thin…
brittle deformation
CREATION of…
The void
The engineer waits perceiving…
thinking…
Hesitating and writes…
The WORD.
He wore white robes
They matched his hair
And shone with the brilliance
A radiant sun
He pulled me close
To bless
To Whisper
My blood on his fingers
Marring purity
We both knew he would kill me
– how could he not?
Secrets and oaths bound
Better I were a deamon
Even though I was not
But I wasn’t sure
Maybe I was?
Just a little
What was evil anyway?
Hot breath and sacred pan
Stains of ages
He wept
I did not
For I knew he loved me
Soon everyone would know
Strip of colour call the sun
Strip of beads and stitch
Macro, micro, fractal and rhythm
Sun strip call the colour
The tree had a skirt
A fine robe of gold
Of fire
It blazed
When the sun rose
It was clear
And misty beams
Allowing radiant halos
The tree had a skirt
It was the finest in all the woods
Sometimes it would gloat
Though not much really
Time stalls
A glance at an old life
A dying way
Colours as graded sepia
The mountains lay
With heads in clouds
And bead work patterns
Crisp and clean
Uncertain and serious
Fathoms deep
On youths that
Now are dust on the air
Stories of wilderness
It was once there
I stare into dark eyes
Across a century
Divide
A bit of daftness – Garlic Grace is part of the Goodness Gang which was a promotional offer done by the coop – we saved up and got all the furry foods but we also took it in turns to make up daft versions of songs for each of them. This is Garlic Grace song to Amazing Grace.
A few years back I launched The Little Book of Spoogy Poetry – I did this twice the first was for the ebook and the second time for the actual physical book.
Here is my daughter reading parts of the collection. The book was initially written for her only and then I added a few more poems when her sister turned up and made it into a proper book.
Mainly sharing for the cute factor!
You think that because I pour my feelings on to the page, that I can not really feel. You think that shallow self aggrandisement leads me to this. You think that in sharing my pathos is divided. You think wrong of me, misunderstand the need to express to self, these hidden bits. You misquote how I share to feel not alone, to not drown in incomprehensible sensation. You do not see the life line – my lines of text thrown to others, merely a life line, like me, like you – the Selfish poet you say. The apathetic artist growing fat on self indulgence. I ask Just look at the messages that are scattering at your feet. Maybe one day you will actually look before we are dead.
The fighting monsters dance
As if life long partners
Graceful, instep – aggression
Lost in the fluidity
Of movement
Monsters together
After all only a monster
Can ever truly fight a monster
Now they are locked
In an eternal embrace.
How many ghosts wonder these halls
How many souls lost
Echos of the now
And remembrance of the before
Locked in the fabric
Matted to the core
How many iterations
Of tragic moments flow
How many yous
How many mes
How many us-es
That were or could never be?
Dark turbulences
Caught knotting it all
Swirling to ensnare
Tangled beware
How much hatred
Can one garden grow?
You reap what you sow