A glimpse of his reflection
in a mirror
saw an old man
Submersed into
a state
of cold water shock
Events in his life
stretched across time
he knew
Behind his eyes
under his skin
nothing had changed
Same Soul
Tag: free verse
Duke
Give up your ill-gotten gain
kings queens lords and dukes
of lands where forests once thrived
move out move on leave
If your palaces, castles
and manors decay
crumble down into the ground
I care not one jot
Ivy creep over all walls
let the roof fall in
dust and cobwebs catch the light
chandelier dull
“An ancestral general
he helped win a war
blood spilt, to secure for good
eternal reward”
No Duke, the battles were won
but not in our name
your birthright is a falsehood
entitlement gone
We’ll have the trees back growing
fish swimming the lakes
sheep and cattle grazing free
families return
A new age, heard it before?
nothing will change so you say
not now nor ever
well, don’t be so sure
We believe, not in your Gods
not your politics
but in people and friendship
and our planet Earth
And you Duke, well what of you?
you will need a job
to afford the rent each month
on a fair semi
Actually earn your wages
see what you can do
welcome to society
come sit next to me
Brain
Real coffee
?
unreal coffee
sounds way
more interesting
Brain!
why keep
working
constantly
without rest
For sure
keep with the breathing
blood pumping
and those
essential functions
But
the unrelenting supply
of images
of memories
of new thoughts
dreams
Entirely necessary
or can things slow down
some blankness is fine
I’m good with this
Just
don’t switch off
A Whole Lot of Rubbish Too
I looked through the albums
of the Beatles recently,
studied track listings
and listened
to unfamiliar tunes.
Most of the little known songs
are pretty seriously
mediocre, in comparison
to the ones known well.
It’s true of the Stones too,
when you look.
Bowie and ABBA.
In actual fact,
it’s true of nearly every band
or performer.
Or writer, poet, painter, actor,
ever.
There’s a whole lot more rubbish
out there they did,
than the good stuff.
This probably comes as no surprise
to you.
Eighteen Months
Only eighteen months.
Feels longer,
further behind.
That said,
I knew it was not two years.
Since around spring,
Felt much better.
Rounded,
grounded.
Confidence has grown,
although judgment,
criticism
hurt,
certainly
(areas
needing focus).
Yet,
such instances come my way
only occasionally
nowadays.
Unlike before,
only eighteen months ago.
I’m Sensitive to Sound
Who, sits in their car
outside a building,
sounding the car horn three times?
Who, after failure to raise a response,
sounds the horn
three more times,
the duration of each blast stretched out three times longer
than the original three?
A sociopath,
that’s who.
A fucking,
sociopath.
Who the Hell is a “Morning Person”?
Who the hell is a “morning person”?
Is it a trait passed down the line
through the genes?
They who wake up,
look fresh,
rejuvenated,
smiling.
Heavenly.
Me,
A character from folklore,
mythology.
Twisted,
caught up –
bound in the bedclothes,
struggling free.
My eyes hurt by the light,
can’t read the time,
don’t know if I’m late or early.
Sway into walls
take rest against door frames,
battle my way to the bathroom –
an epic journey.
Stumble down the stairs.
Hate, that I didn’t clean the coffee pot
the day before.
Curse.
Wash, rinse, prepare.
Stand and wait.
As soon as the caffeine hits,
life begins to slowly seep back.
A treatment of the symptom,
but not the cause.
Could I change?
What would I have to do
to become a “morning person”,
rather than the “morning person
from Hell”
I am.
