little guilts and luscious lies
sweetmeats of imagination:
gifts for globulous priests
fat bellied, heavy men

sin eaters

banquet of imperfections
heralded by faith
chocolate box of judgement.
I watch the moon rise.

black room
and beyond white window
the thin shade
blurring the shapes
drifting

overcast
and settling into the low
front moving
slow

dialing up the numbers
with easy fingers
and looking at the
crack in the wall travelling
from the doorframe
to the lamp hanging
down

not expecting
me
not expecting you

ringing
ringing
ringing

I wear jeans and tees
buzz my own hair
eat over the kitchen sink
...while smoking
(far beyond age appropriate)
but I don' t remember choosing these things

preferring solitude,
(a homebody for sure)
I hardly ever think of sex
sleep whenever I want
hardly ever think of sex
love waking with nothing to do
hardly ever think of sex
would anyone actually choose this

sometimes, I think I'm happy
although, never quite sure.

The thrill of the chase
satin and lace

The ecstasy of being caught
wedding dress sought

The miracle of first born
christening gown, already worn

The sadness of divorce
dressed for hearse

Can you not see them
laughing at you

Not your friends
nor your enemies
They just do not care

Stumble over to them
Hit your head on the floor
keel over

They laugh
You lie their
Unconscious
Bruised forehead

They laugh even more
The story.Good for dinner parties
Social gatherings, pub nights

Given more to drink,
your voice slurring,
you weave over to the pool table
Bumping into it,
Using the cue upside down

on second thought
legal tender
could have been construed
as legal money

but legally tender
is all about any honey,

anyone can so decide
these metaphorical views
which are impossible to hide".

you have had a say
your way
but folks will see your implications
their own personal way,

so take away or give in
what is this?
but a delight which resides
in the inner hearts recesses
of a poet deep within

ere the dream weighing heavy
we drag the stones in candle lit tombs
on wagons like thrones

cathedrals on mutton and mead
and in the morning washed with the
thin light like a supple soup
we bathe in stone cold rivers
the dust like ghosts we shed

laughing or in stillness while the
sheep stir and the sheperds ease
eyes on the gold of a sunrise

the wolves away for starlight ventures
and the masons in their aprons talc
fingered on blueprints to scaffolds
that would make Babel proud

haps I should have learned to swim better
maybe it wasn't so smart to paddle out
in a fifteen foot cyclone surf
on a foam board
Mum and Dad
will be so mad
I wonder if
I'll get in trouble?
They say your life
flashes before
your eyes
when you die
this shouldn't
take long,
I'm only
twelve.

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Submitted by Esker on Wed, 2013-01-23 04:48
Rain is speaking
beneath the sky
a paper roams
indifferent filling dark
eyes on font

subtle soft like chalk

a dampness clinging
full of illusions

the pains of growth
healed and broken

I remember our river
chilled with the spring
the slush flowing swift
like blossoms of winter

gardens of lush
knowing

The damned off switch doesn't work
images play on and on
appearing unexpectedly
they flash up at night, noon and dawn

And the volume is full blast
endlessly assaulting my tired ears
interrupted by that ringing sound
so loud it nearly causes tears

Pictures of death I can't turn off
sounds of agony at night
and I just can't find the off switch
somehow that just don't seem right