Lumber

Thank you for your honesty

but honestly

this openness is not for me.

You've thrown my brain a bombshell of a seed

which grips at my temples and grows

into a rotten tangle of weeds

and I don't like what I see.

I've never been good at tackling the roots,

I just chop away at the surface,

and so up again my sadness shoots

taking a hold of my overactive head,

oh why can't it just let me be?

Now I'm not so sure if I have the tools

to rid myself of this terrible mess

and my pride hates to be made a fool

and yes, I wear my heart in my chest

but it's always looking to jump over the fences

one day I'll find an axe for this hideous tree.

Okay

"Okay"

sounds better

than a thousand words of truth.

On Moving

Sorting through all of the old boxes

containing the items from years ago.

Howling like a pair of hungry foxes

my parents coo over my baby grow.

They said that they could smell my childhood

when all I could smell was the stench of dust.

I had the best upbringing a child could

and they had the best of a child's trust.

But now this place where memories were made

must be left behind to live new places

and although nostalgaic smells may well fade

I will store like photos, childhood faces.

And I hope that when I have this new home

memory will remind me I'm not alone.

The Winter Ends

Well lately I've been waking up

to dark skies and numb toes

and I haven't been finding the energy

to get out of bed,

it's like my blanket can protect me

from the prospects of real life.

The frost has been set for far too long

and as much as I find awe

in the scenes it creates,

the implications are becoming tiresome

and the novelty of beauty

wears off faster than the snow could melt.

I can't continue to stay home

with the upstairs light on

like that album cover

which I have worn out over winter months,

and although it speaks to me

it's all hitting a bit too close to reality.

I can't continue to be fuelled

by coffee and catharsis,

like I'm waiting out

for this bitter shift to end,

it's gotten to the point where I'm dependent

and in turn that makes me loathe myself.

I can't continue to write

about ideals and ambitions

which will never come into fruition

as much as people insist otherwise.

I can't continue to wait

to see what happens

when the winter ends.

Angels

Angels fly into my ear

and flutter their way to my brain

where they free me of my fear;

their wings willing wild thoughts to wane.

I hope these angels feel at ease

with where they are staying for now...

I'm not ready to set them free

until their strength they endow.

But I cannot tie them down

to somewhere they do not belong

so I'll release them from my crown

and find the strength I had all along.

I no longer have guardian angels

but I am also free of my demons

and the wisdom imparted from each party

is enough to keep my darkness alight

and is enough to keep my fears at bay.

Angels help me to sleep at night

and keep me watchful in the day.

Martyr

I am waiting for you

to give me an excuse

because I'm out of my mind.

I am standing static

within your mind's attic

and I'm surrounded by mines.

Absence

I am on my own in a crowded place

and my mind is elsewhere; right in your arms.

I keep imagining I've seen your face

mesmerised by my mind's imitating charms.

And in that moment, for the first time I'm sure

that these sentiments are extremely real,

and that this night's loneliness is more pure

than any happiness that I could feel.

Absence does not make the heart grow fonder

but absence does make fondness feel clearer,

and in your absence I'm left to ponder

the happiness I'd have if you were nearer.

Loneliness is worth having something to miss

when your patience is rewarded with a kiss.

The Painter

Delicate expressions on her soft face

match the delicate strokes that she creates,

colours carved and blended in careful pace

I'm enthralled as the next stroke patiently waits.

A slight smile on her lips as she takes a break

cannot match the wide beam that my mouth wears

as I've noticed my jaw beginning to ache

whilst she's busy worrying about her hair.

Anxious to see her painting completed

all I can do is watch her movements

as those tender motions are repeated

her sweet splendour could have no improvements.

And to me, she is the finest work of art

whose beauty could capture this critic's heart.

Meaning to Say

These are the words that I was too scared to say aloud,

so these words shyly retire onto the page.

These are the feelings that make me ever so proud

that our feelings emerge and engage.

Bombs and Blades

This modern society rests on a time bomb

with the city darting around in circles

like cogs and gears, waiting for the hands to change.

They all wear that same ticked off look on their face;

impatient and anxious

they are are waiting for something to happen.

The digital faces which have been relied on

too much, for too long,

have been glitching, stuttering false figures.

We need to unplug from this faulty system

of mistruths told and misguided 'advances'

and go back to what once worked...

now is not a time for bombs,

let's go back to digging the blade in deep.

Damp

Drench me or dry me

just don't leave me

damp and in the dark.

The Leaf Left Aloft

I am that leaf on the highest branch of the tree

which is always first to fall.

From where you stand, the lowest leaves are all you see...

you don't notice me at all.

I am scared that you won't be able to reach me

or see that I am falling

I am scared that my happiness and growth will be

based on the seasons stalling.

Beard

You've been growing on me

like a beard in the winter months,

keeping me warm

and guarding me against my insecurities...

yet I'm scared

that when it comes to summer

all that you'll be

is a useless irritating mess.

Ghost in the Glass

Reflecting upon my reflection,

staring intently into his eyes

obscured by the lamp light's deflection

full of distortion, darkness and lies.

My whispers give off condensation

until his shape has become a ghost

in some dreamy floaty elation

pressed to the pane, powerlessly engrossed.

Night is sneakily swallowing the day;

I am watching the digestion through the glass

but still his intense shadow won't go away

and my infatuation will not pass.


And so I continue to sit and stare

at something which is not really there.

Sibilance

Sound out the songs that your soul sings

and bask in the essence

of those sweetest senses

that swim in such sounds.

Lateral Approximant

Let us lie low

before you let it loose;

the lovely language

that your lips slip into.

Fricative

Finding faults in feeble feelings,

foolish and forlorn,

and I can't fathom why

I first felt them.

Plosive

Pick up the pieces

that you proudly dispelled

between my portion and plight;

but don't blunder into more painful puzzles.

Selfish Mind

This mind is mine.

It is the only

thing in this world

that I still have

completely for myself

so why should I share that?

Perspective

A man needs to experience feeling stressed

to remind him that he is usually blessed

because when that struggle begins to go

it is only then when he will know

that every second that he is living

is just another which the world is giving.

At the Pond (Linger)

Origami ships and cannonball drips

plummeting to the depths of the pond.

Palms on hips and eyes on inviting lips

floating to the surface, buoyantly fond.

Stale crumbs tear as the ducks squabble and share

feasting upon the gift of remains.

Visible air lingers around your hair

the defiant frost of winter never wanes.

Footsteps crunch and crack on the icy track,

using balance as an excuse to hold hands

but what foothold lacks the touch will bring back

lingering fingertips they both understand.

Now they cannot let each other slip

for they tread in time to the heart's soft skip.

One Petal Too Far

Torturing roses, petal by petal,

he watches downy dashes of deep crimson

descend to the floor,

dropping in a dulling descrescendo

at hardly one hundred heartbeats per hour.

Knowing already that she loves him not

he clings to the stem

as though it bring any sense or salvation,

but the tighter he clasps that broken dream

the deeper the thorns inearth into his palms

and as he has not the heart

to remove those thorns buried deeper still

it is the delicate surface which suffers.

Soon, he will strip the petals bare

and by then he will not be unrooted

with glossy eyes like some horticultural prize

and just bloody thorns in his hands.

Multimplications

Disappointment is the product of expectation,

and expectation is the sum of arrogant thoughts;

to subtract the sadness from your life

you must divide your heart from your ego.

Hyperlink

I've been hovering over that button

debating whether or not to press send

but should that action instigate something

then I would not be able to amend.

I am scared of that final commitment;

I am scared of that want the most

because if the message I give's misplaced

then I would find so much shame in my post.

So I keep my deepest feelings as a draft

free for editing until the time is right

for me to publish my words for your eyes

when I'm confident they'd be a welcome sight.

When you're ready you can click and be my link

but for now I need some more time to think.

Skeleton Key

I always come up with notions

with the best of intentions

but often lack the devotion

to bring them into invention.

It's like I'm holding a brass key

when I cannot find a door

and it takes everything in me

not to throw it to the floor.

Someday I will find my keyhole

and handles which glitter and gleams

opening up a clean soul

where I can unlock all my dreams.

Impossibility in Originality

Everything we do and

everything we are is

contrived and

derivative.

We blunder
the same direction in
similar gait with
our individual

grubby footprints.

Life on Loop

Someone tell God

that my tape is stuck,

because

all that I'm living

is the same stuttered scenes.

I am scared

to press eject

although I know

that I must.

Irrationale

There's a rationale

for each irrational thought

and I don't know if

I'm paranoid

or

naive.

Driftwood

You

seem like a distant memory

washed away

on an old piece of driftwood,

I

consider your rescue, but it's

more humane

to let nature run its course.

Clawing for Escape

Tears they,

they soak my throat

and the inside of my chest

but tears they,

they won't soak my skin.

500

Nervously walking through your inviting door

I am having second thoughts about this place

but I cannot plan my exit anymore

because you have already seen my face.

So I head towards you and greet you with a hug,

your touch lingering longer than I would dare

my hands webbing fitting your hips so snug,

the light bounces off your radiant glare.

It takes all of my strength to pull away

and now all of my doubts have left the room

leaving you and I alone to stay

where we can hold hands and watch our orchids bloom.

I head to the bar and buy us both a drink

whilst you briefly go outside to breathe the night,

from the doorway you give me a small wink

that upturns and sets my stomach alight.

We head back towards where we were just standing

as the band begins to play our dearest song,

our eye contact conveys an understanding

that for now this dance is where we belong.

When the song reaches its last, drawn out notes

we make our excuses for an early leave,

in an anxious haste we gather our coats

so we can share our hearts and interweave.

Tattoo

On my arm there is a smudged stain

where you scribbled your number and name,

and I wonder if it will remain

for as long as you've been on my brain.

I've scrubbed at it until I bled

but it was still there when skin was shed

so it will stay until I am dead

or at least until I'm in your bed.

I keep your name close like a tattoo

your ink touches me royal and blue

and now whatever I choose to do

I am always reminded of you.

Passing Songs

Dread fills my heart as a snippet of a resonate song

blares out from a builders old radio on my ascent of the hill,

the lyrics prodding me like impatient children who've waited too long

to see me shakily sing the words back agasinst my will.

They tell in part, a tale that I already know will come to be

but I convince myself it won't in order to ease my worries

however that short soundbite was enough for me

and the words come rushing back in tear-frenzied flurries.

When I get to the top of the hill, I look back down

and wonder what all the big fuss was about.

Here, where I can overlook all of the dots in my town

it is evident I was narcisstic in my doubt.

If the artist had once sung about those feelings

then in experiencing the sentement I am not alone,

deep down I know that time holds the ultimate dealings

so I may as well take the gamble when my hand is thrown.

Frisson

The hairs on my body stand on end

like aerials pointed ninety degrees from my skin.

The goosebumps rise to their morning alarm

which buzz and rattle each other through my gawping corpse.

Meanwhile, the pupils find themselves in tunnels

whilst their blinkered teachers have crept off

to leave the blind but eager children to fend for themselves.

Sensing the subtelties in resonance

I snap from stagnation.

Throw me a pen and napkin

so I can catch this frequency, before

the signal is lost.

Love Science

Could a man denounce the God he believes in

if it meant escaping Satan's wrath

or would his faith out weigh his fear,

when he knew that Love could save him?

Could a man denounce the God he doubts

if it meant escaping Satan's wrath

or would his fear outweigh his faith

when he is terrified of the science behind Love?

Resplendence Abuse

You flick your ashes in my direction

as your glowing embers waver and wane.

I tell myself it's a sign of affection

but I can't help but inhale your disdain.

It's like you can sense my addiction

and know that I need you like air in my lungs

but you are afraid of the conviction

that is brought by downcast eyes and eager tongues.

Lately I've been thinking that I would quit,

that I could cope without having my fix

but when another of your smiles is lit

I can't help but fall for all of your tricks.

So now I try to ease myself away

breathing in your scent less and less each week,

but that taste in my mouth continues to stay

and it makes it hard for me to speak.

I'm rid of your cancer but hooked on your cure

and I can't bring myself to break the use

so I will continue to feel impure

as you continue to sport and seduce.

I am ready to be rid of your tug,

I am finally ready to say goodbye.

Replacing you with a harder drug

is the only way I can feel Love's high.

Magnet

I used to know a boy with magnetic bones,

who was forced to spend all his time alone

for with each time matched he'd get too attatched

to a connection never his to own.

Each object that bolted on weighed him down

like a ten tonne plutonium jewelled crown

and each magnetic pull left his shoulders full

until his forehead was forced into a frown.

But he realised he'd been blessed all along

when each latching shard of armour made him strong

and he would grow with each piece that he'd know

which he could make right from each steely cold wrong.

Now that boy I knew welcomes each attraction

and does not let weight become a distraction,

finding such bliss in each metallic kiss

that carries on growing upon retraction.

Slaying the Senseless

I've been enclosing this ravenous, scornful snake

safely away in a cave guarded by white stones.

He is held cruelly there for humanity's sake

so that he may not strip them down right to their bones.

But lately I've been thinking that it's more humane

to set him free to devour a corpse bit by bit,

for he only chooses those with a barren brain

which he playfully calls "survival of the wit".

So the only way to keep this serpent away

is simply to display the snake some common sense,

but this so called common notion is scarce today

and I'm sickened...so let the massacre commence.

Object/Subject

Would I be subject to your objection

if you were the object of my subjection?