Archive for March, 2009


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 30, 2009 by dc

I’ve been here for longer
Than the stars have held patterns
And I’m the kind of strange warfare
Where nothing much happens,

So sing as we sail,
We are wrapped up in memories
And our comrades lie battered
Like it’s a bleak documentary,

I came here for something
Now nothing seems endless,
The ongoing dark
Is so bleak and I’m friendless,


Zion Dragoon

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on March 23, 2009 by dc

You’re like a
Zion dragoon,
And luminous,
When you walk
In the room
Your transcendent march
Is truly ruinous.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on March 17, 2009 by dc

Grey woven
Into concrete
That block
Out the light,
Of pissy
The windows,
Car chains
Slinking like
The workings
Of the slowest
In the world,
Flesh knotting


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 13, 2009 by dc

I will live forever,
As long as that may be,
Tasting the wine on your lips,
Brushing your face against mine
And tumbling high,

I will feed on fresh air
And stare through the rainclouds,
I will wander strange streets
And sing myself off to sleep
Through the storms.

As long as forever may be
I will drift through the seasons,
Hands cupped with laughter
And recollections of love,
Touching your smile and sharing its life.

We are Living for Weekends

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 10, 2009 by dc

The pendulum swings heavy,
You’re invisible,
A week seems like a lifetime.

Chicken chatters in the pan,
The radio seeps,
All the memories smile.

Even distance has answers,
Thoughts can be golden,
We have journeys of laughter.

This absence gifts us daydreams,
Patience is vital,
We are living for weekends.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 7, 2009 by dc

Please sway like the trees
And let the wind move your hair
Some cliches are nice

Under Lost Leaves

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on March 5, 2009 by dc

As I peek my head out
Of the curtains on Tuesdays
The people I admire least of all
Are the strangers with eyes
Black as mine,

Their hopes
Just the scum sitting
Under lost leaves,
Their faces decaying.

Evening arrives,
Night passes in seconds
And the dawn starts again,

The sour mulch of winter
Blocking up all the drains.

As you’re waking to work,
I’m falling asleep
And dreaming with hope
That one day very soon
You won’t be so far away.

(I Am Almost Asleep)

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on March 2, 2009 by dc

The creak of wood,
The groaning waves
Of muffled creeping,
The shades of gothic doom,

Something’s at my door,
my bedroom door
(I am almost asleep).

I can hear the gentle hiss
Of a dying microphone,
The pant of a hungry guard dog,
The quiet violence of humming,

The voices of children
Running across foggy moors,
Whistles skirting the grass
As one of them falls.

I feel the fear
And the longing to melt
into camoflaged dreams,

Something’s at my door,
My bedroom door
(I am almost asleep).