Archive for December, 2012

Deep Down

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on December 31, 2012 by dc

Deep down you know
How it should have ended,

There were piccolos playing,
A whispered song of eloquence
Wafting like the new
Terms of endearment

And a newly served drink,
Fresh with umbrellas and guidance.

Yet it’s back to the early days,
All guessing games and sketch books,
Diaries and chess,

Your wishing position
All eyes high and night skies,
Never revealing.

I can smell you on my skin
And this is it where it ends
Not begins,

A shadowed conclusion
Of an old boring story
That stayed clear of hope,

The joke,

The sadness,
Just that.

Wasted and Plastered

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 31, 2012 by dc

You can talk like the son of a broken messiah
And waft semi-miracles like the eloquent hero
Your parents hoped you’d turn out to be,

There’s no saving your now broken small dreams,
You whispered the cracks in your brilliance
And left yourself open to shattering.

Let the brittle new believers
Suck in their honest and sombre achievements,
Lifting their trophies of desperate acclaim,

One day we’ll ignore like we’ve never before,
Some happy conclusions were meant to stay wild,
Ripped like new humour and over thought please me’s,

Wasted and plastered
With intrigue.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on December 29, 2012 by dc

What are we to do?
As the melting faced
Fade into stutters,
Dizzy with numbers
And ill fed excuses,
All desperate
And carrion crowing.

Watch sports?
Sing for the Queen?
Hunt paedophiles?
Tweet discontentment
And shun LOL’s?

It’s a strange hell
Of sorts,

Caught in the middle
Of a riddle and a rock,

Locked in rhyming
And climbing
Through the crowds,
Short on air,

“It’s unfair!”
We all shout,

“You don’t care!”
And we’re out
Of luck.

But there’s hope.

There’s a crack in the sky
And a guy spinning round,
Parachutes to the ground,

He found it
Somewhere between
The dirt and the stars.

It’s oh so impressive.

If he can do that,
Anything’s possible,

A Sunday All Bent

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 23, 2012 by dc

It’s that humdinger comedown,

In the back of our minds
We’re driving meat wagons into rainbows,
Sectioning clowns in the eye of a storm,
Chasing vampires into the sky
And singing our war songs.

In the here and now
There are percussion troupes playing,

Staring out into the aftermath madness,
Alone in a monochrome box room,
Slumped on a window sill,
Watching a glorious misfire all tangled,

We are bruised and over-ripened,
Soft bellied and worried.

Mayhem sits throbbing
On the reverse of the city,
A cornucopia of sun bursts and screaming,
The rioting of the forgotten
Is ongoing,

An angry earthquake of thoughts
Smeared on the back
Of a million torn postcards,
Flapping across pavements
And spinning down side streets;

A b-side apocalypse
With sinister echoes,
‘Beware of the coming!’

Sunk in the flipside of paradise
All strobe flickered greys
And pigeon-holed thoughts,
It’s a new flat world dawn,

Gravity drops amidst the sighing
As puritans tip-toe
Through our guilt,

And the juxtaposed worlds
We create in our hell holes
Sink into dribbling
And afternoon cat naps,

Growling and smothering
Odd dreams across our eyelids.

We have feet in our stomachs
And fingers in our brains,

This is nothing
But a Sunday all bent.

Stay Alone For Too Long

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on December 14, 2012 by dc

Stay alone for too long
And the cold shivers,

People quiver
Around you,

The mouth becomes
An open wound
And the truth
Seeps out.

You run your mouth
And exhaust it,

Climb into truths
And flesh their bones
With pleading sympathy
And doubt.

It’s bad news.

All the faces you receive
Sit an expression too far,
Seconds from understanding,

The planning stages
Left hanging

Like an empty noose
On the landing,

Or something
Less dark.

The Drummers Rise

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on December 11, 2012 by dc

A dizziness born
Pickled by the swirl of dreams

The fulcrum tightens
Landscapes drift as colours spin
And the drummers rise,

The sweet beat of life
Arrhythmically chosen
Startling and wild.

Try Something New, She Said

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on December 3, 2012 by dc

The highlights
Of this calypso soundtracked,
1960’s themed,
English country flower garden fete
Couldn’t fill up your voicemail,
Even after your grandmother
Has a left a message
She thought was a conversation
On the history of British millinery.

I’m all on my own
And I’m not used to change,

Let’s not try too hard
Ever again.