Archive for August, 2013

A Springtime All Hushed

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on August 29, 2013 by dc

Away with the quiet
The pondering lullaby
A springtime all hushed

The Sand And The Silt

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on August 24, 2013 by dc

For dinner
We eat measured silence,

We sip on hushed regret
Between the chewing

And push questions
To the sides of our plates.

We digest very little
And smile even less.

To think we once let our tongues
Unravel and tickle,

We’re just sweet thoughts
And guilt,

An old empty restaurant
All hidden and lost,

The cost of progression,
The sand and the silt.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on August 18, 2013 by dc

I became accessible.

There were weeks
When all I’d do was nod.

I kept three buttons undone
On my favourite shirt

And praised
Everyone I met.

I left my front door
Open to strangers

And kept a smile on my face
As they robbed me.

I congratulated idiots,
Kept truths inside a cabinet
And walked without fear.

I gave gifts and learnt songs,
Stroked the sky every morning
And looked at love from afar.

I became accessible.

In lands I’ll never go
I’d have been welcomed like family,

Been prayed for
And kissed;

It’s funny
The things
We’ll do
For a list.

A Song In Reverse

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on August 16, 2013 by dc

Swaying down streets
Caught in laughter’s
Raw clutches,

Rolling highs
Like dice against
The kerbs,

A mockingbird’s song,
A siren ever close

And the giddy
Sounds of chatter
Let loose,

Under summer’s
Late moon;

We are a song in reverse,
A heaven all wanton,
A curse,

The riot of quiet unkempt.

Second Guessing

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on August 11, 2013 by dc

If the minutes we spend
Second guessing

Were ignored
For the hours of joy,

We could lie here
For days
Simply smiling,

Instead of sitting here
Cross-armed and coy.

The Beautiful Vermin

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on August 10, 2013 by dc

The fan blew cool
His hot headed instincts,

Life was too short
To ever try changing,

This was all just
A means to an end.

Strangers scuttled
On the streets outside,

The beautiful vermin,

Drinking booze
On the summer sidewalks,

All idiocy
And wild enthusiasm;

The shrill songs of laughter
As circles collide,
All cupid harpoons
And weathered delight.

The fan kept rotating
Slowly quelling his envy,

He was born to crunch numbers
And stutter at parties,
Make indents in cushions
And mutter at screens;

He was made for relaxing,
All sallow and pure,

He’s two for a penny,
His friends live abroad.


Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on August 2, 2013 by dc

The sky read us wrong
We were sunshine and sly smiles
Hooked onto storm clouds