Archive for November, 2013

Whys Can Sigh

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

I looked deep in her eyes
And saw nothing but you,

I pieced together
The words she unraveled,

Bored and obtuse,

I turned them into song
And sung soft till the walls
Took your shadows,

Brought your scent here
To remind me I’m drifting,

A cornucopia
Of imagined birdsong

Greeting you
In these windows reflecting,

Distant whispers,

The hours we spent here
Talking wet rhymes and laughter,

The guessing games
And the patter,

Does it matter
I was wrong?

Whys can sigh
And then rise
Now you’re gone.

Broken Dance

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on November 28, 2013 by dc

Tap hard till it cracks
And let the whispers float out
Forgotten and wild,

Leave and then scatter
The odd thoughts you left hidden
In cold dusty rooms,

Take sadness and master
Awkward instincts forgotten
A sweet broken dance.

A Flaking Tongue

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on November 25, 2013 by dc

A softening voice,
A flaking tongue,

The polished repeat
Of a well echoed

A promise soon broken
Disguised as a mishap,

The glistening lips
Of tomorrow’s excuse
Mounted fresh in a memory,

On a plinth
In your throat,

So the next time you swallow
You can tenderly

The Last Leaves

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on November 20, 2013 by dc

Sometimes words linger
Like the last leaves decaying
In an old wet park

A Scene From An Old Soap Opera

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

There is an ongoing conversation,
All tapping fingers and patience,
Patterns on the wall and bad TV,

There is potential for critical distance,
The length of an arm on the couch,
Words that slip in the kitchen.

They play out a scene from an old soap opera,
A tired, simple drama of varied intentions
Stretched taut one spent whispered evening,

A balanced stab at normality,
They could try harder
But things are complicated,

The script keeps stuttering
And everything’s in close up,
The dissemination of casual daydreams continues.

They’re just reflections of the things they survey,

Interest these days is spread like a virus

And they’re left sitting, itching for something.

Your Hatred Has Holes

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on November 15, 2013 by dc

Why would you choose
To sully their bones,
Desecrate memories
And trail their soil
Through your homes?

Poor is the man with a new variation
Each time that a season returns,

A fresh anger,
Shape shifting,

Impatient and dreamless,
Hanging parasite limp
On the teats of the wild;

If you’re in need of a mountain,
Start walking the hills,
Take twisted lies from your heroes
And post your guilt to the poor,

Repress joy
And then scrub your hands clean,

Are you here to wake drunkards
Or see if your hatred has holes?

The dew hangs all sleepy
At the edge of your lawn,
Amid these dull suburban landscapes
Where you dream of new home fronts
As souls drop unconscious;

Your roars rattle bile ducts
And your whispers are worse,

Are you here to find scapegoats
Or just scrape the barrel?

Shallow forever
And blue,

Harmony could do
With fewer men like you.

Fresh And Frozen

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on November 9, 2013 by dc

I extend my arms
Till the world’s just
Scattered, listless ships
On turbulent, distant seas.

I try to stand tall
Like a funeral pyre,
Strong as sobs echo
And memories drone.

I stare into the darkness
And slowly drop to the floor,

Winds battle
And rain leaves
Fresh marks in the earth,
I breathe with the storm
And push dirt through my hair.

There’s an ushering madness
Bent across this lost skyline
And I’m nothing but sour words
And headaches.

In days to come
A gentler animal
Will wash up on these shores,
All doe-eyed and hypnotised,

A new mankind,
A preacher’s groan,
A monotone,

A dream frequently chosen,

Fresh and frozen
For realists.

Bitterness Rusts

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , on November 6, 2013 by dc

Words taste like iron
When folk talk about heartbreak
Their bitterness rusts


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

Thick autumn leaves
On the ground,

A crisp wayward carpet
Leading nowhere;

I stand under a street light
And count the ways
I’ve kidded myself,

Eased into simple fantasies
And joked with the truth,

I’ve sat in her arms,
Tickled insecurities
And whispered
To her till dawn.

I’ve been here before,

I’ve walked these
Cloned streets
And dreamt
That the rain
Was writing stories
At my feet,

Riddles to lead me
To your opening arms,

The place I feel peaceful
When thoughts
Just dissolve,

Far away from
The suited salesmen
Gathered round corners
Smoking bravado,

The hurried
Bustle and clatter
Of bar staff and waiters
Longing for quiet,

Miles from
The rumbling city buses
Transporting the unsteady
Home safe to their beds,

To their husbands
And wives,

To their lives
Sometimes twisted.

How I wish I was
Twisted with you.

Reformed Meat

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , on November 1, 2013 by dc

As a cockeyed dear brat
He liked to flee
From enchantment,

He would guzzle
On the edges of joy

And remove the keenness
From every moment

Until just the gristle shined.

Exhausted in the backyard
With his gang of made-up friends,

All pristine garbed
And lost in a vague sky,

He would sit mildly morose
Most mornings,

Trapped in a hometown gloom.

Whispering songs of distaste
And wandering dust clouds,

On the very cusp of fantasy,

All bitter and broken,
Dry lipped and Catholic,

He was bird song to the tired,

A single peg
On an old washing line,

A moulded meat on the side
Waiting for signs