Archive for short poem

Even The Cracks Have Cracks

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on September 3, 2019 by dc

Even the cracks have cracks

Is the name
Of this new
Photo montage,

And the near shattered glass
Is a metaphor hanging on
For dear life,

Ugly reflections
are rife,

Transparency woos
And then fools

Like a knife
Stood upright
In a dishwasher’s shadows,

Chosen and potent,

Exposing the moment
This new omen sat frozen,

All focused and fracturing light.

Power

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on July 22, 2019 by dc

I used to hate
What I thought

I’d become
Back then,

Now I love it.

Last Year’s Haircut

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 26, 2019 by dc

He leant in with last year’s haircut,
Kissed her digital image convincingly
And relaxed into his script;

Truth is he just mouthed things,
He didn’t even bother with stagecraft,
He just ruffled his hair and smiled,

There’s a simple truth in laziness,

Improvising shame and ruthlessness,
Unapologetic foolishness,
Stumbling around all ludicrous

In another person’s dream.

Powder Blue

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on June 23, 2019 by dc

Light cracks
And the stars
Glimmer through,

Motion fizzles
And skips,
Morning wonders.

Peripheries catch
Stippled specs
Distant dancing,

Odd sounds
Elongate
And smear echoes,

Reality pops,
Delusions quiver,
Balance rocks.

In a fading
Corner of the room
Beliefs recede,

Worries tingle,
As insomnia hovers
Like a gull lost at sea,

Weary mantras retreat
In serenity’s
Stolen shadows

And the dawn whispers
Clues powder blue,
As the sky catches breath.

We’re Done Here

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on June 9, 2019 by dc

That incessant itch,

Photographs shredded,
Letters burnt,
A new start.

The blurring wounds,

Disappearing voices,
Stammered belief
And the cold sweats.

Those weeping assistants,

Incantations of innocence,
Body language coached
Two times a week,

And we’re done here.

That Excess Creosote

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on May 4, 2019 by dc

We’ve all seen
That excess creosote

Running down
Occasional fences,

All tears and humility,
Fortitude and regret,

And most of us
Have said

Bugger all about it.

Not me.

That Cackle

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , on April 22, 2019 by dc

That cackle,
Musty and burnt
Like a sodden cigar
Crushed underfoot
Outside the Royal Legion,

A curdled cough,
Snarling down the street,
All shivered gutters,
Twisted, leaking engines
And monologues paused,

A chapped and cracked
Thumb of a man,
Rumbling threats
In a grumbling funk,
Endlessly stained.