Marred fingers
Hollow tongues
Tear
Black mist
Dim hamlet
Frost
Green dress
Flowing fabric
Peace
Sun clouds
Miraculous tones
Goodbye
Steel bird
Foreign land
Soar
High clouds
Forgotten perfume
Naked
Cold windows
Saggy skin
Clean
Pounding lace
Beating chest
Weak
Downward swell
Sinking trough
Chill
Fairy stories
Popcorn moments
Horizon
Bursting tears
Fears gone
Rest
A collection of poems and musings by a rookie poet and constant dreamer - J.O.S.H
Tuesday 28 August 2012
Monday 27 August 2012
Good Morning
Time defeats him
Self imposed mirrors
Distract him from abstraction
A pleasant place in which to deny
The torment of the bumbling bus
The raucous of girls in too much makeup and the ritual of babies suckling
Morning has come
Time defeats him
He loses his head and drifts
Dreamlike hoping again not to wake
Self imposed mirrors
Distract him from abstraction
A pleasant place in which to deny
The torment of the bumbling bus
The raucous of girls in too much makeup and the ritual of babies suckling
Morning has come
Time defeats him
He loses his head and drifts
Dreamlike hoping again not to wake
Era
she was born of the sky
Her hair forever in the wind
She was lost and proud
Her family scattered and broken
It was a time of opals
And fire
It was a time of fireworks
And wide eyes
It was not a time to retreat
Into a private world
Ruled by domestic demons
And watchers inhabiting the
Roof she called home
She was a girl who was free
She was a girl that laughed
A girl that danced under the night
A girl that breathed in magic
To kiss away the pain
A girl that exposed her milk thighs
On the grass under the stars
She was born of the sky
And in the end died of it
She opened her arms like wings
Pinned to a crucifix
Her final pact was sealed by blood, sand and
Salt water
Her hair forever in the wind
She was lost and proud
Her family scattered and broken
It was a time of opals
And fire
It was a time of fireworks
And wide eyes
It was not a time to retreat
Into a private world
Ruled by domestic demons
And watchers inhabiting the
Roof she called home
She was a girl who was free
She was a girl that laughed
A girl that danced under the night
A girl that breathed in magic
To kiss away the pain
A girl that exposed her milk thighs
On the grass under the stars
She was born of the sky
And in the end died of it
She opened her arms like wings
Pinned to a crucifix
Her final pact was sealed by blood, sand and
Salt water
Tuesday 14 August 2012
Attics
Hello everyone
I was desperate to do a new post. I feel it's been a while. I started producing this seemingly random strong of thought and thought wow...this is odd. So l decided naturally to post it :-p
Moreover though read the last bit and return and try to understand what this represents the central metaphor is te sense of a rumble weed collecting dust picking up stray thoughts in your mind and clumping them all together as quite literally rolling with them! This is what I imagine inside my mind looks like sometimes rather dusty? What do you think?
Anyway without further adieu this is Attics.
ATTICS
Ever feel like a parasite
Multiply that feeling
You might know
How thoughts can bleed
A story ends and
Then begins
Endings are the top
Of the circle
And the circle is a train
I felt like air
I was falling
Floating at the same time
So free and disconnected
Blowing about everything
Content with invisibility
And Anonymity
Stars are stuck into
The sky
Stars are stuck by
God and no one understands
Why they burn
When they stop
Why they don't find a way to
Keep fighting
What turns a shining light into
A pitt of burning darkness
What fury shakes atoms to explode
Dust stings the air
Been there
Been here
Not long enough
To see clear
We keep attics
And they are full of tumble weeds
Who knows what they'll collect
Who knows what strange mish mash
Will collate in the dusty recesses
Of ourselves
I was desperate to do a new post. I feel it's been a while. I started producing this seemingly random strong of thought and thought wow...this is odd. So l decided naturally to post it :-p
Moreover though read the last bit and return and try to understand what this represents the central metaphor is te sense of a rumble weed collecting dust picking up stray thoughts in your mind and clumping them all together as quite literally rolling with them! This is what I imagine inside my mind looks like sometimes rather dusty? What do you think?
Anyway without further adieu this is Attics.
ATTICS
Ever feel like a parasite
Multiply that feeling
You might know
How thoughts can bleed
A story ends and
Then begins
Endings are the top
Of the circle
And the circle is a train
I felt like air
I was falling
Floating at the same time
So free and disconnected
Blowing about everything
Content with invisibility
And Anonymity
Stars are stuck into
The sky
Stars are stuck by
God and no one understands
Why they burn
When they stop
Why they don't find a way to
Keep fighting
What turns a shining light into
A pitt of burning darkness
What fury shakes atoms to explode
Dust stings the air
Been there
Been here
Not long enough
To see clear
We keep attics
And they are full of tumble weeds
Who knows what they'll collect
Who knows what strange mish mash
Will collate in the dusty recesses
Of ourselves
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)