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Tuesday 31 January 2017

Portent (172 of 365)

Day 173 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day portent meaning "a sign or warning that a momentous or calamitous event is likely to happen."

Portent

A gust of something approaches 
It is invisible and has no force
But can crumble the world
To dust 
An idea 

Reverberating throughout consciousness 
Streams of propaganda propagate
Tautology ideology 
Undo truth 

Alternative facts portent doom
Alternative realities dimensions
Astrophysics dark matter
Incomprehensible jargon buzz word

Cram the world with nonsense
Flood the pages and words with conjecture and opinions
The opening of the can 

This is the beginning of the end
In a digital age of constant connectivity to negativity 
Blasting consumption of falsehoods

Subjective objective 
The point is well and truly disregarded 
The point is lost and thrown out the window 
This is the portent 
This is tragedy
This is the collective selfishness
This is the modern world 
Sink or swim
Eat or be eaten
We are cattle and we are led.

Thursday 26 January 2017

Omnipotent (171 of 365)

Day 171 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day umbrage meaning: "a feeling of anger caused by being offended."

Omnipotent

I feel like a little child 
It's hard to believe 
The only thing that has grown
Is my certainty of unknowing 

DNA, subatomic particles, cells, nuclei 
I stare into a universe of cells every second 
I stare into my own universe
Yet I am one
I am many 
Battles are fought inside of my cells for life and for energy 

I feel a tugging
But it's not real its other cells
Telling my brain how to feel 
That's feeling for you

But I feel like a child 
Because I'm so small and insignificant aren't I 
The roof of the universe
Is caving in around me
My umbrage will not help it or hold it back
I feel it coming.

Wednesday 25 January 2017

Australia Day (170 of 365)

Day 170 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day ubiquitous meaning: "being present everywhere at once."

Australia Day

The harbour with its trees 
Lush and bent by the speakers
Of boat and the surge of sunscreen slacked tourists
From the spit to Manly
Proud blue seafarer flags
Of seafaring people's 
Of a tribe pale and sunburnt

The ambling crowds gyrate in the muds at low tide playing their
Primitive ball and stick games
Yelling names and rhymes
Drinking their drink and spewing
Their stories and children all
Over the sand

The tiny strips of green are lost
In the proud paraphernalia of red white and blue 
That heralded the ships
That alienate some

Somewhere else somewhere less peaceful and full of the blue water
Blue flags, blue sea and blue settlers on the crisp green turf
March others waving other flags
The ones who were here first

I wonder how much more crowded 
those strips might become if the divided were to commingle
If the yells and shouts began to blur and disappear into each other
If the mad flag waving and sunburn
Covered both camps in sweat and flies 
Or maybe instead there would be deafening silence a death to fun sort of silence a death to innocence sort of silence
A death to something proud and unassuming 

But then I return to the present
The White bodies of the young and the old, the baby and the bald,
The muscles and the tubular, the wrinkled and the smooth, the course speakers and the loud speakers, the mouse talkers and the whispers, the splashers and the starers, the pushers and the jumpers
Sitting on picnic blankets
On floaty fortresses
On rich decadent boats
In decaying houseboats
On green green grass
Under shade 
And the fun and the music
The countdown, the proud sermons of the young and the sound of coming together 
All continue unabashed
Ubiquitous 
And more than 200 years old.

Fall from grace (169 of 365)

Day 169 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day truculent meaning: "defiantly aggressive."

Fall from grace 

His manner was truculent
He sat and brooded 
And he brooded about brooding
Libido vacant

Life upturned 
Gumption eradicated 

His family was tossed out
His notion of self fell into decay
It made sense to beat passersby
It made sense to lash out with non-sense and swear words

It felt nice
Like the feather tickle at the top of the spine 
That delicate balance of too little and too abundant sensation 

He was betrayed and spat upon
He was condemned 
He was judged 
His life adjudicated 
Farewell to control 

His head hangs 
Unhinged 
He rocks forth into danger
Bring it on the cry of his wildening jowls
Because animals are spat on
Because savages have no humanity
Because rats live and lie in their own waste

Kiss the curb 
He kisses it cold and covered in mildew
What comes up must slide down into this refuse
The light above feels like a long lost fairy story now

It's hard to be sophisticated
When you have no pants to shit in
It's hard to articulate poverty
When you're soaked by it
The man is a mess of dirt and beads of stink

He is barely a man anymore
He flashes his teeth 
A passerby remarks with some contempt the stool that smeared the walkway apparently has eyes and ears
But does it have a heart or soul
How can an animal
They're condemned to hell aren't they?

Tumble down the rabbit warren
There is no grace or sex to be found here
There is nothing
He feels himself melt away into the pavement
His muscles relax and stupidity 
Infects his brain as the sunlight causes sunspots and the slow decay of the world
The whole melting world
The melting pot of this
Mismanaged affair 
This life
Or what is left of it

Sometimes within the eyes the pupils flutter 
and it remembers 
A time long ago
It remembers a time where the soles of his feet were caked to the base of his feet
A time long ago. 

Monday 23 January 2017

Elected Official (168 of 365)

Day 168 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day torpid meaning: "a condition of biological rest or suspended animation."

Elected Official 

The gateway opened up
The light spilled out
It overwhelmed and consumed 
Save for sunnies I had no protection
For the awe I felt when I witnessed 
That sublime progeny of humanity
The robust Roman jaw 
Made for massacring words and for sanctimonious retribution and diatribes 
But my first impression was greatness
Befitting of a glorious mare in heat its full cock and balls standing erect
Wallowing low so as to demonstrate my penitence
my supplication to
This divinity made flesh
This pinnacle of torpid gestation 
May the glory, the power and the holy kingdom of the USA 
Praise him. 

Sunday 22 January 2017

Incomletence (167 of 365)

Day 167 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day staid meaning: "characterized by dignity and propriety."

Incompetence 

Red bloody raw incompetence
Smacks me in the stomach till I see stars 
I'm hanging off a meat hook dripping
The flesh is hanging and the air is cool and it's relaxing all this pain
It cuts past the numbing and the blisters 

There was an inflatable mattress
Several children jumped and darted over him until he as you might imagine
Described himself as deflated 

And knowing so much failure 
My staid past well behind me
Behind tall white picket nail fences and a warm embrace of white porcelain rubber skin 

I saw a place beyond the pines 
Where bark was lush and leaves were ever green 
I saw it and it distracted me from
Obliterating thoughts of desperate panic where I lay open at night in sweats awaiting the mortal demise
Awaiting the end 
Awaiting the judging eyes and doors
Can there be more than this? 

Saturday 21 January 2017

Lazy Sunday (166 of 365)

Welcome to day 166 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day sequestration meaning: "(of a place) isolated and hidden away."

Lazy Sunday 

Afternoons baking on the sheets 
Looking out the window
Daydreaming
These moments where experience has taught me too much to
Enjoy this and be in this 
To stay in this quiet moment
Like a child 
I am too tired to smile
The leaves blow back and forth
They whisper in my mind with all 
Else that might consume my time
With all else that will consume my time
I lay back burned and baking
The hairs on my legs betray 
My age, but the tired lull of my eyes
On a lazy Sunday remain the same
I shut my eyes and dream
I am sequestered 
My world is mine and a great plain of darkness surrounds me
Nervously and apprehensive of opening them again.
 

Curling Branches (165 of 365)

165 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day solipsism meaning: "the philosophical theory that the self is all that exists."

Curling Branches 

There are soft curling branches
Soft secret limbs that reach
Across spaces in cafes and restaurants, bars, scenic views and lands
They feel about tentative and nervous

They look into different dimensions
They take shape on collective imagination 
Sparked by two eyes meeting across a room

There is a mutual interest
And eternal understanding
That nothing will ever happen
But curiosity persists 
Imagination constructs a world
Dreams within dreams deep 
Layers of curiosity 

These are soft silent moments
Of secret longing
That no one knows or sees
There is a sense of solipsism in this emptiness that belongs only to you 
As feelings are acknowledged 
Then cast adrift to sweep down
Their way meander out into
The vast sea of the subconscious.

Thursday 19 January 2017

Semaphore (164 of 365)

164 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day semaphore meaning: "an apparatus for visual signalling."

Semaphore 

The great-grandfather sits down and tells his son how to be: 
"see this world it's mad, 
You should be glad if you
Had what I had 
Your freedom is gone 
Don't resent it submit to control
Submit to safety and reassurance."

The grandfather sat down and tells his son how to be: 
"See this worlds gone mad
We have roles we do
And it's justice and nature that we do them
Your mother got what she deserved
Don't let anyone tell you different 
You do as you please 
My father submitted to control 
Where did it get him
There is no safety or reassurance."

The father sat down and tells his son how to be:
"See this worlds gone mad
I always listened to my old man, dad
It's sad the problems you have
They are not your fault 
How could they be you've done nothing wrong my son
Don't listen to them 
Don't listen to her 
She had her job and you have yours
Go to work bring home the bacon
That's all you need do
Then you'll deserve some rest and recuperation
That's the only safety and reassurance I had and you'll have it too."

The son sits idle and says to his father:
"This is my world not yours
I don't know what to do
I don't understand why what you say is not what they say
I don't know why things are different
I'm lost. 
I wish you could help me. 
You're the only one that can.
I know you can't, but I have no choice don't I?"

Jungle (163 of 365)

Day 163 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day (one I know, but it has a second recognised meaning) jungle meaning: "a situation or place of bewildering complexity or brutal competitiveness."

Jungle

It's a jungle out there
Dog eat dog 
The ferns and the canopy
Keeping it all dark black
Concealed ambiguous 
It's always night
It's always hidden
It's always intangible
It's always hard and thorny with the barbs cutting and clawing
There is life here
It has a beating pulse of flame and hunger and frenzy
There are vast and sly faces and mouths 
All the better to chow down
There is a moment when there is only delight beneath the eaves
Before you soon discover 
Lower your guard and the predators will have you
They will have you
Then you'll be lost amongst the tall breathing darkness 
There are no screams just the
Deafening beating of cicadas wings
Howling into the absence of life
The seeming cavernous void 
Where you used to be. 

Tuesday 17 January 2017

Perfection (161 of 365)

Day 161 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day redoubtable meaning "inspiring fear."

Perfection 

The basis of it all 
Is perfection
The work should be redoubtable
The work was average
The motivation was lacking 
The human hand can only do
So much before stumbling

It's unkind to be ambiguous
Clarity and perfection
Is succinct and basic 
It is terribly potent 

Humanity understands banality
That is the stumbling block 
To perfection 
It is out of reach in the grip of monotony 

There is also the anxiety of imperfection that is present
It procreates and forms procrastination
And additional work beyond 
That which is required 

Thus is perfection flawed
From the beginning
Inevitable is the descent of man.

Hatred (162 of 365)

Day 162 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day troglodyte meaning: "cave dweller."

Hatred

I shouldn't but I do
I judge you and condemn you
I want you to suffer under eternal scrutiny
I pity you 
Your idiocy annoys me
I have no empathy or sympathy
My ears are ringing with it the sounds of your excuses 
I am impotent to deter you
I am impotent to change or reform
I can only listen
To the drop of my ear as though an anvil were affixed to it dragging my consciousness down to earth and down to hell
I've had enough 
No more excuses
I get to be indignant
I get to enjoy self righteous anger
Don't dare deprive me 
Don't dare troglodyte 
Don't dare hapless harpy
Don't dare tormentor 

I am so very tired...
I could collapse up into my suitcase fold in my arms and legs and wait to suffocate 
The sting of my asphyxiation will send me to nirvana at last.

Monday 16 January 2017

Meeting of Minds (160 of 365)

Day 160 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Punctilious meaning: "marked by precise accordance with details."

Meeting of Minds 

I was in the presence of the grotesque
I was in the presence of olden times
I was in the presence of the grotesque and it was all in the punctilious

The overly ripe teeth
The clasping of orangutang paws
On youthful Filipino shoulders
The oppressive prurience of that 
Busy office and the 
Noble facade of bound books
Witnessing all the jovial apish antics

I was in the presence of the grotesque and the dated and the discriminatory...yet I sat still and did nothing.

Sunday 15 January 2017

Garlic (159 of 365)

Day 159 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day soupçon meaning: "a very small quantity of something."

Garlic

I felt it this morning 
Airing out my pores copped a 
Stare from the yuppi beside me
Her tights taut across her flexing
Gluteus Maximus 

I felt it waft within my nostrils 
Tickling the insides 
With tantalising powerful sweet perfume with a taste I can't pin
Down into words
The lamb hit my tongue 
It was rosemary and the hot heavy spicy tang of garlic in its little glorious white chunks 

The morning earlier
A soupçon of it lay within reach
Of my pores and Palm
Which absorbed it
The week old morsel
Was sweet and fragrant in my mouth

Before that it was in my dreams
My tongue gone rancid and smelly
As though something bulbous
Had decayed on it images of black garlic in Leura in fine jars and tubes

Now it's my future 
Tall robust falafel ready to drown 
Upon the flood of garlic hummus
Minced garlic and white sheet white powerfully raw sharp 
Garlic! 

Friday 13 January 2017

Beach Bulge (158 of 365)

Day 158 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Pulchritude meaning: "physical beauty, especially of a woman."

Beach Bulge

On the wide open sand lying
In pulchritude 

Unbound and unconstrained
Fleshy sacks floppy and free
drooping and lazing and bopping at play 

Lying in glorious ecstasy the sand between toes dotted with 
Warts and calluses from the sun 
Blisters massaged in salt and sweat

The red hot heat sears 
Leaving the foppish meaty bottoms swollen like ripe nectarines 
And their polyester latex lines 
Brown, orange, red, pink, off-White, beige, yellow and black 

The beach goers retire 
Their sunscreen ointment oily skin
Has become a film
Each fold and roll and lump and vein is visible like a painting in the heat
And somehow it is all forgotten 
As they retreat shirts on towels in hand
Their feet cantering over the smouldering white sand 

Thursday 12 January 2017

Puerile (157 of 365)

Day 156 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day puerile meaning: "displaying or suggesting a lack of maturity."

Puerile 

I don't like dirt 
I don't like dirt on people
I do not like dirty people
I do not like streets
I do not like rats
I do not like ratty streets
I don't like ratty streets and ratty street people


I do not like my stomach doing somersaults
I don't like dirty hands making my stomach do somersaults
I don't like thinking about dirty people and ratty streets

I don't like disgusting things
I don't like to feel disgusted
I don't enjoy being around some people 
I don't like being around dirty ratty people
I don't like disgusting people
I don't like disgusting people they disgust me
I do not want to deal with disgusting dirty ratty people and streets or feel disgusting somersault feelings in my stomach 

I don't like seeing dirt 
I don't like seeing dirty streets
I don't like seeing a dirty person on a dirty street
I don't like sharing the street with dirty people 
I do not like sharing my disgusting feelings 
I do not like having to share my disgust 

I do not like having to pretend I am not disgusted when I am 

Candied Concupiscence (156 of 365)

Day 156 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Concupiscence meaning: "strong sexual desire; lust."

Candied Concupiscence 

Bubblegum hot pink 
Sherbet cherry pop melting
Moment strawberry 

Omission (155 of 365)

Day 155 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day bole meaning: "the trunk of a tree."


Omission 

They fell in waves onto the snow
The leaves fell in waves onto the snow

Their bodies were brown
The orange red shades of Autumn had left the leaves 

The limbs were bare and barbed and broken looking
The tree limbs had brackish flaking bark

The torso was perfect for cutting deep and sure with a sharp axe
It was felling season and the weakened bole of the tree gave way under the sway of the axe

New life born in the Spring
The sapling shoots up at the close of the felling season.

Idyll (154 of 365)

Day 154 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day scourge meaning: "a person or thing that causes great trouble or suffering."

Idyll

Lay on the compact sand
Feel the grains on your back
Turn the scorch of the sand
The scotch skin
Ready to kiss and drink

Blistered red eyes 
And running noses 
Breasts latched and sweating
Droopy in the sun

Everything is in heat
It is the breaking sort
That wears down flappy straw hats
And sets people striding out
Into the icy salt scourge of the sea

Meanwhile welts around tan lines
Sunglasses adjusted 
Bums hanging up in the air
Waiting for eyes to latch onto them
Bikinis conceal and open up
Fleshy footholds for the eyes

Horizon blurry 
Sounds of wisps and waves
Dancing smacking and suckling

The idyll continues to lie unperturbed 
scotch skin 
Giving way to sores and bright
Fluorescent red.

The suburbs (153 of 365)

Day 153 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day presage meaning: "a foreboding about what is about to happen."

The suburbs 

The suburbs are flaking cream
Taubman, Dulux and Bunnings 
Conglomerates looming staring down
Grass parks tall AFL poles 
Patriotic gestures and flag poles
Parked cars by the threes and fours 
Diesel guzzlers 
Absent streets
Cracked asphalt with the occasional whistle of burn outs 
And the presage of foreboding
There is utter silence
But evidence of habitation everywhere 
The driveways are concrete some pressed into shapes 
To play at being tiles
Others bricks laid down into 
Cool sand
A storm comes and rain clatters on the hundreds of roofs
There is so much noise but no
Sound.

Wednesday 11 January 2017

In Memoriam (152 of 365)

Welcome to day 152 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day plaudit meaning: "enthusiastic approval."

In Memoriam 

How noble of you
To flit about and exist 
To exist and shit and breathe
How complete 
To walk here and there
To be carefree 
To be for that matter, full of cares
To be consumed in your own concerns 
Or perhaps others concerns
Or perhaps contrite and unconcerned, unperturbed 
Regardless how fortunate 
You may have avoided a despot
Or be in thrall to him or her
(No definitely him)
You may have punched above your weight
You may have offended many or offended few 

This is all I have now of you 
A memento 
A long elongated lip of stone
Upon it a name 
The name has faded with the weather
Beneath there is a body and polished wood
I came a decade now since
The flowers eat up through the earth
They have eaten up you
And your memento and your brown box 
Your nemeses have become the earth and her tentacles

You may be under the illusion there is a twist
Your life you considered was something special significant
And it was 
(But only to you)
You may have consumed much
You may have consumed little
You may have been a subject of plaudit or worshipped 
You may expect respite 
You may expect absence 
Perhaps that is peace to you

Consider that I am lost without you
I am lost and you cannot speak
Your bones and jaw are full of worms and dirt and stones
Sticks and stones
Break your bones 
The sun and moon will erode you 
And me and my lungs full of heaving memory will be lost
And there will no longer be any words for you 

There will only be this
In Memoriam.

Winter City (151 of 365)

Day 151 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day meaning plenitude meaning: "a full supply."

Winter city 

Upon tiers of shining glistening
Corrupt and stagnant 
Steam rises plumes of industry 
And plumes of shadows and dust and grit and coal and ash in plenitude 

The hissing of steam locomotives snake in and out through the high girders that support the foundations of this tottering mess
This arrogant messy world that leers out cockily over the green shores
Even as its furnaces give way to sleet and snowstorms and the tall pinnacles
And there is beauty and there is aristocracy and there is dripping dredging poverty
Curmudgeons have heard their call 
Flagrant denigration spans rife as the underbelly grows grotesque and is tucked away inside the folds of the obese giant that is the city

There is gold brimming at its pinnacle
There is gold and champagne and top hats and fine ladies and genteel men and canes and there is brass 
Fine brass and fine linen cotton 

There are the imposing statues and the imposing thunder of iron hooves 
The pinnacle sparkles bright as Te end of the day sparks the icy crown into a ghostly life 
The gloaming turns all the world copper and silhouettes the dim denizens of far below 
The shame the secret the hidden
Walk in and out of the shadows
They are shapes misbegotten and lost somewhere deep down below the fog that turns the cogs.

Milquetoast (150 of 365)

Day 150 of the 365 day poem challenge. 

Word of the day milquetoast meaning: "a person who is timid or submissive."

Milquetoast 

Excuse me sir
Excuse me
Timid silent and ignored
Timid silent and deplored
Excuse me sir

Are you all despots
How dare you...
I am sorry 
I ought not 
Sorry 
Timid silent ignore
Ignore deplore injustice 
Ignore injustice 
Move along 
Move along 

Please might I
May I intrude
Sorry for the intrusion
Sorry for my existence
My existence
I apologise
I might disappear 
Disappear deplore vanish
Ignored deplored vanished 
Apparate!

Children and sex (149 of 365)

Welcome to day 149 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day pertinacious meaning:  "stubbornly unyielding."

Children and sex

It had gone numb
It had felt like tickling 
It turned turgid
That was the word but the concept was far ahead in adolescence

She'd known about kissing
She'd accosted a few herself
It was an odd jubilation 
Her moves in the young quivering lad were pernitacious
To press warm lips into others
She hadn't considered 
Her tongue and its acute oral invasion piercing the other young girls oral virgin hood

He compared his hood
With the others proud pink helmet
Neither could comprehend the other
Both giggled both tickled and tingled just the same 

She danced and danced 
and felt her squirming insides 
Awash with heat and the desire to play 
She used some moves in the movies the ones mum and dad watch when she was meant to be asleep
She learns to keep it secret 
The nice feelings that intrude 
When she bathes herself and then explores deeper regions
It is a song of play and heat
The air is charged 
With the anxiety of her delightful tingling secret.

This is all we know (148 of 365)

Welcome to day 148 of the 365 day poem challenge. 

Word of the day poultice meaning; 
"a soft, moist mass of material, typically consisting of bran, flour, herbs, etc., applied to the body to relieve soreness and inflammation and kept in place with a cloth."

This is all we know

In the sky that day
Storm clouds Ravens black
Blackness dark everything
Pause heart arrests
Stuck still staring 
Up 

Hide frozen thunderclap 
Terrify beautiful ominous
Sunset maroon dawning
Arrested alert attentive
Down

Poultice revise repair
Upset surprise despair
Late jaded optimist 
Haunted hopeful human
Up

Tuesday 10 January 2017

Afflatus (147 of 365)

Day 147 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day afflatus meaning: "a divine creative impulse or inspiration."

Afflatus 

He was inspired
To be like the girl, who knew her name like the warm sun 
He followed her to his peril 
He followed her all the way
He followed her with his eyes
He followed her with his mouth and then with his teeth

Soon there was no room for 
The girl with the smile 
That lit up rooms
The girl with infectious confidence
The girl was an infection
The girl was torn aside like a scab
Scratched aside and swallowed 

She was not confident 
She was forlorn
He was jaded
And hateful 
He was not inspired
His life was fat, grotesque and insipid
There was emptiness 
There was bitter tasteless chasm

There were moments that sent his blood to rushing
She was his captive
She was not inspired
She was not in awe
Only in fear
But like an animal
Because that was all that was left
Darting eyes and adrenaline
And the thoughts of a moment
Blood surging through her and squirming out of her insides

His hands are around hers
His hands are around her
He kisses her deep 
She kisses it all goodbye
She feels a cold finger trailing over her aorta the thump of it
Pulsing and pounding against his chest
He whispers, "this must be it, this must be love."

Floundering (146 of 365)

Day 146 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day languid meaning: 
(of a person, manner, or gesture) having or showing a disinclination for physical exertion or effort.

Floundering 

The library was uniform
The stacker a be-speckled girl
Did the volumes justice
The extensive collection 
(Or so she supposed) 
was well catalogued and organised

There were puttering sounds
Of this or that Author 
Whispers in the wind
That carried themselves hopefully into her ears
But turned into vacant promises
And soon dull hopes

On weekends she met this or that guy
Saw the Internet entered the deets
Did the deed she was frumpy
But not 17 anymore
And a girls got to eat

Alone on his couch 
The rough sort
The sort that sweat sticks to
And the smell sticks to
And semen sticks to
The stuff that sad middling women stick to
Glasses lying cracked beside 
Her inglorious roost
Her nakedness bears shame 
In its languid paleness

Return to normalcy 
But less so 
Less appealing 
Books become dust
Shelves become rusty engines
Images and thoughts floundering 
Images and thoughts of a vast steel engine with iron jaws and black flame kissed teeth 
And the demise of books and
The demise of a pretty existence
And the demise of her

She thinks of the heat 
And then feels the cold vacant stirring of a customer
Stamps the pass 
Stares idle into the distance.

Whispers of Darkness (145 of 365)

Day 145 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day susurrate meaning: "make a whispering or rustling sound."

Whispers of darkness

I swear she was there 
Whispering to me 
Whispering her tender love 
Susurrating through the brown leaves 
But she is dead I know


I'm not mad and this is my only 
Place to express it
She was true that I not divulge
That I keep it all to myself
I'm positive of it

Hearing voices and all that's a terrible sign a sign of the sibling
Abyss that I see
Mind the darkness she told me
As though I could sidestep it

Feelings like whirlwinds
Eddied through me 
I felt queasy and my stomach did somersaults 
She wasn't herself
Her mouth spoke words but no sound came out
The only thing that came was my understanding

My understanding I intended to do wrong 
I intended all along to listen
I knew I ought not
I knew it

But the whispers of darkness are compelling so compelling
Especially in the moonlight where I have heard insanity hides
I pray for it to come and take me
Because then there will be no knowing where I'm going

The not knowing is adventure excitement and fun
I know even though I won't 
That the voices are right 
Now I am waiting
Waiting for the whispers of darkness to return to me.

To Kill a Ghost (144 of 365)

144 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day visitant meaning: "a supernatural being or agency; an apparition."

To Kill a Ghost 

I never dreamed it
I never imagined it
But it was there niggling
Like a deep dagger stuck so deep 

Blinded 
Blinded by ignorant foolish love

There is so much passion in this small slight frame
There is so much darkness that lies below
There is so much untapped here

To kill a ghost is to go beyond anything conceived 
To bring forth the scars to burst open the scabs and let my dreams and desires run crimson

The visitant is before me
And floods my thoughts
Consumes my nerves 
Sets them to firing 

This irrepressible desire will save and damn me 
The overwhelming glut and wave of emotions will propel me
But I will be destroyed 
All that I am 
Subsumed into darkness 

But that is what is required to kill a ghost...

Everything and more is required 
To bury the memory to squash 
To murder 
To maim
To end it once and for all 

All that and more of me
So that none of me is left
No remainder
Only then 

And so I shall kill the ghost.

Autumn Town (143 of 365)

Day 143 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Subjugate meaning: "bring under domination or control, especially by conquest."

Autumn Town

There is blue and light and sound
There are harbours of rats
And hills sketched by decadence
Steam plumes rise and Stretch
Ethereal across the dark tracks of sky

Bewitching emerald sea 
From the peaks of the noble ones 
The "higher ups"
The houses are stiff and square here with strong jaws and solid bones
The bean pole teetering peddler
Vans along the harbour promenade 
Are derelict and disposable
While the suburbs behind stretch uncounted with the sewage and refuse of those nearby spilling in and over

The squat dwellings with their sharp v-lines know snow
And also violence 
Through intoxication 
Occasionally through subjugation  and incantation 

Myriad of folk find their way here
But none than the higher-ups have a way here 

One can get lost here
One can fall so far here
One can rewrite their story here 

Subject (142 of 365)

Day 142 of the 365 day poem challenge. 

Word of the day lycanthrope meaning: "a werewolf."

Subject 

Murmur lycanthrope
Cunt quivering
Bipartisan nuance
Intractable redactable

Pounce flan 
Nocturnal allies
Hedonistic jail
Hammer croon

Garish goad
Folklore reverence
Motorcycle jet plane  
Moppet languish

Language subject 
Objectify salt
Goat mirror
Brandish fealty

Herald vice 
Consume sky
Hellish Antarctica 
Low heights 
Pinnacle slasher

Numb dumb
Fumble tumble
Wind wheeze 
Pyre flier 
Sty kite 

Noble rot
Yolk cot 
Vivacious teapot
Kettle black
Jacaranda old-hat
Yak rocking
Long stocking

Trident summon
Solstice politic
Hymen meander
Float harem 
Lick poke 
Kick smoke
Jostle tussle
Rooster lobster

Subject object 
No sense.


Ice (141 of 365)

Day 141 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Hibernal meaning: "of, characteristic of, or occurring in winter."

Ice 

Red and blue tones in the dark
hibernal reflected in tall spindly skeleton pines 
Their fingers gnarled and stiff
The dark night whistles by them
Makes them into an army 
Of silent soldiers 
Wailing and praying for release
     
The trees are oppressive 
They rise from the icy bluff
They have canals 
Their long narrow stretches that
The ice penetrates and turns to rock

The tall proud rooks
The wise sentinels presiding over the frost scape

The ice makes caves in the darkness
Invisible crevices below their hard surface the bark tears apart
Hesitating burning for release
All the while fighting 
The intolerable ice.

Monday 9 January 2017

Boy sees Girl (140 of 365)

Day 140 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day mitochondria meaning: "an organelle found in large numbers in most cells, in which the biochemical processes of respiration and energy production occur. It has a double membrane, the inner part being folded inwards to form layers (cristae)."

Boy sees Girl 

You had me like a Hadron Collider
I cobbled together my microbes
Spilled like gum balls over the cold
Dark floor 

You had me knocked off of my feet and dried up like a sponge in a centrifuge 

You make my atoms fission and burst into a beautiful mushroom cloud

You shot my guts mitochondria 
Out to space with your Hubble telescopic eyes dissecting my emotional mildew 

You got me jacked up on nitroglycerin ripping open my chest like an Antarctic shard 

You trapped me in my own penumbra looking out and refracting my personality removing the Gestalt 

You camped inside my cerebellum tipping me into a frenzied Id diving down my brain stem 

You consolidate your hold upon my left and right ventricles the blood gushing in my arteries is yours the hiss and moping of my organs is yours 

The slow Torture of Love (139 of 365)

Welcome to day 139 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day pellucid meaning: "transparently clear; easily understandable."

The slow torture of love 

I gave in to the slow torture of love 
Relenting was the best part
To know I could never have her
To know I knew the secret of seductive smiles
The realm of adventure and excitement
All in a parallel universe somewhere decompressed

I gave in to desire but failed to achieve that which I desired 
Tantalising myself by laying on a knife edge so near to the forbidden dream
Was enough for my sensibilities 
Poetry of two bodies sensing each curve of the brow each supple bead of sweat threading the needle of my bright shining eyes

I gave in to the slow torture of love
It was more and too much and not enough 
It undid me and the play was ended and with it the banality entered and then I gave in to the slow torment of fading love and slow tender pellucid kisses 

Sunday 8 January 2017

Circling the Drain (138 of 365)

Day 138 of the 365 day poem challenge. 

Word of the day nadir meaning: "the lowest point of something"

Circling the Drain

I pondered all that I had not achieved and a gulf opened up that was wider than the farthest reaches of  a seesaw
I felt myself sagging downwards and waiting for the euphoria of being yanked upwards the rude shock the kind slap of reality 
But I was eternally weighted down
I sank down onto the ocean flour and it was phantasmagoric with giant shadows swimming unseen 
And my life was a curtain with phantasms playing and dancing upon it and myself circling a vast drain 

Now dribbling 
Now dribbling out of me 

Making me into a wretched strangled thing 
A skeleton upon which to hang my gelatinous Winter sale collection flesh 
And the sky was the dull blue of concrete 
The concrete of the ocean floor as and its eternal metamorphosis into a desert abyss that only pales beside the dry sore 
Aching in my heart 
...the nadir 

Drip drip drip 

GurlZ (137 of 365)

Day 137 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day salubrious meaning " (of a place) pleasant; not run-down"

GurlZ 

Lucille wandered vagabond throughout the dim streets and in the fondest fever dreams of her ex-dope head man standing vagrant in a pool of his own self-pity and summer chitin 

A hallucination strides down through smoke streams and the heat is unbearable and the smoke is soothing and the greenery is palpable I could lick it with my tongue 

Savannah screwed Uncle Sam by the bones that is to say got herself a hot pocket Oval Office smeared in the graffiti of her life kittens and other ill fitted reptiles all hanging chords down into her soul waiting for the seams on her spine to unbuckle and the fluff to spill out 

Petra has a name good enough to touch there are eyes in her eyes that feel up her self sacrifice and confidence that bears upon the pebble walk in those flip flops they undulate the way waves ought to teasing and cracking like fireworks and hot jazz that no one ever dreamed or wanted 

Joe the grease monkey twerks open the hosing in the salubrious manse her yokel wrenches fall fast and quick the client is waiting and painting upon her with demands and requests and desires for his hose plumbing 

Pickling (136 of 365)

Day 136 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Licentious meaning "lacking moral discipline."

Pickling 

Sour sharp tang
Soulful and thick sinuous
Tantalising oozing with smack in the face characteristics
The bristle and pop of mustard
The curly tendrils of onion
The intermingling in this rancid swamp of decadent gastronomy
We made this world 
You and your licentious candour
Me and my febrile shaft. 

Epoch (135 of 365)

Day 135 of the 365 day poem challenge.

Word of the day Morass meaning "a soft wet area of low-lying land that sinks underfoot."

Epoch 

The times are rough and
Sink into morass

The times are bland 
The times are urbane and mad
And insane
The times are changing never and always 
The times are rumbling your cage
And are as labyrinthine as a hedge maze 

The times are stuck 
staccato bug thwap
The times are coming unstuck
Diffuse like nomads 
Time is Drifting 
Thorny the times are 
Unforgiving the time is 

The times are irrelevant 
The times are iridescent and clandestine and jovial and sour and 
Ruined 

The times are lost and wandering
And gathering chrome and glitter and touch screens and vapid
Admirers and vapid unworn shining humanity 

These are the times.