A poem of desperate love

Bound and broken
Lying beside you
Lying on top of you
Dissolving into you

Mirror little, what do you see?
Paintings and faces
Thrown by you
reflected in you

Fires deep in my chest
Aching heaving
little or no rest
Thinking filament
Thinking big

Touch me
Want me
Experience the insides of me
Run your hands over the skin of me
Offend me with your love
Invasive and penetrating
Long and large and thick
Upon my breast
Upon me
Upon mine

The Child

You say I'm okay
But what would you know
What do you see
When you shut your eyes
Happy places happy dreams ?

There's a lone black in me
Like a rotten stinking thing
Hard as cement and
Impossible to extract

You don't see anything
You don't understand
I'm all alone

There's little magic evident
In the looks of the sun
And water is water
All is as it is
There is no peace imputed
Into moments
I'm all alone

You say im wrong
But I am too smart
To believe in wrong
Or right anymore
There's just action and motions
There's results and probabilities
What business is it of mine
To assign any universal code?

You say you don't have to
This pleasant luxury catches
My heart and something
Opens minute and momentary
Faded dreams whisper on
Distant shores
"it's not too late"

But maybe I do have to
Perhaps we all trains
And my tracks lead to a
Broken land where the earth
Is dry and cannot remember prosperity
Is it resignation I ask or is it fate?

You don't listen or hear anyone
You've gone away
I realize now as I always had
What my words won't say
But my heart young and virile
Demands a companion
I need to know I'm wrong
I need to be told...

Deep down of course
Below the convenient melancholy
I am mere flesh and my skin is torn
I am a child cold and alone
All I need is another voice to be near me
All I need is another voice to hear me.

Flesh foe

would my emotions spill over
If I climbed inside a new skin
Would I forge a new identity
Or does the flesh determine me ?

Child Pornography

I don't know what made me think of this, it's a strange line of thought. I was thinking about well not child pornography, but just how sexualised we all are nowadays. And I was watching a music video and thinking how strange a thing sex is.

It's something we protect our children from ( well not that I have any kids). In it's most pure form though it's become a product, a product that I'm sure a lot of children are aware of. Why is it that so many things portrayed in so called "pop-media" betrays a moral failing in this department. So on that interesting line of thought, which probably requires more elaboration, but thankfully for you my audience, it's getting late in AUS so I'll end it here. As I said long ago, these poems are my words, but I know that what people get out of them will vary.

So have a read, and you know what here's hoping it gets you thinking.

Child Pornography

The girl with the bouncy breasts
smiles her lips are pink like candy
The boy too young to understand
this association notes his father transfixed
on something hidden and secret

The girl once thought bottoms were
for the toilet and other notions
were rather icky
her father trains her to sit with her bottom
on the seat and do as nature intends

the words wet moist and sticky
seem innocent enough
the words are not imbued with
anything but description

She is too young to understand
the purpose of thighs and the notion
of tingles
She doesn't know what lies in the open
the thoughts that were once secret

And how many see the girls
How many pause even now on streets
just to get a look

You look pretty
seems innocent enough.

The borders of her thighs are
more than an object
there is a history
it is silent and unwilling and unrelenting

The boy follows his father's transfixed gaze
he will soon possess the knowledge of flesh
for what are bodies but symbols after all

hollow carcases

Even the girl who is too young
is just another body to
fuck...

Imagine

I had a horrid thought tonight. It's a thought I suppose only someone with as much time to think as I do can have, but it's a terrible one. Living as I do at present on my own and most nights, sitting alone and left to my devices, it's easy to wonder sometimes if being really connected to anyone is just a fantasy or a hope we all cling too. How much happens inside of us that the world will never know? Does that matter? Does that mean no one will ever see us truly, because no one can ever see every thought inside of us. 

Yes, I think all these things. And it's not a crime to think them. Feeling loved and feeling valued, these are real things of course. But I think at the heart of it is the deeper truth, we all long to be known and to escape from inside of ourselves, because within us is a immense endless world that no one else can touch and it's scary to think about.

But who am I to stray from scary. Below I imagine an outside world that reflects what I just described as the inner world. The irony is of course, anyone who reads this is already disproving my own thoughts and anxieties because how can I be truly alone when I'm just disclosing all these thoughts to the world and how can my image of an empty world be alone when everyone who reads it will populate it with themselves. 

I have to admit when I wrote this momentary thought I did consider when I imagined the world in the poem that there were all these spectors floating around in the imaginary cities and lands that rose up out of my imagination. (The real question is...what is the real poem right). Okay enough pontification you're here for the poem right? Well here it is Enjoy IMAGINE! And I'll be posting very soon.

Imagine

Imagine if one day you woke

All the people in all the world were gone

But you got to walk down the same streets

see the same sunrises and sunsets

how more real would the world be then

What difference would it make?

Will you remember what it is to be lonely

After a month, a year, all your years

Will loneliness exist when there is nothing

in this world, but you and what you see fit to make

You would be the Lord of an invisible Court

The rules would be yours

You would have no limitations to where you might go

What you might do would be limited only by your imagination

Imagine that there are no consequences

That you can never lose anyone

In these empty streets

Empty houses

Empty lands

Empty seas

there is nothing to be gained

Nothing to be lost

Nothing to be loved

But that which is inside