She stands on the tips of her toes
Feeling the muscle stretch
Reaching up, but her nails hardly
Breech the air
She lets them drop
Slowly
Back to the side of her loose gown
And like a well lubricated
Machine the gears in her feet
Turn until they rest firm on the ground.
Outside
Down a carpeted hall
Lights and shadows flicker
On beige walls
They don't make pictures.
She pulls back the thick bed covers
The cool sheets appear
Tonight they are clean,
She slivers into bed
Her head engulfed in the pillow
Her dreams smothered between bed
And blanket.
She whispers silently to the darkness:
"No flying tonight."
A collection of poems and musings by a rookie poet and constant dreamer - J.O.S.H
Monday, 19 March 2012
Saturday, 17 March 2012
Documents
In our recent line up of poems I thought it was about time I put up an existential poem about documents...what can I say I hope you enjoy it :)
DOCUMENTS
Documents have personality
They have smiles
Strange ones hidden in plain sight
They have less meaning than they say
They don't like to say anything too plain
They're a bit self conscious
They're born a bit different to us
Printed and then very soon after
Touched and handled
Therebare document that are safe and happy in folders with rings
Some are torn in frustration
Some are ripped carelessly
Some are even stepped on and their
Beautiful whiteness is muddied
Unfortunate ones are bound
Striking holes in their flesh
So that we might better read them
Smothered between plastic and cardboard
They do not have eyes or feet
They don't need them
We do
We use them daily
We use their words and we use them
Because they feel nice and proper in our hands
They catch the sweat of nerves
They carry our nerves as we gouge ink marks into them
we feel relief to bin then and forget they exist
The thing is so many personalities get twisted and reknitted because they do not die
As we destroy the old so a new is born
So I'm told
The pulp soup of millions congeals into a whole so that they are reborn
Somehow then they are invincible
Yet they are also chained to us
We are their gods
And yet they overwhelm us
Occupying space time and thoughts until it seems we can't live without them as much as we created them
We carry them in cages of iron
We build temples to them or in order to forget them
When they get older dusty beards form
Slowly the pages rot as with all things
They are used and tossed aside
They are enthroned and abused
They live and die.
DOCUMENTS
Documents have personality
They have smiles
Strange ones hidden in plain sight
They have less meaning than they say
They don't like to say anything too plain
They're a bit self conscious
They're born a bit different to us
Printed and then very soon after
Touched and handled
Therebare document that are safe and happy in folders with rings
Some are torn in frustration
Some are ripped carelessly
Some are even stepped on and their
Beautiful whiteness is muddied
Unfortunate ones are bound
Striking holes in their flesh
So that we might better read them
Smothered between plastic and cardboard
They do not have eyes or feet
They don't need them
We do
We use them daily
We use their words and we use them
Because they feel nice and proper in our hands
They catch the sweat of nerves
They carry our nerves as we gouge ink marks into them
we feel relief to bin then and forget they exist
The thing is so many personalities get twisted and reknitted because they do not die
As we destroy the old so a new is born
So I'm told
The pulp soup of millions congeals into a whole so that they are reborn
Somehow then they are invincible
Yet they are also chained to us
We are their gods
And yet they overwhelm us
Occupying space time and thoughts until it seems we can't live without them as much as we created them
We carry them in cages of iron
We build temples to them or in order to forget them
When they get older dusty beards form
Slowly the pages rot as with all things
They are used and tossed aside
They are enthroned and abused
They live and die.
Friday, 16 March 2012
Born to Index
I wrote this some time back...ie weeks in Josh speak. And yes my current occupation involves a lot of paper and pages. It also involves many an index.
What can I say boredom drives men to write strange things. And as for the humble index...gotta love it.
Born to Index
I was born to index
Don't need no tables
Don't need no briefs
I got me a glossary
Between them tabbed sheets
But there's more than tabs
And postits
More than annexures too
More than those substantive things
The big boys are paid to do
Gotta have an index
God dam I was born to index
Abc 1 to Z
We dont write
We don't type
We be drafting
And we be laughing
Nothing worse than
Disorganization
What's behind tab 12Z capital A capital J?
Ya gotta have an index
God Dam I was born to index
Abc 1 to Z
Where's that document
You know the long one
With author A kent
Oh right I see where did you say it all
Was contained ?
It's in the index
God Dam I was born to index
What can I say boredom drives men to write strange things. And as for the humble index...gotta love it.
Born to Index
I was born to index
Don't need no tables
Don't need no briefs
I got me a glossary
Between them tabbed sheets
But there's more than tabs
And postits
More than annexures too
More than those substantive things
The big boys are paid to do
Gotta have an index
God dam I was born to index
Abc 1 to Z
We dont write
We don't type
We be drafting
And we be laughing
Nothing worse than
Disorganization
What's behind tab 12Z capital A capital J?
Ya gotta have an index
God Dam I was born to index
Abc 1 to Z
Where's that document
You know the long one
With author A kent
Oh right I see where did you say it all
Was contained ?
It's in the index
God Dam I was born to index
Wednesday, 14 March 2012
I'm sorry
"I'm sorry" two words
Vacant defensive
He pours whatever it is
Into the bowl
Because whatever it is
He's too frightened to care
Words scratch and tear
Her words always bite
In the least expected ways
They eat as well
There's no weapon no shield
No one else in the room
Where light shines but feels
The colder for it
Only
"I'm sorry"
Vacant defensive
He pours whatever it is
Into the bowl
Because whatever it is
He's too frightened to care
Words scratch and tear
Her words always bite
In the least expected ways
They eat as well
There's no weapon no shield
No one else in the room
Where light shines but feels
The colder for it
Only
"I'm sorry"
Monday, 20 February 2012
My Heart drops Flat
Hey all,
Ever experienced a few quite unsettling moments in one day. A few things happened to me today none of which are really significant at all, well except to me.
The first my heart lurched out of my chest and I seemed for a short while to feel nothing or to at least feel somewhat diminished.
The second event occurred as I walked to the botanic gardens. The wind blew up around my feet billowed over my pants and a gust of leaves scattered over the path and I had that ahh thing happen...that is really nothing but somehow beautiful.
The final event was walking back to the office after lunch. The light completely changed in a step. That is to say I took a step shadow enveloped everything a step later and the light had returned...very strange. I thought I was mad. Now this is a poem...and it's just to say that I think as humans that we see things and want to express them. Well I've seen now let me express.
My Heart Drops Flat
My heart drops flat
To the grounded pavement
Over which my feet tread
And as it sinks down lower
Fluttering flying leaves
Disentangle themselves
From tall ruined trees
Searching for some hope
Decomposed in the earth.
Ever experienced a few quite unsettling moments in one day. A few things happened to me today none of which are really significant at all, well except to me.
The first my heart lurched out of my chest and I seemed for a short while to feel nothing or to at least feel somewhat diminished.
The second event occurred as I walked to the botanic gardens. The wind blew up around my feet billowed over my pants and a gust of leaves scattered over the path and I had that ahh thing happen...that is really nothing but somehow beautiful.
The final event was walking back to the office after lunch. The light completely changed in a step. That is to say I took a step shadow enveloped everything a step later and the light had returned...very strange. I thought I was mad. Now this is a poem...and it's just to say that I think as humans that we see things and want to express them. Well I've seen now let me express.
My Heart Drops Flat
My heart drops flat
To the grounded pavement
Over which my feet tread
And as it sinks down lower
Fluttering flying leaves
Disentangle themselves
From tall ruined trees
Searching for some hope
Decomposed in the earth.
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
Endless
I'll admit as a friend kindly admitted to me ;) that not everything here is of the same standard and that is fair. This poem I'm in two minds about exposing for the very simple reason that it's a little too simple.
An odd accusation but really I think I'm just nervous at posting something that has so much repetition. After all we poets are known to be word smiths. Well I strode down the sunny street of the afternoon and I had one sense and word and feeling on my mind. 100 points if you can guess what it is.
Endless
Endless desires
Endless whims
Clouds endless and magnificent
Endless grandeur
Endless happiness
Endless obscurity
Endless dark
Endless and all knowing
Endless days
Endless nights
And all the nights wished to be endless
All moments endless in their own way
All love endless and depthless
Endless minds so inconceivable
Endless notions of complexity
Endless knowledge always to be lost
Endless uncovering
Endless stories to unfold
Memories endless as the
Endless threads allow
Electrical impulses
Constant living writhing endless
An odd accusation but really I think I'm just nervous at posting something that has so much repetition. After all we poets are known to be word smiths. Well I strode down the sunny street of the afternoon and I had one sense and word and feeling on my mind. 100 points if you can guess what it is.
Endless
Endless desires
Endless whims
Clouds endless and magnificent
Endless grandeur
Endless happiness
Endless obscurity
Endless dark
Endless and all knowing
Endless days
Endless nights
And all the nights wished to be endless
All moments endless in their own way
All love endless and depthless
Endless minds so inconceivable
Endless notions of complexity
Endless knowledge always to be lost
Endless uncovering
Endless stories to unfold
Memories endless as the
Endless threads allow
Electrical impulses
Constant living writhing endless
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
The Descent of the Metal drum
Each to their own
He says as he
Hurls the drum over the stairs
And it sounds on the rails
Then it sails
Down following
The tail of the wren
Who was startled
As its home
Down at the brook
That morning violently
Shook then erupted
In feathers and blood
And mother wren had no patience
For the drum
She ignored the crumbs of
Her husbands remorse
Then speeding as a horse
She made to confront
The metal object
That as it splashed
In the brook
Her quivering anger
Became instead a look
It drum sank and her will at last shook
that man meanwhile
Sits polishing off the
Coffee as he turns in
And turns on
Good old reliable Telly.
He says as he
Hurls the drum over the stairs
And it sounds on the rails
Then it sails
Down following
The tail of the wren
Who was startled
As its home
Down at the brook
That morning violently
Shook then erupted
In feathers and blood
And mother wren had no patience
For the drum
She ignored the crumbs of
Her husbands remorse
Then speeding as a horse
She made to confront
The metal object
That as it splashed
In the brook
Her quivering anger
Became instead a look
It drum sank and her will at last shook
that man meanwhile
Sits polishing off the
Coffee as he turns in
And turns on
Good old reliable Telly.
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