Wrong

Whether you write, draw, paint, act, make films, animate, weave, knit, forge, craft, compose or otherwise create we've all known the fight within ourselves to keep going. In essence that's what be written this poem about today! Anyway happy reading everyone and never give up no matter how wrong you feel about your craft whatever it be.

Wrong

Write today wrong tomorrow

And the brain ticks over

And the inspiration falls

And the karma engine bombards 

With ricocheting bullets violently spraying mind chews

"I shouldn't" "I can't"

And the devil voice loves to destroy effort and break the bones of motivation

Splintering snapping 

"You shall never achieve that which you seek"

"That which you seek is a torn sad dream, destined to be broken on the wind"

"As spiteful as lost tears, caught, dried and lost in melancholy eyes"

Where we ran with Bears

Where we ran with bears

When we swam with swans

The days they took flight

Covering the sky in feathers

Those days of eyewide blue

The days the summer sang

The days that faded as long as dogs at noon,

Who lazed better than tabbies upon warm Sunrise couches 

The times when we would laugh so close

Your nostril hairs showing

The pollen piling up running wild

Itching its way like beams of light

The ways in which we shared thoughts

Like milk sustenance 

The forms we took the shapes that played out in shadows and clouds

The nape of your neck the white alabaster that stirs me as the wind

The moments as mystic as a whale

Whose fin lingers but a moment

Suspended over Ocean and sky

Glinting black, white serene

Diving disappearing floating in the great green 

Gettin

This all began after reading a motivational website. It's called 7 things to get you motivated, it says no. 1 do a little. So tonight I'm doing a little. The following poem, is all about what is suggested. I enjoy doing my suggestive sexual poems. I was trying in this one to paint a picture with as few words as possible, there really are no sentences or phrases just words paired and positioned in such a way as to suggest a scene. I hope you enjoy, or maybe this experiment just gives you food for thought! Until next time readers :)

Gettin

Tired I crave
Snatch
Succumb

Symbols fonts
Burgeoning
Warmth Snatch
Wet
Touch

Lips
Dam lick
Snatch
Crave luxuriating
Silk, blood, heat

Youth
Succulent pearl
Swollen pink
Pulsing sense
Snatching alive

Nuzzle flowing
Consume crave
Snatch

Good Morning

"Good morning" I said
as your crinkly eyes
spoke to me of the dear struggle
to open and how worthwhile it all
was just to see me

Next our games move to hide and go seek
a lazy exchange of eye brows and lids
peeking and booing
your head comical as it emerges above
a mountain of doona
I am reminded of a baby
freshly plucked from the womb
and tucked inside a blanket
where the two combine in
an uncanny parody of a sausage roll

Your smile creates a pleasant crease
a slope that crosses the landscape
of your face
that cascades down
and drops onto my body
dripping all the way down

Sticky wet and warm in your embrace
enjoying my nakedness
and me all the more brazen
for bearing my buttocks
in the cool morning air
I'll compel you to join me
and we'll fold together
among the piles of lace, sweat and sex
among the smooth skin and
the staleness of the morning
We'll continue and we'll dance wild
and then collapse much as the
morning began with crinkly eyes
and words and hands
tightly wrapped and you drawn to my chest
It's warm beat blasting you
with the sounds of fatigue, passion, love
and again I say, "Good morning."

The Paths of Trees

I strode along
Down a corridor of wood
I barked about the leafy road
I glimpsed a species of fig
Strangling in the coolness
Of this natural arch
By which limbs entwined in
A twisted canopy
One patchy
One that would allow them To breathe

How deep do your paths grow
You eternal anchors
Guardians of green
Monuments of life

Knots

Today I just happened to look through some old messages and quite frankly it made me happy to be in the present at the same time I had a true sense of how much it had all changed. Boy we forget things fast dont we? But it's more the experience of things we forget and the details. Anyway folks here is Knots my first effort of August.

Knots

Whats lost ought not be found
Messages best forgot and drowned

Twines of words and rhymes
Strings and lives forever intwined

Strings pulled taught
Strings too thin
Rope burn
Torn skin

Frayed ends

How cruel the uncoiling, the unravelling
the falling away of burden and balance
The drop so certain so sincere
The pitfalls and the avalanches

Bonds broken and lost
The frail coils of memory
The news knots we tie
The loops and the noose we
Forge
And how meticulous we forge
To tie loose threads
with varying lengths
From the threads we accumulate
To weave a crooked rope
To spin a life
To endure

Bubbles

Hey all,

You know those times when you were a kid and you played with bubbles, big ones, small ones etc. We used to have a clown that came around to our place, he'd have a big soapy tub and then have these small plastic and much greater bubble blowers (is that what you call them?). You don't have to be little to see the magic in bubbles.

Of course, readers you've probably already guessed these bubbles are a bit different to the bubbles at the sort of parties I described above. As with a lot of my writing, I love injecting the sinister into something so simple and pleasant. I won't describe what scene plays out in the poem, but it's an interesting experiment to try and invert an idea. Maybe I can try the other way around for a change. I apologise for the melancholy in my words, but for anyone whose read this far and wants to keep going, thanks again, you're the reason I keep writing. You may be modest in number, but that makes you all the more precious to me :)

Until next time...

Bubbles

Bobbing gently bobbing
above the reeds below the surface
the dull brown surface
Water gentle but rubbing
numbing

Bubbles below his air and life
air drifting up
through the screen of
murk and mud

as he gently silently bobs
invisibly numbly bobs
bobs below the screen
unseen

They do not see
the obscene stream of life
choked down below
smokestacks of bubbles
desperate stacks of grey dying bubbles

life is buoyant
but bubbles discharge
sinking fast
sinking eternal

no more bubbles...