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
Thursday, 26 July 2012
This Page
A blank page is all I need to create and destroy everything
I can undo it all I can watch the page fold in on itself
I can watch the lines and symbols float over the page
And project the lives of consciousness I project into it
I can craft anything I choose on this blank canvas
I am God I have no plan only a mind and a will
To travel onto this line
And the next
I’m on fire there’s something buried deep inside
And it’s going to live forever on this page
It’s going to rise up and swell out of me
There will be waves on this page
It won’t look it, but you’ll feel the slight swell
From this stanza
Into the next and the seemingly random gap of lines
Has a certain order if you look deeper
If you can see into me
Into the thing that this is now
Because it’s something more now
You and I here together
We’ve done something here today
We’ve travelled places
We’ve created
Thursday, 12 July 2012
Broken
In a world where a lot of emotions, thoughts and feelings are forbidden I think poetry is a good way to express them.
I've always felt very strongly about bullying which is inevitable once being a bullied person myself.
I think it's such an isolating experience where it's effective. The funny thing is how it does break you, there is part of you that remains fragile. Maybe it's not dangerous in the most obvious ways but it's effects are subtle and I think we just need more understanding people in the world.
Because I truly believe this stuff can resurface and you'll watch a man of 45 recede to the age of 12.
Broken
How dare you
Yes innocent you
Who whispered words
Words the girl repeats everyday
In her head
And now the girl is a woman
But it's too late you took something
From her and she's broken
How could you think
How could you prosper
While she tested the fragile lining
Of her wrist on the metal lining of torn cans
And watched it drip
So red in so pale a room
Drip drip drip
How dare you
Yes you happiness in tact
You'll never know
The thoughts and darkness
That overwhelm and consume her
You'll never know what can't be undone
You can't understand
You broke her
But you've already forgotten
She never will
How dare you
How dare she
She who has so much to offer
She dangles her life helplessly
She can't understand the feelings
That's because part of her doesn't work
It makes her raw sad and numb
All at once
The taste of iron surfacing on the tongue a young woman
Older than she deserves
Spoiled and Broken
I've always felt very strongly about bullying which is inevitable once being a bullied person myself.
I think it's such an isolating experience where it's effective. The funny thing is how it does break you, there is part of you that remains fragile. Maybe it's not dangerous in the most obvious ways but it's effects are subtle and I think we just need more understanding people in the world.
Because I truly believe this stuff can resurface and you'll watch a man of 45 recede to the age of 12.
Broken
How dare you
Yes innocent you
Who whispered words
Words the girl repeats everyday
In her head
And now the girl is a woman
But it's too late you took something
From her and she's broken
How could you think
How could you prosper
While she tested the fragile lining
Of her wrist on the metal lining of torn cans
And watched it drip
So red in so pale a room
Drip drip drip
How dare you
Yes you happiness in tact
You'll never know
The thoughts and darkness
That overwhelm and consume her
You'll never know what can't be undone
You can't understand
You broke her
But you've already forgotten
She never will
How dare you
How dare she
She who has so much to offer
She dangles her life helplessly
She can't understand the feelings
That's because part of her doesn't work
It makes her raw sad and numb
All at once
The taste of iron surfacing on the tongue a young woman
Older than she deserves
Spoiled and Broken
Backyard
I'll be honest sometimes I have no idea what I'm doing when I write these poems. I know the learned ones are scowling at me right now. But I suppose what I mean is that I think the best poems are discoveries.
This poem evolved out of a few haphazard images. I just kept writing and of course some of the stuff that comes out is forced but keep going and you get to do this great thing where you essentially complete the thought.
So this poem is a complete stream of consciousness which I do not apologise for. Writing isn't always about doing something artistically brilliant for me as you know the blog and writing are first and foremost for me.
Hopefully poetry can help tap into that unimaginable millionth part of me as Milan Kundera might say :)
Backyard
Grass between my toes
Films black and white
Technicolor rose cotton
Dress
Dress fabric denim
Silk pants plays nylon
Burgundy coca cola
Veranda
Wood chisel white saw
Dust light rays of white
Hot sun between grass
Beyond the patio
This is old barrow
Sand turf dirt black
Fingers bogged nails
Down raking planting mowing
Forging holes building home
Poles yard sticks
Trampoline bounce pagola
Sunset milk Marsala
Orange zest lemonade
Wild furry grass under my feet
This poem evolved out of a few haphazard images. I just kept writing and of course some of the stuff that comes out is forced but keep going and you get to do this great thing where you essentially complete the thought.
So this poem is a complete stream of consciousness which I do not apologise for. Writing isn't always about doing something artistically brilliant for me as you know the blog and writing are first and foremost for me.
Hopefully poetry can help tap into that unimaginable millionth part of me as Milan Kundera might say :)
Backyard
Grass between my toes
Films black and white
Technicolor rose cotton
Dress
Dress fabric denim
Silk pants plays nylon
Burgundy coca cola
Veranda
Wood chisel white saw
Dust light rays of white
Hot sun between grass
Beyond the patio
This is old barrow
Sand turf dirt black
Fingers bogged nails
Down raking planting mowing
Forging holes building home
Poles yard sticks
Trampoline bounce pagola
Sunset milk Marsala
Orange zest lemonade
Wild furry grass under my feet
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