Poetry – Distraction

Poetry – Distraction

So what in times of gnarled beige shade

Can promt us stop our promenade?

To put aside this march for grief

If grief still stands now gravestones lean

Perhaps some shadow flying through

Caught the eye, drew to view

Some sky that’s tinted blue or black

Enough to pause us on our track.

Poetry – Cargo Cult

Cargo Cult

Some cargo cult

My bells and whistles tore

Worship for a week

Then the weak grew strong

And competition’s engine has

One hundred raging horses to spare

Impassioned speech buys minutes

And with these minutes I pledge

My cult following for a trip to the heavens

Without having to be buried for the privilege, if it pleases

Poetry – Self Portrait

Poetry – Self Portrait

Who said that time has to move forward in that forward does mean movement and no one should stay still?

Who knows what we mean when we say ‘I can’t go on’. As if on was something we could get on top of or even be part of?

Who really means what they mean even if they don’t say it after a respectable time of mourning, when morning comes each day whether we stay in this realm or pass?

Who says that English is a language you can speak first? First off it’s a language stolen from the poor to feed the rich with a healthy dose of post imperialism to flavour, not that you can fit enough stamps to go anywhere worth seeing.

Who says these things now our platform is screaming at ourselves in a virtual mirror? We can’t stand very well on such smooth surfaces let alone vertically.

I’ve taken to writing on paper again. It’s easier to stumble across old thoughts when you can feign ignorance of a bad hand writing.

I’ve taken to slowing down. And feeling down before looking at that long climb up.

Who said we should strive to better ourselves?

Who said I can hear what I mean when I say the opposite from pure exhaustion?

Inhale. This steam replaces smoke in flavour only.

Exhale. Find that starting point again. Who says i shouldn’t?

Poetry – The Odd Chair

Poetry – The Odd Chair

On moving on some things were lost

And found of course in a dusty box

In losing things I once could not spare

I’ve never lost the small odd chair

It seems to tag along with me

No matter how I feel or who I see

The chair will be as it always is

Small and useless till someone sits


Hi all, sorry for the hiatus! I’ve moved. And I’ve had some strange things going on that led me to prioritise my spare time. But, just like the chair this blog just keeps coming back.

Hope all is well!

Dim But Bright Poetry