Category Archives: Poetry

Mosh!

The tornado of sweating souls slowly catches their collective breath,

but only for the briefest of polite respites, for the pulse

is gaining speed and the heart rate quickens in time

with the drum stick, the judge’s gavel, taking issue

with the ones at the side of the pit, ready to hit-out

but too scared to throw themselves into the whirlwind.

 

The Mosh, once in, never released, never to be forgotten,

never to disclose that what happens in the sweating bounce

stays in the sweating, feverish, testosterone fuelled dance.

Mosh! full post

(231 words, estimated 55 secs reading time)

Unrealised Fantasy Figure

There must come

a time in everybody’s life when they are hit

by the dawning realisation

that they never have been, and never will be,

the go to fantasy figure

in someone else’s dreams.

 

The dark brooding hero who pulls his off- white trilby down

over his eyes, who can blow smoke out his nose

like a fire breathing dragon pumping merrily away

as a thousand workers shovel Welsh coal into its lungs, and all the time

cause the damsel in distress to flutter her eye lids,

Unrealised Fantasy Figure full post

(324 words, estimated 1:18 mins reading time)

Generational

Every generation believes it be the last greatest one that will walk the Earth.

The final ones to shoulder the standard before a shadow falls on Empire

and weeds start to grow beneath humanity’s feet,

and weave their way silently to the fatted necks

slung low by the weight of unrealistic expectation.

 

We are kept in check by the ghosts of grandparents and their memories,

we understand the mistakes they made, the unexpected dances

they waltzed on generation’s passed and the now forgotten graves

that sit row upon row like stone guards awaiting a presidential cavalcade

Generational full post

(327 words, estimated 1:18 mins reading time)

Frenemy.

Sometimes your most hated enemy, the person

who makes you sick the most,

the one you would trust with absolute certainty

to piss you off more than any other…

is the one that will hold your hand at the end.

 

For years they stuck the knife in whenever possible

and dismissed your name with the ease of a

camel drawing breath or the ferocity of a kitten

with aspirations and desires to be a lion in charge of a pack…

and yet they will mop your burning brow as you slip away.

Frenemy. full post

(151 words, estimated 36 secs reading time)

Dark Craving

…For all I crave to do is scream.

For going beyond that means drowning

and I’m too good at that, I can do it in any monochrome dream

and achieve the burnt sensation of the nettled sting.

 

…But one day I will forget to breathe

at the vital moment and swallow air that they provide

so willingly for my testament and my will to leave

to choose my own side.

 

As I pull myself down and allow the sea to rush into my lungs

I want to leave you in charge,

Dark Craving full post

(134 words, estimated 32 secs reading time)

The Panto’s End

The Pantomime Dame wipes off his make-up

in an exaggerated style

and smiles broadly, but with a hint of exhaustion

disguised by heady amusement

in his sparkling brown eyes, at the saxophonist

who has played him in on stage and in time for forty nights,

excluding the supposed festive delight filled days,

on the run.

 

The saxophonist for his part only has eyes for the principal boy

who has been the hero

for many a confused child, who asks their mother,

but never their father,

The Panto’s End full post

(751 words, estimated 3:00 mins reading time)

A Wolf’s New Pack.

For the world in which the wolf may roam,

remember home

is where you left it,

but also the home-made can be anywhere

and anything you want it to be.

Take the year, a month, a moment,

or every so often raise a glass to the past

that put you where you are now

and only come back when the time is right.

 

You have always been a wolf,

you are the pride in us all,

your fur unbroken, bristles,

black and claws grab the opportunity ahead

A Wolf’s New Pack. full post

(224 words, estimated 54 secs reading time)

Rain Proof.

It’s far too windy to wear a trilby.

It’s far too cold to go out without a thick woolly.

Too go outside without a heavy coat is considered unseemly,

in weather most foul, and insanity not to be dressed fully.

 

To wear shoes full of holes and let the rain soak through,

would surely have your friends comment about your soul.

To wear gloves of any material, helpful to keep fingers from turning blue,

is just sensible when having to leave the house for a stroll.

 

Rain Proof. full post

(156 words, estimated 37 secs reading time)

Sleep(less)

We don’t get along, we never really have.

I hate the thought of giving into Morpheus’ seduction

and the sound of a thousand yawns and inevitable,

“It’s Bed Time”, joyfully shouted as the radio

was switched off with glee, just as I was listening

to some news from a far off place, or the glimmer

of a new song that had caught my ear, all cut off in their prime

and with accompanying whine “Why aren’t you tired?”

 

Of course I am tired, for over forty years I have been shattered,

Sleep(less) full post

(403 words, estimated 1:37 mins reading time)

Storm Drain

I remember the last time I saw the scrawled graffiti on the storm drain wall.

Although it was written with an uncomfortable hand,

its message would make an angel weep in frustration

and the effect it had on me was to change things for a while.

 

I would hide in that drain pipe when times got rough,

when thinking in my room about events and others

words upon my soul and mine, perhaps more hurtful,

that would scar their heart and have me scar my arms.

 

Storm Drain full post

(413 words, estimated 1:39 mins reading time)