Month: April 2013

The sky as shared experience

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I watched the purple clouds barrel over
The outlying hills that crowned St. John’s
And knew at least hundred
Maybe thousands
Of others were watching too.

The sky was something we had in common,
every soul on the Earth,
We could always look above at it for direction
Even if we didn’t believe in the omnipotent.

The sky was something special on the coast
Because we watched it tears clouds out of the sky
Like steroid-crazed bouncers making impressions
On too-young, too-drunk or too-stupid girls, and the wind impressed us all the same way.

drowning in the glow of a new dawn

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A brand new dawn is always clouded,

almost by its own optimism

if not by the optimism of the others.

 

Every dawn brings a promise with it,

a promise it could never hope to keep,

and the weight of expectation bloods it.

 

Success is impossible in the red glow,

and we crush ourselves upon its cliffs

trying to cling to the first ground we can

before the waves of water end us.

 

We floated in barrels like Tolkien’s dwarves,

occasionally choking on the water,

but not quite drowning from the trip,

but something changed in us from it.

Boredom and sand castles

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I can feel every second passing like chunks of sand
Falling away from my beach-side castle,
And rejoining the inanimate that we once breathed into being.

The clock slashes away one second at a time
Like it were counting filthy coins into paper rolls
And something in me takes each tick like the
Smiling end of a razor blade come home to play.

I remember feeling awake sometime before these
transmuted nightmares became dreams of someone else’s’ design.

Now only the numb minutes remain,
The hours we could never kill
And that drown us as we choked for more life
Only to taste more boredom.

Liquid People

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The people pour themselves into imagined containers
Of who they believe themselves to be,
But every construct has its holes and we never see the truth.

We keep leaking out of personalities
And building new stories to catch our watered souls
Until we finally run out of our liquids.

No fountain of youth restores the waters of life
And we excrete ourselves through our sweat cum blood saliva
Until we have nothing else to let out.

The clay people dry up fastest,
Even though time with them feels longest,
With their terracotta personalities –
Inflexible, choking and stagnant –
And those who become the tides of change
Live fastest and best.

Floating ideas

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The thoughts pour our of my brain
And steam through the open air,
All on the tip of my tongue but never captured.

I reach out a searching, slender finger
An attempt to capture or excite them onto the paper
Or at worst, grab them around the neck and wrestle them onto the page.

Boredom burns in me like a smouldering pile of ashes,
Useless and existing but nothing else,
I have no use for it except that it disgusts me
And maybe that toxic reaction pushes me on.