pofacedpoetry - Hello Poetry

I don’t remember sleeping The act of unconsciousness An awakening of conscience A letting-go of stress Becoming something organic Folded into dotted wood And fabrics made of ghost Torpid fibres snake my blood The calendar flicked through days The clock ticked through time Smacked out my mind adventures Back when I was in my prime Thinking way outside the box Deep slumberer in rictus tomb At one with earth and universe As safe as mother’s womb Cruelly wrenched back to life Birthed hard from safe oblivion Dreams jet-washed like pebble-dash Still waiting for event horizon © pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All right’s reserved

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Nov 21, 2018

Nov 21, 2018 at 9:00 AM UTC

OBLIVION

I don’t remember sleeping The act of unconsciousness An awakening of conscience A letting-go of stress Becoming something organic Folded into dotted wood And fabrics made of ghost Torpid fibres snake my blood The calendar flicked through days The clock ticked through time Smacked out my mind adventures Back when I was in my prime Thinking way outside the box Deep slumberer in rictus tomb At one with earth and universe As safe as mother’s womb Cruelly wrenched back to life Birthed hard from safe oblivion Dreams jet-washed like pebble-dash Still waiting for event horizon © pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All right’s reserved

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Ah! Men Aargh! Men Armed men Harmed men Jarred men Marred men Scarred men Scared men ****** men Their men Your men Our men AMEN ©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – all right’s reserved

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Nov 12, 2018

Nov 12, 2018 at 7:07 AM UTC

AMEN

Ah! Men Aargh! Men Armed men Harmed men Jarred men Marred men Scarred men Scared men ****** men Their men Your men Our men AMEN ©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – all right’s reserved

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The screaming echoes of hell The echoes of screaming shells The shattering of wailing echoes The smattering of human shells. For decency? For peace? For honour? For humanity? If? When we fail yet again; once more Go us into the sea; leave flesh ridden shores Let briny drink try wash tired hands clean If there be sea enough to flush man’s grimy pores. No more! No more! No more! No more! Or - send us back to the sea; amen Let the war-weary Earth start over again Give blood rusty soil time to drink afresh Forget the blind cruelty; the indifference of men. ©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – all right’s reserved

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Nov 11, 2018

Nov 11, 2018 at 6:06 AM UTC

WHEN WE FORGET TO REMEMBER

The screaming echoes of hell The echoes of screaming shells The shattering of wailing echoes The smattering of human shells. For decency? For peace? For honour? For humanity? If? When we fail yet again; once more Go us into the sea; leave flesh ridden shores Let briny drink try wash tired hands clean If there be sea enough to flush man’s grimy pores. No more! No more! No more! No more! Or - send us back to the sea; amen Let the war-weary Earth start over again Give blood rusty soil time to drink afresh Forget the blind cruelty; the indifference of men. ©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – all right’s reserved

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At once you feel it, stop, perform an about turn Something behind you, into your back its eyes burn You shiver and shake, rub the hairs on your arms No-one there, but the goose bumps, the sweat on your palms Carry on walking, swift, humming out loud Desperate now to find yourself deep in a crowd You are sure you can hear it, a breath, a refrain Who is, who follows you home once again It has happened before, in fact quite a few nights A shadow appears in the glow of streetlights It is gone by the time you shuffle up, when you dare Where’d it go, did I see it, was it even really there Put it down to exhaustion, a trick of your mind The tiredness, the ***** the crap daily grind The work, family, stress it is driving you mad Makes you see things not there, you’re so ****** sad We all have our demons, horrors, creatures run wild Dreamed up monsters we’ve nurtured since we were a child But monsters don’t exist here, bold, out in real life They are fantasies, just stories, imaginations run rife Silly idiot, you’re stupid, get a sodding grip And you laugh at your crazy as you feel yourself trip Something was there, it got you, hear a grunt or a bark It drags you kicking and screaming deep into the dark

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Oct 31, 2018

Oct 31, 2018 at 7:41 AM UTC

DEMONS

At once you feel it, stop, perform an about turn Something behind you, into your back its eyes burn You shiver and shake, rub the hairs on your arms No-one there, but the goose bumps, the sweat on your palms Carry on walking, swift, humming out loud Desperate now to find yourself deep in a crowd You are sure you can hear it, a breath, a refrain Who is, who follows you home once again It has happened before, in fact quite a few nights A shadow appears in the glow of streetlights It is gone by the time you shuffle up, when you dare Where’d it go, did I see it, was it even really there Put it down to exhaustion, a trick of your mind The tiredness, the ***** the crap daily grind The work, family, stress it is driving you mad Makes you see things not there, you’re so ****** sad We all have our demons, horrors, creatures run wild Dreamed up monsters we’ve nurtured since we were a child But monsters don’t exist here, bold, out in real life They are fantasies, just stories, imaginations run rife Silly idiot, you’re stupid, get a sodding grip And you laugh at your crazy as you feel yourself trip Something was there, it got you, hear a grunt or a bark It drags you kicking and screaming deep into the dark

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A Trojan horse. As Cleopatra in a carpet Enters hidden on a breath Incubus; droplet alien drawn in, sets about its work; brooding job to do. Awaken a little stiff, sweat and grog A scratchy throat; a swollen lymph Shower power, rinse and coffee makes well. No. Twas not to be this false alarm, I’d grabbed. Working fast now, growing, flooding like snow melt hitting parched desert. Seeping into cracks; changing blood-scapes. Reprographic virus; dissociative – to thrive. A false pardon was granted this morning Cruel deception, such as played on Nick Bottom teased mind into belief; a surge of relief, Just early morning rust; blow away sleep dust. I am sick of it now, the sickness; the bug. My alien visitors; my too close encounter making things smell wrong – like vinegar and my nose pop as each side turns to unblock. As big screen drama – epic plays out in my mind. The white cells; the soldiers wiping out alien-kind Dualling MacDuff and MacBeth in Dunsinane cell Waging battle within me; my man-flu living hell. ©pofacedpoetry Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) all right’s reserved

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Oct 23, 2018

Oct 23, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC

MAN-FLU: THE EPIC

A Trojan horse. As Cleopatra in a carpet Enters hidden on a breath Incubus; droplet alien drawn in, sets about its work; brooding job to do. Awaken a little stiff, sweat and grog A scratchy throat; a swollen lymph Shower power, rinse and coffee makes well. No. Twas not to be this false alarm, I’d grabbed. Working fast now, growing, flooding like snow melt hitting parched desert. Seeping into cracks; changing blood-scapes. Reprographic virus; dissociative – to thrive. A false pardon was granted this morning Cruel deception, such as played on Nick Bottom teased mind into belief; a surge of relief, Just early morning rust; blow away sleep dust. I am sick of it now, the sickness; the bug. My alien visitors; my too close encounter making things smell wrong – like vinegar and my nose pop as each side turns to unblock. As big screen drama – epic plays out in my mind. The white cells; the soldiers wiping out alien-kind Dualling MacDuff and MacBeth in Dunsinane cell Waging battle within me; my man-flu living hell. ©pofacedpoetry Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) all right’s reserved

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Like a domino in a rally Am I part of the team? Am I next in line? Am I to stand or do I fall? Like a domino in a deck Will I be played? Will I be laid? Will I be noticed at all? Like a domino on the table Do I fit in? Do I join up? Do I answer the call? Like a domino shuffled around Can I adapt? Can I settle back in? Can I hold back the gall? Like a domino in the box Should I feel safe? Should I like the dark? Should I welcome the pall? ©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – all right’s reserved

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Sep 18, 2018

Sep 18, 2018 at 10:12 AM UTC

THE DOMINO EFFECT

Like a domino in a rally Am I part of the team? Am I next in line? Am I to stand or do I fall? Like a domino in a deck Will I be played? Will I be laid? Will I be noticed at all? Like a domino on the table Do I fit in? Do I join up? Do I answer the call? Like a domino shuffled around Can I adapt? Can I settle back in? Can I hold back the gall? Like a domino in the box Should I feel safe? Should I like the dark? Should I welcome the pall? ©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – all right’s reserved

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And he stands there. Waits. Left bereft. Disbelieving his dream his nightmare; blinks blinks…thinks. Thinks! No tears; dry. Too dry to try to cry. Scratchy; hoarse as his heart; beats. Beats! Bleats. Empty space. Blank bed. Gone; no more – no sight to see - no words… to speak. Quiet. Tranquil. LOUD. DEAFENING! Head-splitting. And he stands there. ©pofacedpoetry (2018) Billy Reynard-Bowness – all rights reserved

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Sep 5, 2018

Sep 5, 2018 at 7:35 AM UTC

AND

And he stands there. Waits. Left bereft. Disbelieving his dream his nightmare; blinks blinks…thinks. Thinks! No tears; dry. Too dry to try to cry. Scratchy; hoarse as his heart; beats. Beats! Bleats. Empty space. Blank bed. Gone; no more – no sight to see - no words… to speak. Quiet. Tranquil. LOUD. DEAFENING! Head-splitting. And he stands there. ©pofacedpoetry (2018) Billy Reynard-Bowness – all rights reserved

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Sandra works the slots all day Smoking cigarettes; taking free drinks Feeding the bandits instead of her soul… Knowing it's daylight, somewhere! Ken throws craps; blackens the Jack Winks sickly at the cocktail waitress Imagines doing things way past his prime… Knowing it's nighttime, somewhere! Passing hours like their years Bathed in sticky syrup distraction Dismount stool, lurch; pin-prick pupils They meet at the buffet; tepid, bland As their vacation; their marriage Mid-life shape shifting sand! © pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved

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Aug 30, 2018

Aug 30, 2018 at 8:11 AM UTC

VEGAS

Sandra works the slots all day Smoking cigarettes; taking free drinks Feeding the bandits instead of her soul… Knowing it's daylight, somewhere! Ken throws craps; blackens the Jack Winks sickly at the cocktail waitress Imagines doing things way past his prime… Knowing it's nighttime, somewhere! Passing hours like their years Bathed in sticky syrup distraction Dismount stool, lurch; pin-prick pupils They meet at the buffet; tepid, bland As their vacation; their marriage Mid-life shape shifting sand! © pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved

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Fog-grey paint on wood… Sentry! Imprisons willing hostage… Safe! It jars - jams handle door to floor Uterine prison seals hermetic hermit The fawn as naked innocent born. Cow mother forages for food… To earn! Boy buck lay prone; ears twitch. Waiting to exhale. Wolf pants foul - turn handle - entry permit? On eves gone by wolf violates fawn. Cow mother oblivious in her providing! Crept in! Kneeled! As fawn feigned sleep… Lupus leered, licked - abused like prey This night young deer escapes the hunt Lays quiet, tremulous. Wets itself! Chair holds! Patriarchal coward creeps back to fetid lair Brief reprieve? Grow strong - pray another day! ©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved

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Aug 30, 2018

Aug 30, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC

THE CHAIR

Fog-grey paint on wood… Sentry! Imprisons willing hostage… Safe! It jars - jams handle door to floor Uterine prison seals hermetic hermit The fawn as naked innocent born. Cow mother forages for food… To earn! Boy buck lay prone; ears twitch. Waiting to exhale. Wolf pants foul - turn handle - entry permit? On eves gone by wolf violates fawn. Cow mother oblivious in her providing! Crept in! Kneeled! As fawn feigned sleep… Lupus leered, licked - abused like prey This night young deer escapes the hunt Lays quiet, tremulous. Wets itself! Chair holds! Patriarchal coward creeps back to fetid lair Brief reprieve? Grow strong - pray another day! ©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – All rights reserved

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Static crackling ecstatically; manic pop Transistor hissing and spitting; sideboard atop First when there’s nothing… But a slow glowing dream… Pirouette such as whirling dervish makes Adolescent prancer twirls; leg warmer fakes All alone I have cried… Silent tears full of pride… Breathless incantation; future forged in dance Performance fascination; leap upon the chance What a feeling... Bein’s believing… Neon flashes bedeck wrists and bonce Peers laughter flash like fire; a ponce Take your passion… And make it happen… The music shields, deflects. Antacid; taunts abate Rhyhmic dreamer energized; blind to all the hate Pictures come alive… You can dance right through your life… As Bergen-Belsen ghost yet still aware Lost dreamer segues silently on fetid air Bruised and battered, I couldn’t tell what I felt… I am unrecognizable to myself… Shuffling as garish Geisha; white but not with paint Breathless as fifties bombshell; heaving sick and feint At night I could hear the blood in my veins… It was black and whispering as the rain… With steel partner; straight firm and slim of hip Rigid in rigor’d waltz; moving labouredly with drip I walked the avenue, ‘til my legs felt like stone… I heard the voices of friends, vanished and gone… Faithless rusting engine combusts toxic blood Failing sack of sinew lies where dancer stood Night has fallen, I’m lyin’ awake… I can feel myself fading away… Monotone white noise; assuring beep Dancer dreams in endless sleep There was a time when men were kind… There was a time when love was blind… ©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness – 2018 – All rights reserved) Acknowledgements: 1. Flashdance… what a Feeling (1983 – Giorgio Moroder, Keith Forsey & Irene Cara) 2. The Streets of Philadelphia (1993 – Bruce Springsteen) 3. I Dreamed a Dream (Les Miserables – Claude Michel Schonberg, Herbert Kretzmer & Alain Boubil)

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Aug 24, 2018

Aug 24, 2018 at 8:28 AM UTC

TWO SCORE YEARS

Static crackling ecstatically; manic pop Transistor hissing and spitting; sideboard atop First when there’s nothing… But a slow glowing dream… Pirouette such as whirling dervish makes Adolescent prancer twirls; leg warmer fakes All alone I have cried… Silent tears full of pride… Breathless incantation; future forged in dance Performance fascination; leap upon the chance What a feeling... Bein’s believing… Neon flashes bedeck wrists and bonce Peers laughter flash like fire; a ponce Take your passion… And make it happen… The music shields, deflects. Antacid; taunts abate Rhyhmic dreamer energized; blind to all the hate Pictures come alive… You can dance right through your life… As Bergen-Belsen ghost yet still aware Lost dreamer segues silently on fetid air Bruised and battered, I couldn’t tell what I felt… I am unrecognizable to myself… Shuffling as garish Geisha; white but not with paint Breathless as fifties bombshell; heaving sick and feint At night I could hear the blood in my veins… It was black and whispering as the rain… With steel partner; straight firm and slim of hip Rigid in rigor’d waltz; moving labouredly with drip I walked the avenue, ‘til my legs felt like stone… I heard the voices of friends, vanished and gone… Faithless rusting engine combusts toxic blood Failing sack of sinew lies where dancer stood Night has fallen, I’m lyin’ awake… I can feel myself fading away… Monotone white noise; assuring beep Dancer dreams in endless sleep There was a time when men were kind… There was a time when love was blind… ©pofacedpoetry (Billy Reynard-Bowness – 2018 – All rights reserved) Acknowledgements: 1. Flashdance… what a Feeling (1983 – Giorgio Moroder, Keith Forsey & Irene Cara) 2. The Streets of Philadelphia (1993 – Bruce Springsteen) 3. I Dreamed a Dream (Les Miserables – Claude Michel Schonberg, Herbert Kretzmer & Alain Boubil)

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