Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jack Shannon Feb 2019
I won’t let sleep take me
Though she is warm and inviting
Painless and carefree
Offering release from thinking
I can’t let myself sink
Into the sea of the abstract absurd
Even when teetering on the brink
Eyes weakening as I type each word
I feel her pull closer
Now tightening her grip
Over and over
Feel consciousness slip
I won’t let sleep take me.
Not again.
When I can’t sleep, madness/poetry take over.
Jack Shannon Feb 2019
A crack in the wall
Or under your bed
Live a people so small
They're thinner than thread
Shorter than mice
Shorter than dice
Shorter than lice
Shorter than rice
But away they build
And cities they make
Tiny but skilled
Like the things they create
So hear the bed springs
It's their world you're squashing
And know there are things
Still doing their washing
I used to imagine there were tiny people living in my room when I was a kid. Call it imaginative or delusional, I still wrote a poem about it.
Jack Shannon Feb 2019
This is a happy poem.

It exists because I say it does.

You may be asking yourself, ‘But this does not follow the correct syntactical, structural or grammatical elements of formalised poetry. How, therefore, is this a poem?’

To which I would I would reply

This is a poem.

You may also be asking yourself ‘But this ‘poem’ contains no witticisms, no joyful rumination on pre-pubescent anecdotes nor even wistful dreams of improved quality of life. How, therefore, is this happy?’

To which I would reply

This is happy

You may find yourself pondering further on the question, ‘if this is neither a poem, nor is it particularly happy, then for what artistic purpose has this author decided to consciously mislead the respective audiences into believing that this piece of writing would A) be a poem and B) be happy?’

To which I would reply


Fair point.
I’m not even sure if this is a happy poem or not, and I just wrote the ****** thing
Jack Shannon Feb 2019
Life to mind
Mind to pen
Pen to paper
Paper to bin
Been to gone
Gone to Work
Work to live
Live to die
Die to stop
Stop to breath
Breath to go
Go to sleep
Sleep to Dream
Dream to mind
Mind to pen
Pen to paper
Paper to screen
Screen to you
When words fail you, sometimes it’s okay to take them three at a time.
Jack Shannon Feb 2019
I remember days spent rocking to and fro on a boat with no particular place to go, just waiting for the next race, sandwich in hand which is somehow filled with sand, though none is in sight. The massive grin as I almost fall in, and a look of disappointment as he realises I’m not completely soaked to my skin.

I remember nights spent under electric lights, rolling bowls down an artificial green, and seeing him clap and cheer if I got anywhere near.

I remember piles and piles of meat being grilled, Ivor looking perfectly chilled as the barbecue flamed around his ears, always calm and happy to be cooking, ribs and burgers and sausages and steak, always burnt a few by ‘mistake’ which just happened to find their way to the dog.

I remember him smiling.

I remember singing with him in the car, on our way to do something somewhere, voices raised high, without a care for the tune, or pitch, and even the lyrics were mostly substituted with anything we came up with at the time. Belting Les Mis together for the 42nd time that trip because we had forgotten to take any other CD’s.

I remember how proud he looked when he showed me the first Potato he took home from the new allotment, trying to justify the days of work digging and toiling, plowing and boiling in a summer heat that couldn’t seem to keep him inside, for the sake of more courgettes than you could shake a stick at.

I remember crying, and him telling me it was okay to feel this way, that it just means we cared, and not to be ashamed to let the tears fall.

I remember watching him sit in the garden, Toby at his feet, content to just watch the world go by, only the occasional fly to bother him. He just sat, a small smirk on his face, happy with the pace of the world as it was, the afternoon sun just starting to sink. I wish I could remember what he said as I joined him.

I remember him as he was, as he will always be in my mind and my heart.
A poem I’ve written (and still editing) for my Step-Dad’s funeral next week. Pretty depressing, but I felt like I wanted to get this out now, rather than bottling it up.
Jack Shannon Feb 2019
Not that he was light on his feet before,
But Twinkle doesn’t dance anymore.
He doesn’t talk a lot, and when he does
It’s jumbled and mumbled, we make a fuss
Trying to understand just what he means
Up/down, left/right, yes/no, joggers/jeans
When once he’d clear a buffet in a blink
He won’t eat his lunch, let alone drink.
He made mowing look easy, I struggle
And instead of him I’m the one the dog cuddles.
As wobbly as me on ten pints or more
Inevitably we’d both end on the floor
Always clean shaven has turned awry
With a full blown beard it’s another guy
Sat watching the same **** telly
New fancy chair and slightly smaller belly.
Twinkle gets grumpy when there’s a  cannula to insert,
Doesn’t trust the nurse when she said it wouldn’t hurt.
Breathing was easy for Twinkle last year
But not so now, it’s why we’re here
Waiting for a bed in a place where there’s plenty,
The problem is that none of them are empty.
Doctors a-plenty and many nurses too,
The only thing lacking is something to do.
In Game of Thrones jammies he sits in his chair,
He says he’s hot rather be in underwear
Or anywhere I think, just not on this ward
As everyone here is terminally bored.
A poem I wrote whilst visiting my Step-Dad in hospital, thinking about how his illness had effected my life and his.
Jack Shannon Feb 2019
We trust ourselves to know right from wrong.

We trust in the age old sayings of people whose names we can’t remember.

We trust our dogs not to **** in our favourite pair of shoes whilst we’re asleep.

We trust that everyone means well and just wants to get by.

We trust the teachers who taught us the earth is round, and that Pi is 3.14159 and how Pluto is the 9th planet in our solar system...

We trust that not everyone is right all the time.

We trust bus drivers to not get lost.

We trust in the fact that our keys are probably in plain sight even though we’ve been looking for half an hour.

We trust our parents to know what to do no matter the situation.

We trust the world to keep spinning away in the dark void of space with no company but the moon.

We trust that everything will be alright.

We trust that one more pint won’t hurt.

We trust that hangovers are only temporary.

We trust our partners when they say I love you.

We trust in traffic lights and zebra crossings.

We trust that this is our last chance to get a brand new sofa in the DFS sale with O% APR for 4 years.

We trust that size doesn’t matter.

We trust Alexa won’t tell us to *******, and that Siri will always help us no matter how many times we say we hate it.

We trust that despite our self-doubt and insecurities that we’ll probably still get through another day.

We trust in peanut butter.

We trust that no matter how many times things go wrong, mistakes are made and promises are forgotten, we will learn to trust again...
We trust.
Another  try at normalising the weird thoughts that pop into my brain sometimes.
Next page