pale as a sheet and glassy eyed,
his little frame stretched out
on the couch with one socked feet.
as he curled them by his side
that vacant look, a sleepy look,
he mumbles that he's fine.
but maybe we could call his school
and tell them that he's dying.
that we did and later on
we checked that he's not dead;
the little ****** smiled at us
while bouncing on his bed

I pause;
afraid
to make the
next move.
to open
up;
to spit out
the venom
that rots
my day.

I pause;
alone,
just
me.
I,
me
and
my why
am I facing
up again
while
it's all
going down.
and I’m
not a
whole below
the waterline.

I pause;
sinking.
a dead
mans
grip
squeezing
life,
freezing
life,
teasing
life.
afrai­d
to open
up;
terrified
to close
down.

I pause;
caught,
between
my
up and
my
down.
stuck;
limboed,
emptied
and clogged.
tired
to the bone.

I paused…

...




...




...






SHUT


THE


****

UP!

round, a round
older man;
newspaper scanning.
yellow jacketed.
sideburns, with
a chubby Eric Idle
look.

a young lady
all in black.
curled mouth;
looking insecure -
or maybe angry.
red headphone cable
a nice touch.

a middle aged woman;
middle eastern…
christian?
glasses and dyed
dark hair; smiles
while thumbing
through her iPhone.

an asian woman;
vacantly pretending
not to see
a thing.
pink lipped -
she sees all;
says nothing.

a girl in red;
jeans with scarf.
reading tight
lipped on her tablet.
black & white wheelie
bag sits obediently
at her feet.

between them all
I got transfixed; my
thoughts go round
and round.
I missed my stop.

I’m a ten digit
fidget; a cluster
****** mind.
a sand-hopping
hopper of the
trampoline kind.

I’m a bouncing-
bounce bouncer,
with cerebral jelly.
I’ll tap, tap, tap.
fidget finger, knee
or welly.

talk ten steps ahead,
talk five steps back.
roundy roundy garden
like a teddy-cadillac.

I’m a remote zapping addict;
buttonitis of the soul.
and finish your sentence…
I’m a pain in the whole!

I walked this path sometime before,
but when? I'm at a loss.
the boggy scent and earthy sound
as feet thread bearded moss.

this lakeside shore, iron grey;
it's rocks guide path and eye,
ever up this morning glen
where my homeland meets the sky.

I've seen it frozen, this mountain lake
wasted pines as far as I could see.
this path half muted in the wind,
blowing down ‘cross shattered scree.

I sat beside a fallen limb,
this mist moist softened day.
the damp, it dripped from the emerald branch
as I rose and went on my way...

if life gives you lemons,
make up a new word.

although after a quick
google search, it appears
I was beaten to the punch
by Scott Wilbanks.

nice one Scott.