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bones May 2014
I like the sound the rain makes
I like to hear it land
with the thunderous drumming
of a punk rock band.
I like it dancing off the roof tiles
tapping at the glass
tickling the fields
although its quieter on grass.
I like its change in rhythm
as it navigates trees
the ragged umbrellas
that Im standing underneath.
I like it playing percussion
on the surface of the sea
when the only people still outside
are listening like me.
I like the sound the rain makes
wherever it lands
I like the sound the rain makes
but I also understand
your devotion to the sun
so theres a possibility
if you listen to the rain fall
you might understand me.
and I quite like the wind too.
I like the sound the wind makes
blah blah blah. :o)
bones May 2014
Using silence as the means
to express his dismay
he was going to make a statement
and say nothing all day
but his mother just assuming
he had nothing much to say
sent the silent revolutionary
back outside to play.
Outmaneuvered by his mom
and her total disregard
for his wild campaign of muteness
the rebellion fell apart
peaceful protest hadn't worked
he should have guessed right from the start
it makes no difference when you're quiet
if no-ones listening very hard.
Back when I was a nipper my parents moved us away from our home in the city. I didn't speak to them for weeks. They either didn't notice or were  more practiced in the art of psychological warfare than me. I suspect the latter

Early learning..

Using silence
like a megaphone
to broadcast his dismay

he tried
to make a statement
without speaking for a day

but his mother
just assuming that
he'd nothing much to say

sent her silent
revolutionary
son outside to play;

outmaneuvered
in the kitchen
by his mother's disregard

for the planned
campaign of muteness,
his rebellion fell apart

to the sound
of scuffing shoes
and the grumble in his heart

cos peaceful protests
tend to lose
when no-one's listening very hard..
bones May 2014
Were
life
a
procession
of
musical
style
I'd
want
ska
to
come
last
by
a
mile.
To be smiling as you cross the finish line
would be nice wouldn't it.
bones May 2014
If you turned
inside out
could you bear
the exposure?
bones May 2014
Under my skin
and my bones is a room
nobody visits
nor anyone see's

it's dark and it's cool
and it's mine and the rules
like the gaps in it's walls
are governed by me;

comfortably safe
by myself in this place,
a question persistently
troubles my sleep

has all the pretence
that's been it's defence
saved me or left me
buried too deep.
bones May 2014
Climbing slowly up the staircase
softly crossing to the door
pushing gently,
gently knocking
empty bottles to the floor,
empty glass upon the bed
empty promise on the sheets
listen,
hope for steady breathing
then, and only then
I sleep.
Caring for someone with a bad habit can become something of a habit in itself.
bones May 2014
I'm tired of this side
of the wall,
tired from the effort
it takes to maintain.
I'm tired and wonder
if it should fall
how long will it take me
to raise up again?
I'm tired of this side
of the wall,
so tired I numbered
every stone.
I'm tired and wonder
if ever it falls
will I have the courage
to leave it alone?
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