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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
The oblivion of sleep.....
Ah! Men

              Aargh! Men

Armed men
  Harmed men
   Jarred men
     Marred men
      Scarred men

Scared men

****** men

Their men
Your men
Our men

©pofacedpoetry – Billy Reynard-Bowness (2018) – all right’s reserved
In remembrance of ALL who died in conflict
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
Man's blind indifference to his fellow man!
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
A little bit of pseudo-scary fluff for Halloween
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
Suffering, as only a man can! An epic battle against alien invaders - the flu'
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
The game of life......
And he stands there.
Disbelieving his dream
nightmare; blinks
No tears; dry. Too dry    to try    to
Scratchy; hoarse
as his heart; beats.
Empty             space.

Blank       bed.
Gone; no more – no
sight to see - no
to speak.


And he stands there.

©pofacedpoetry (2018) Billy Reynard-Bowness – all rights reserved
On loss and death!
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