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Nov 2021 · 830
Intrepid
Sam Lawrence Nov 2021
Forgive me, but I don't
want to explore my feelings,
backpack through insecurity
or interrail across buried pain.
There is no pride to be found
in travelling to those places
or even in a triumphant return.
Instead, I'll make my feelings
comfortable by giving them
a seat inside a steady room,
beside a window with a view
Nov 2021 · 152
Mirror, mirror
Sam Lawrence Nov 2021
What will we learn
from our reflected
selves? Movement,
  reversed. Light,
changed course.
The truths we hide,
but secretly know
(deep down inside).
Each little smear
distracts. Illusions
are a fragile gift
that's best
kept wrapped.
Sam Lawrence Nov 2021
Before important business
can start, there's a general
sniffing of the night; a stale
nose of fireworks, perhaps
the evening star? The moon
adds a drop of essence,
beyond the too damp wet
piles of autumn leaves. We
walk, stopping frequently to
sample other joys; a scent
of fox, a whiff of squirrel.
Inside the wine shop I am
greeted by an offer of tasting.
Good boy. Sit. Strong tannins.
rich summer fruit lingers after.
Honey. Figs. Redcurrants.
Oct 2021 · 81
You'll be infinite soon
Sam Lawrence Oct 2021
Bequeath your final skin to dust.
Watch the ferrous atoms gather
as the rusted cosmos rots.
Feel the cogs still turning,
churning seasons to a pulp.
Hear the solemn promise
autumn whispers in the dusk;
I am just an echo of the darkest
night of all. Will our children's
children still believe our great
great selves? Will Old Mother
Hubbard leave her own bones
upon the shelves? Will Old Father
Time's paternity outlive all our
foolish fears? When the edge
of you is nowhere and the end
of you has come, then you'll
understand that living was
a fraction of the whole.
Oct 2021 · 1.4k
The kite
Sam Lawrence Oct 2021
Sometimes,
  when I'm walking my dog,
    I pretend
      I'm flying
       an upside down
       kite.
The kite pulls me.
  The kite gets stuck in a tree.
    I pull the kite.
The kite gets tangled
  with another kite.
The kite stops;
  scared of shadows?
Eventually, I find an open space
  and I set the kite
                                     free.
Oct 2021 · 79
Connecting to the past
Sam Lawrence Oct 2021
We're living the lives we led before.
Always rushing, perhaps, even, a bit

more grumpy on the wet mornings.
You said you missed our lockdown

lives. Simpler, you said. I'm not sure.
I can't compare how I felt, just what

we did. Most of the uncertainty we
shared has gone again. Our old fears,

less relevant now and our new fears
still not fully formed.
Oct 2021 · 104
Reflections
Sam Lawrence Oct 2021
my dog barks
when things are hard
he snarls when he's afraid
and when he finds it
all to much
he skulks back in his cage
my dog is just like other dogs
his heart is there to see
I'm not sure if
he's learnt these things
from watching
other dogs
like me
Sep 2021 · 74
Splitting the atom
Sam Lawrence Sep 2021
all sounds are muted
as the muzzled wave
shakes the street-stood
to their rubbled graves

an act as black
as snow is white
paints a greyness
in its blinding light

every single
pane of glass
once drum taut now
scattered by the blast

and on it rips
sad dandelion
blow the hours
from the rising sun

I know this fear
I've swallowed threads
I'm nothing if not
shaken by the dead
Sep 2021 · 293
Night bus
Sam Lawrence Sep 2021
my smile
stitched my face
like a crocodile
beaming
top deck
of the 63
as we ride
the dark
outside
Sep 2021 · 84
Good boy!
Sam Lawrence Sep 2021
my old dog feet
won't
carry bones
padding over floors
tiny paws and tiny toes

in a street of lights
new smells
hollowed out
do you see reflections
of the wonders outside?

downstairs stop!
am I
lead right?
as plain as pain
my heart is a bleed

bathe me again
buckets
soapy warm
may well never
fill me to the brim
Sep 2021 · 87
Fallen
Sam Lawrence Sep 2021
My city is awash with dreams,
some are painted on the walls;
they're lurid like a migraine,
lucid as a hummingbird.

My lover is a dreamer too,
she speaks a partial truth;
her words are like a fragment
of my city's only street.

She told me how she's searching
for the palaces of glass,
but every pocket map she's had
is a labyrinth of folds.

When all the squares were folded tight
and pressed upon themselves,
she walked along the creases
and fell into my world.

Beneath the neon blindness
of a piercing blue night,
we fused into a lump of clay
and lay down on the earth.

My city is a towered forest,
tearing pockets from the skies.
Crowds in heaven peer below them;
a precarious insight.
Aug 2021 · 109
Mr Punch
Sam Lawrence Aug 2021
little man, big man
funny Mr Punch
tangled up his string
turned into a glove
was a man above
now a man below
swinging at the missus
in his very own show

bad man, devil man
anger in his bones
fighting the police
with a ******* rod
has he a conscience?
has he any pride?
what about the real man
who is hidden inside?
Aug 2021 · 124
Foreign weather
Sam Lawrence Aug 2021
I don't know how long.
Before I understood it had changed?
An hour? A day?
The señora appeared on her balcony;
gathered washing,
glanced up,
closed the door behind her.
I blankly searched the empty sky.
A seagull swooped.
Gradually, boats in the harbour turned,
now facing the other way.
Suddenly, a new wind blew;
hot, breathless gasps of air.
No cicadas.
Silence.
A few raindrops fell like birdshit,
splatting on the stone steps.
I'm sure all these things have names,
if you were local,
you would know them all.
I have no other words.
Aug 2021 · 96
Palindemic
Sam Lawrence Aug 2021
We'll live
We'll live with it
We'll learn to live with it
We'll need to learn to live with it
We'll learn to need it
We'll need it
We'll live
Aug 2021 · 231
Old age
Sam Lawrence Aug 2021
His allotment is just far enough away
from trouble. Habit, more than desire,

seeds the ragged weeks. Early risers
together, he cannot stifle a routine.

Her Marked Clinical Decline isn't yet
their epicenter. Fearlessly emptying

Stella cans, through the euphoric
atmosphere to the Low Earth Orbit

of utter despair. Eccentricity doesn't
favour equilibrium. Growing may heal.
Jul 2021 · 76
The meteorite
Sam Lawrence Jul 2021
it must have landed with a thud
but no-one could have heard
it lay there then
below the grass
beneath the leafy oaks
butterflies, flit white like flies
across the fearless summer sky

the rock lay still
like every other rock
when held against the earth

once silver trail
so short delight
slit silent dust
across the infinite black night
Jul 2021 · 196
For Joni
Sam Lawrence Jul 2021
here i am
under all my bright house lights
still hanging out
with the good dreamers
May 2021 · 91
Movement, always.
Sam Lawrence May 2021
I'm standing still
balancing on one leg
watching the horizon
making tiny movements
corrections, perhaps
against the rushing
stream of gravity
that pulls me down
towards the ocean
where the rocks
clamour with blue sky
spraying salty kisses
as I fall into oblivion
Apr 2021 · 114
Reconnecting (the power)
Sam Lawrence Apr 2021
Is it safe
To turn on the light?
Hesitantly,
We nod.
The first light we try
Seems very dim.
We try another.
Suddenly,
Our blinking faces
Are lit up;
We see each other
Smiling
And the darkness
Has gone.
We've reconnected (with each other).
Apr 2021 · 225
Night song
Sam Lawrence Apr 2021
wide awake and gently haunted
lying piecemeal on a bed
sifting through a time the spirits
said all I ever wanted said

tiptoe in the starlit darkness
scattered petals, dying leaves
drifting through the deadest dreams
in the precious company of thieves

spores that settle on my lashes
seeds that turn my pupils black
second sight is stolen knowledge
all that's gave is given back
Apr 2021 · 112
Trappings
Sam Lawrence Apr 2021
You once said all you
Ever wanted was
An island and a dog.
Just like
Robinson Crusoe,
I quipped.
Now we have
A new kitchen,
New cupboards,
Some new furniture
And a kitchen island.
It glistens in the sunlight.
Soon we'll find a dog.
But we both know that
Loneliness
Doesn't care.
It'll still be watching,
With two sad puppy eyes.
Mar 2021 · 115
The Succubus
Sam Lawrence Mar 2021
When darkness settles in my room
And shadows twist beneath the black,
That's when I know my succubus
Will soon be perched upon my lap.

Her fingertips are cold like death,
Her scaly arms are knotted wreaths.
She taps impatiently upon my chest,
My heart pumps faster just beneath.

She entices and repulses,
As I'm frozen in brief joy;
And only when I'm fully spent,
She turns to look me in the eye.

Her empty stare, two icy caves;
A distant pain I cannot fathom.
I want to hold her in my arms -
For is she nothing but a phantom?

Perhaps she's just a metaphor,
Of secret wicked lust?
All creatures of repressed desire,
Find a darkness they can trust.
Feb 2021 · 145
Outside me
Sam Lawrence Feb 2021
There it groans again,
The voice:
A tone steeped in gravel.
It speaks from below
And chimes above,
Through a solemn
Here I am.
Awkward in my body.
Steering the poetry
As it appears:
Always too controlled.
I'm stood waiting,
The boy in the Thai restaurant
At the dark end of my street
Shunts
Toy trains along the table,
Surrounded by big
White buckets
Of prawn crackers:
Sagging in their cellophane bags.
Heading
Towards
Collapse:
Like a star pointing inwards.
Feb 2021 · 458
Legacy
Sam Lawrence Feb 2021
eventually
all composition
becomes
decomposition
Jan 2021 · 137
Revenge
Sam Lawrence Jan 2021
slowly
a huge tentacle
appears from beneath
the waves
Ringo Starr
sits
terrified
as the octopus
reaches for his neck
Jan 2021 · 303
Poisoned
Sam Lawrence Jan 2021
Dry January finished
With a
Splash.
A blissful darkness
Beneath the waves:
Thousands of
Miniscule bubbles
Bursting in my ears
As I
Tumble.
Then,
Head back above
The water.
I'm poisoned now?
Grey-green flesh inside,
But sleeping like
The newly dead.
Jan 2021 · 111
Supersonic
Sam Lawrence Jan 2021
I don't recognise any
Of the things
You sing:
Whispered tunes,
Broken lyrics.
Behind you,
I stand:
Amongst the ruins.
But when you're
Wearing headphones
And I catch your eye,
I'm transported
Into song.
Jan 2021 · 216
Ensuite
Sam Lawrence Jan 2021
lying on my back
naked
like a sundial
waiting for the sun
to step out
from behind a cloud
Jan 2021 · 1.7k
January blues
Sam Lawrence Jan 2021
Snow arrived,
quite suddenly.
The city fell
to silence:
softness flurried,
whiteness spread.
Our footsteps
punched a rhythm:
crisp heel, crisp toe.
Steaming cars slid past
in slush, peeling back
the long black road.
The trees drooped:
tears splattered on
the streets, but
still my heart
lay cold.
Jan 2021 · 174
Ice cubes
Sam Lawrence Jan 2021
I meet you,
but I'm embarrassed
because I've been melting
and now I'm standing
in the middle
of a small puddle.
You're pristine,
crisp corners,
shining like a diamond,
but I know we're all
doomed to melt.
Dec 2020 · 135
For my daughter
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
My golden girl, you fill my world
with scraps of paper on the floor.
Each small offcut leads me closer
to the masterwork you truly are.

I recognise my little foibles and I also
see my pain. My love, I dearly wish
that all you find in life is good and
free from blame. When you swing

your curls my love unfurls - briefly,
just before it's swept away. Many,
many bits of paper; only some of them
are kept. All the rest, hope for the best.
Dec 2020 · 69
Underneath
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
At 8pm, he emails and says he misses her.
I know he's drunk.
I wait until the following morning to call him.
He's still drunk.
He talks about Preston Sturges.
There's a turbulence, underneath, he says.
Sometimes, a little bit comes to the surface; enough to try and guess at what's going on.
Not with Dickens, he says.
With Dickens, everything is behaviour.
I'm regretting calling.
He talks about taking responsibility and how some survivors came out of Auschwitz stronger and some blamed it forever.
I lay the phone on my lap and look out the window.
There's a white mist in the distance, covering the city.
Only the tops of the tallest buildings are visible.
But I can still see the skyline.
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
It looks like I'm marooned here.

I've checked the fuel; it's not good.

There's simply not enough for the journey home.

Not enough inspiration, nor enthusiasm.

Sensuality night work, but there's little to be found.

If the landscape wasn't so bleak and inhospitable, I might be able to mix some kind of cocktail. A Martini. Or a Margarita, perhaps.


Wearily, I open the door to the engine room. A familiar white light shines over the chilled glass shelves. I tell myself it's going to be okay.
Dec 2020 · 69
Mediterranean holidays
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
Take me to a place both green and blue,
close to where the milling tourists stay.
I want to curse the kissed white marks,
of sea salt on my cheap brown shoes.

I long to wither underneath the warmth,
as scented gardens chirrup along.
The dusty dogs will keep their idle guard,
on winding roads through olive groves.

Feed me plaited bread that's baked
by hands grown wrinkled from the sun.
Buy tomatoes, aubergine and thyme,
from the market's wooden trestle tables.

Smash a wave upon the jagged rocks,
hear the crackle as the wave recedes.
Annouce the glowing summer's carnival;
a paean sung for all the working bees.
Dec 2020 · 73
Old pain
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
As the days of holidays
flicker with the day and night,
I see the signs of innocence,
returning slowly to my dreams.

Slights or disappointments
from sunlit days of youth,
raw as when the blade first bit;
initials carved into the bark.

If scars are just an open wound
held together with a will,
then self doubt is a scurvy
that can split them up anew.
Dec 2020 · 77
Epiphany
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
For a moment,
I fully expected
to see God's face
staring back at me
in the onion I had sliced.
But I didn't.
Soon after,
the onion sizzled.
Dec 2020 · 81
Moomie
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
Twice, recently, I've seen my daughter's stuffed toy Moomin
lying on his own in the hall and it's filled me
with an intense sadness.
Today, she'll be back to pick him up - her constant childhood companion - she'll squeeze him tight, love him, kiss him and
send his once white fur ever more grey.
But tomorrow? Or the next day?
Dec 2020 · 60
Knots
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
Solitude is a dull parade -
The things unsaid,
Or said too much,
But never really shared.

The promises and fragrant lies;
How sweet they smell,
I forget how,
I never knew they’d sour.

But for careful untold truths
That wrap us up
In careless knots,
Simplicity itself

We’d live; beyond the tangled lines
Of lives. The dull
Parade, would fade,
And fade away to grey.
Dec 2020 · 71
The robin
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
as the shortest day peeps out
from underneath the winter's grasp
the steady robin sits aflame
a flickered dance upon the fence

his eye an ever sideways trance
a grace note tucked within a song
for every hop, a little bow
the worldly nod to his know-how

I wish I had just some small part
of the patience he exudes
returning every darkened day
to flaunt the patterns of his art
Dec 2020 · 137
Deus ex machina
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
I am not a robot
I am only
following
instructions
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
it's familiar trickery
in a master's hands -
the ever falling melody
occasionally lifted
just enough
to let the sunlight
shine through
Dec 2020 · 112
Moontaste
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
How many moons did I really miss?
The big, the bright, the bold, the blue -
the daytime crescent
or a midnight swan?
Did I count them all
on my two hands?
Or was the same moon sat there
all along? Enticing and bewitching those
that dared to take the time away
from all the mundane earthly stuff;
the daily bluff, the soulless bleed.
What if every single moon was new?
And those that basked beneath
the moonshine never light
knew how it's luminosity,
shaped the eye.
If I chased it round the earth
would I see it slowly turn?
Or would I turn myself
to lunacy?
Dec 2020 · 93
Taste
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
The sensation of a memory,
awoken in the mouth:
a sweetness on the tip
or sourness in a bite.
As we chew a picture forms,
the shifting sunlight drifts
across a single pane of glass -
the taste of time transfixed.
Dec 2020 · 74
Avoidance
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
They've always been there; the perverts,
the pederasts, the paedophiles. When we

were young, our mothers knew. "Not a nice
man" or "The bad Mr ..." so and so. But they

didn't tell us, didn't warn us - they just herded
us with coded subtleties, like sheep into a pen.

We learned through whispers, slanders, filthy
rhymes and songs. But some didn't. Was it

shame which kept us ignorant? Shame that
in the grown-up world there are broken people?

We would have understood. We'd seen bullies,
heard foul deeds, sensed danger dressed up

as kindness. Yet here we are; older and wiser
but still incapable of protecting all our children.
Dec 2020 · 61
The comet
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
Hung low in the sky at night,
brighter than a brief reflection;
the comet flies.

Small crowds of pointed fingers,
perpendicular to the comet's cares,
trace the growing sense of awe
that builds on every shore.

Is it further than the sea? What lies
beneath the beast? Will its whiteness
end the world or will the world survive?

Children ape; arms pinned straight,
shoulders hunched, racing round in circles.
The comet is a silver lure, its significance forgot.

Rattling the tombs of Kings,
from ages past,
from pasts,
passed.
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
you won't have felt the butterflies inside
by hearing someone
say they do too,
unless you've loved somebody

you won't have stayed in bed all night and day
and ordered pizzas
in the afternoon,
unless you've loved somebody

you won't have sifted through a smelly bin
to find a thing
that wasn't yours,
unless you've loved somebody

you won't have travelled in an ambulance
whilst clinging on
a nervous hand,
unless you've loved somebody

you won't have shed many real tears
the kind that roll
into both ears,
unless you've loved somebody
Sam Lawrence Dec 2020
good morning
silence
oh no
here it is again
slowly, the billowing sheet
floating down onto the bed
the careful tucking corners
and turning back       the top
while it just coils there
      in the middle
like a dead cat
Nov 2020 · 70
Advent
Sam Lawrence Nov 2020
The flicker of a whispered ghost
On baubled beads of glass,
Flees a world daubed dismal brown,
With mud trod over grass.

A dampness hugs the sagging sleeves
Of shoppers' weary arms:
Their stooping arch more drawn to earth
With every charmless charm.

Is inside where the magic's coiled?
Inside every ***** kitchen.
Endless chinking glasses raised with
Chunks of ice cubes glinting.

And through it all I stand and grin:
Half braced in case I fall.
I'll never last til Armageddon -
I've already hit the wall.
Nov 2020 · 60
Samuel
Sam Lawrence Nov 2020
words passed softly in the night
imagined or divine
like falling petals from a flower
each landing on the floor

a simple mattress with a sleeping boy
woken by the sound
unsteadily he walks next door
to find out why he's called

at first he's told he must have dreamt
the muffled baritone
he falls back in a tangled dream
uncertain when there's more

once again he's told he's wrong
before he's told he's right
the voice he heard belongs to God
be ready when he speaks

the boy lies fearful and frightful tense
alone in solemn dark
waiting for the voice of God
to spark light inside his heart
Nov 2020 · 60
Up
Sam Lawrence Nov 2020
Up
deep inside an empty well
dark green with speckled silver moss
mute stone
soprano drips
my wet hands lifting up above my head
grasping rope which winches
  slowly
    upwards me
      up onto my toes
        then grinding past the hewn walls
          towards a glowing disk of night
            a starlit darkness
              high above
and then
  out into the full cold air
    above the stubbled fields of mud
  higher than the trees below
    which rustle so
  lifted by a whispered wind
    unmask the gentle curving earth
  drifting back
to black
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