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Swan Songs Feb 21
You’re always right
Until you forget that you’re alive
You’re always righteous
Until you forget what is right

Your soul is a paper kite
And the wind that blows sets it alight
But your body is flightless
You recall when you fall from a great height

You’re screaming into
An endless void
Hearing an echo
Of your own voice
Screaming back at you
Filling your own void
Tommy Randell Nov 2020
In the graveyard of statues all is stone.
Metal rods resembling bones
Twist and curl in the fragments and shards -
The debris of History, a fractal of memoirs.

A Hieroglyph here, some Sanskrit, some Latin,
Nothing of meaning or any logical pattern -
Just a jumble & muddle, a jigsaw of rocks
All that is left of any language or thought.

And, at the perimeter notice the new bronzes -
Condemned by fashionable shifts of conscience,
Now cut short in their celebrity status,
No longer honoured; or perhaps now in-famous?

From Lincoln to Lenin, Kennedy to King,
Raised in Glory to be their own offering,
We pull them down in our own sweet times,
Proffer up new ones as popular paradigms -

A tarnished Trump, a battered Boris,
Villains & Heroes to be equally demolished,
Raised high in fervour, pulled down in hate,
Irony by the acre, justice by dictate,

Fame is epitomised when we say 'Nothing Lasts';
Words weaponizing the present to eradicate the past -
So History is ground to gravel and rust
By each new generation in its onward rush :

ENVOI :

As will our poems, statues to ourselves and others,
They too will become dust between fading covers -
Or survive, scrambled in some digital Mausoleum
Where no real mind will ever think of or see 'em...


Tommy Randell Nov 2020
Spriha Kant Sep 2020
Loving , praising and embracing oneself isn't hubris and selfish ,
rather , the best technique for keeping all those at bay who expect from others to stay under their feet.
Seán Mac Falls Jun 2020
.
Handiworks of man
Self raging towards nothing
Water in the fist
.
Chris Apr 2020
Invader of war
At my doorstep
Knocking on thoughts
Now it's open
Please come in
Pillage, destroy
Whatever granny can provide.
Please let me know what this makes you think, I'm genuinely interested in knowing what you think.
Velvel Ben David Apr 2020
Whether in the nation of imaginings
Or the state of reality
With each room you enter
Threshold you cross, door you open
You must leave what you think you know
Behind
Charlotte Atkins Oct 2019
I think I’m going to be sick,
Your contemptible *******-ish
Behaviour is rubbing off on me
Stealing pieces of me, elevating
Me to such a height that
When you inevitably drop me and
I shatter, my shrapnel showers down
Cuts and slashes, gashes and grazes
All those I ought to protect

No more will I be here for you to collect!
You may be mamma’s blue-eyed-boy
But remember pride comes before the fall
So be careful, the hurt hearts
You’ve abandoned means
Your record needs reconciling
James Rowley Jul 2019
Standing tall its rungs seemed so far apart then
The ladder peered down at my achievements with glee,
Realizing that I was nowhere near the standard of the men
That so easily surpassed this obstacle before me.
I tentatively touched the ladder, pleading for a strong foundation;
The steel rungs screamed back at me. Nonetheless I flailed forwards,
Gripping the battered beam without hesitation.
It told me of my critical mistake as it flung me westward,
And the jagged cliff loomed on as I was propelled ever closer
To the end of my hubris, that so set me on this path years ago.
happy Tuesday :}
Seán Mac Falls Jul 2019
.
Lear wanders in stormy open, bares warring elements,
The heavens blister, crackle, night is balmy shroud,
Wretched monarch babbles in sprinkles of wind cold,
Arguments lost by ones own pouring perturbations
And raining sky said 'nothing will come from nothing.'

Howl, howls into blackness treed in lightning splits,
His outcast soul, reels, fleshed, cut to smithereens,
Tang of salt burns on the bluffs and the sea rages,
So entire and ceremonious is Lear's fall meted out,
Air spoke, 'nothing from nothings ever yet was born.'

Sky proclaimed to man child King, here is a reckoning,                            
Each mad choice was self infliction, now wind flays
And sweet Cordelia lies in her innocent **** grave,
Sky, in thralls of thundering asks, 'what say thee now,
King of highborn follies, even purple heaths are rags,

Yet black and above you and night shades, whine,
Unworthy King, done in by compounded effects,
The might of maelstroms in low butterflies wings,
How now, bare trees, knifing reeds, skeletal flashes,
To rains of night are ever your lanyards my lord,'

Sad Lear so near oblivion fell mute, sky went on,
'Howl and cry mad King your reaper calls beyond,
The icy brisk heavens await to brusque you away,
Your slipshod kingdom was mere and fools' dream,
Howl, til howls abrupt abate, for nothing now comes.'
.
King Lear is a tragedy by William Shakespeare in which the titular character descends into madness after disposing of his estate between two of his three daughters based on their flattery, bringing tragic consequences for all. Based on the legend of Leir of Britain, a mythological pre-Roman Celtic king.
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