i wish i could fall into
those pots and vessels
and shatter like ceramics
we are pieces of pottery
bowng b boawng
Hey ng ng-ng b-ba-wnng Hey!
Not all poems survive. I've lost a few and let others go. My current collection of poems is available on Kindle and in paperback. It is called "3201 e's" (that is approximately how many e's are in the manuscript which is a very unpoetic title but a reflection on the creation of poetry by common means.)
Dribbling drops from above,
sunken in cieling
seal skin smooth
Can't stay too
Hey, I'm Mister
look at me!
Can you finish cooking?
Can't exist too
Simple tasks in
order to give
them a quick
There's a war on
And I'm fighting.
But I'm not free.
And never will be.
I battle my body...
So everyone can see
that this war will not end in defeat
We're not in darkest Africa
and jungles don't adorn,
this little bit of overgrown
that wraps around our lawn,
Plants of pretty colors
sit comfortable in there bed,
and about two dozen footsteps
find us at the potting shed.
Our potting shed has seen better days,
some parts have been rebuilt
and it's suffering from subsidence
for it's slightly on a tilt.
The walls desperately need painting
because the wood has got some rot
but a boring place to come and sit
it definitely is not.
Odds and ends adorn the shelves
and the places spiders tread
where the dust has piled on the weight
and the woodworm may have spread.
Smells that we first come across
carry the scent of damp,
foul stinks from half empty sacks,
paint tins that have gone rank.
An old oil lamp expel the rust
like dandruff from my head
reigning down golden crumbs
that looks like toasted bread.
We think that we have found some proof
of what might linger around
footprints so large and evident
that a Tigers walked upon this ground.
So while we have been sleeping
and resting through the night
there's been a Tiger in our shed
but he keeps out of sight.
We've sorted through many boxes
we've moved some things aside,
looked into shadows with a torch
but we can't find where he hides.
Perhaps he's gone out hunting
for an evening meal,
eyeing up the neighbors dog
with energetic zeal.
Perhaps he's out sunbathing,
sitting somewhere in a tree
camouflaged with all those stripes,
that's the reason we can't see.
I don't know if he's Sumatran,
Siberian or Bengal
and he doesn't ever show himself
or come to me when I call.
I believe he stays outside all day
and only hides in here at night
but I won't come down here when its dark
only in the light.
He is a wild animal so
one must take the some care
for he could be stalking us as prey
he could spring from anywhere.
But we leave the door unlocked for him
and we've made a comfy bed,
and a sign that just reads "WELCOME"
to the Tiger in our shed
19th December 2014
edited on 04/01/17
I was the plant in your vast apartment. You gave me water and left me in the sunlight to grow. You did everything you could. You helped me prosper.
Eventually you grew out of your apartment and you no longer wanted mere plants to keep you company.
I watched you pack your boxes full of pictures and birthday cards and gifts and love. You continued to pack as the world grew colder and the sunlight began to shrink. Eventually my *** cracked and you couldn't notice because you were invested in things much more important than a simple plant.
In the middle of January you finally left and the blinds were closed and the sun was shut out. You wisely decided a dead plant with a broken *** wasn't worth the time, nor the space in your new apartment.
So now I'm sitting in the middle of your old apartment floor, still waiting for water and a glimpse of sunlight that everybody realizes couldn't resurrect me.
**** I love my symbolism.
— The End —