"afterburner" poems
Taken on a trip through the why don't I slip through the net?
set back from the light in the shadow that might be the shadow of me and
who is free is he who can see the night shift its shape,
landscapes on canvas and seascapes in galleries, it's no wonder to me why Valerie went over to the other side.
Positive thinking in the tin where yesterday is chinking its chains does my brains in,
Weary,
eyes bleary and nobody hears me,
it's that kind if say you get lost on the way, but I'm used to it.
On the tube.
I stand can't sit and these people just look and don't give a **** about me which all sounds like Valerie.
If this is the day and I am who I am, who's got the script
where is the man that I used to be
' why don't you come on over Valerie'
At the point where the afterburner turns into the foreground I look around me,
there is no Valerie and
only what's left if the dream wasn't right,
the night shifting shape
the rim on a wheel,
sometimes I feel
unreal.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 2:20 AM UTC
I'm filled by anger, and much doubt.
This world is a filthy place.
Living on the afterburner of a broken fantasy,
it was better in the old days.
Dec 2, 2014
Dec 2, 2014 at 5:18 PM UTC
Ate chocolate,
drank too much.
Christmas time is
such a joy.
Where's the boy known as
the sun of man
Mary's child
the son of Stan?
Caught up in traffic,
what a loss
missing this,
he'll be cross.
I had a swell time
for a Brit,
stood in the front line,
I did a bit
of cheer and played charades
parading this way that 'till
someone guessed.
The best games are framed simply in
the faces
of the young
and us older one's
had the most fun.
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC