"darkwood" poems
Probably just a man with his gloves on backwards
Darkwood doves in his outercoat pocket
figs and fossils hanging off his earlobes
silky cigarette smoke scooting up his fingers
got a moody mad eye and he knows how to use it
when he gets a brain block,
he breaks it with a breeze block
nudges out mice and shrews from his foot box
fixes up his old bow-tie for the foxtrot
there gonna see his burnt out knees and elbows
easy to fix though, with a bit of Velcro
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:17 PM UTC
i.
one dark night as
i left my silent house
the long driveway
lay itself before me
i looked back, down
from the driveway's
apron at the street
the house unlit
seemed almost
brooding back in
it's dark wood
ii.
the half turn at the
ancient oak, which leans
out over the driveway,
aching for light, and then
the gentle sweep of curve,
along the line of
stately maples, which
turn such a lovely
golden red in autumn
iii.
i could just make
out the main
entrance and chimney
side, the bedroom wing
hidden behind the
dense understory
of viburnum
it seemed to me
that Maple Ridge,
secreted as it was
back in Darkwood,
was much like the
life of the people
dwelt within
iv.
the dark and the brooding
had touched those lives,
like mourners on the edge
of some young lover's grave,
there in that dark wood,
the woman had believed
the man who dared
that love might conquer all,
and that being subdued,
had seemed better than
mere surrender
v.
but now, that bitterness
had leeched into
these very walls,
i had paused, in this
heart-stopping notion,
to ask myself what if
these mourners dwelt
there in this dark wood,
unobserved and naked,
now buried, in this silent
wood
Jan 26, 2012
Jan 26, 2012 at 10:19 PM UTC
Earth, help me
I am but lowly beggar man
And I dont know how to take cover
Not from rain or stinging cold
But from those just like me
Who walk above and right past me
Grounded to the same surface
But none seem to be any closer to me
I am silenced, cries heard only by tree and concrete
Help me, Earth, please
Sky, help me
I am but lowly beggar man
Man needs not the like of me
They chose my fate as such
Fallen and wounded
Prayers for fire in the skies
Drink is what I chose now
Since I can no longer slate my thirst from you
I will die by the cruel darkwood imitator
That men invented to betray you
Help me, Sky, please
Fire, help me
I am but lowly beggar man
And lanterns cant warm me
Scraps are my home and hearth
And that is no comfort for any
I long for your touch
But since outside is no longer my choice
Ill warm my insides with atomized flame
Beaker bottle and batch aid me in feeling and unfeeling you
Help me, Fire, please
Mar 25, 2016
Mar 25, 2016 at 12:59 AM UTC
Billowing winds brings a wayward can to my foot in the soot to The Throat Slit Man
Now and then when I see your face there's a hole in the door feel the cold of space
Hiding in the hose of a rootless tree The Throat Slit Man's always looking for me
Long ago in a time and place when the moon and the stars never showed their face
There's a romp in the swamp with The Throat Slit Man plug your ears with spears it's part of his plan
Run away home when the sun goes down eat the moon with a spoon build a mob in your town
For 39 years lived The Throat Slit Man under fog in the bog in The Darkwood Land
But he left his home to haunt my dreams I know in my soul he's coming for me
You can scream you can run you can make a stand you can try but you'll die in The Darkwood Land
Jun 22, 2014
Jun 22, 2014 at 8:30 PM UTC