"grimmace" poems
Above cushioned wall seats,
Where locals sit with dogs
At their feet,
Hang photos
Of footballers
Smiling still after near-forgotten games;
A farmer stands beside his blue ribbon boar;
Horses tethered to carts,
Near soldiers smiling with
The Republic's grimmace of war.
Outside cobbled streets
Lead to stone bridges
Walls and houses,
Near the shade of umbrella trees.
Turrets stop whispers
Wrapping their heights.
Black, white and fading.
Nine o'clock arrives
And pictures shake
From laughter
And music,
The click of dominoes,
And clink of pints,
In the pub life.
Nov 10, 2014
Nov 10, 2014 at 10:05 AM UTC
winch sinched grimmace
hung at half mast
in an attempt to hold rebelious bicusbids in their place
but they still wiggle like a bobble-head jesus glued to the dash
every time that you laugh
so i guess that's why you're giving it up
your arms look like a road map
riddled with pin-prick pot-holes
and with routes to hell and back marked
by distressed vasculatory flares
so you ask to borrow my sweater
and another fourty bucks
with no explanation why
for once
you didn't lie to me
Feb 17, 2014
Feb 17, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
typing really hard on the shapes of my most valued personal devices
suddenly everything becomes too large to handle
i feel as if i am being chased a big evil dinosaur
i am running away from God and into the dark
the life i never fully lived now becomes an alternate reality
many feared my tragic existencee
or so i made it seem with the masquerade good ridence
[my grimmace]
a short burst of energy and i differitiate the 2
i live in 2 worlds an i acknowledge the 2
Feb 4, 2012
Feb 4, 2012 at 10:26 PM UTC