"immobilised" poems
rivers of metal
unable to flow
trapped
by sheer volume
in gorges of girded concrete
fingers drumming
frustrated heartbeats
on immobilised steering wheels
imprisoned
impotent
feeling the passage of
time that doesn’t wait
Sep 3, 2010
Sep 3, 2010 at 1:30 AM UTC
Peter sought his merriment
While standing in the sediment
And fishing in his element
For something good to eat
He wasn't unintelligent
But suffered an impediment
Conversing wasn't eloquent
A stutter had him beat
One day, on the r-riverside
With hunger to be satisfied
And p-p-planning homicide
He cast his l-l-line
But bang he was immobilised
Attacked from the w-waterside
A giant p-p-pike astride
The struggling s-swine
The scene w-wasn't glamorous
The p-p-pike was amorous
The gossip would be scandalous
Someone might s-s-see
The struggle was c-clamorous
P-Pete was v-victorious
P-popped up like L-Lazarus
To f-f-f-f-flee
He promptly pattered homewardly
And cursing pikes internally
His hunger sat infernally
His hook remained unlured
The pesky pike had planned to be
Inside of Peter, rectally
To poke and **** him naughtily
But hang on..... he was cured!
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 11:36 AM UTC
Moments like this
Are when I wish I had my Polaroid
An infinite moment to make me think
"This would make a beautiful photograph"
(The photographer's curse, darling),
I'm content to just let this moment be, though
Though at the same time, my mind's eye strains to see
What this would be:
We're glossed with sweat and crowned with messy hair
My teeshirt's too big; my legs are bare
My ******* poke taut in the cool, still air
Copper tumbles onto your shoulder as I sit beside
Tilt my head, and lay to rest
The sunlight glances and polishes your halo
Your dark gaze watches out of the window
Dust motes illuminate, suspended around your face;
I fancy that it's fairy-magic
Although you're not the hero of some story - but, maybe mine?
With the roll in your caress that's passed to my palm
I stare into the little gilded world with you
Stealing a little glance at your bare chest,
The elastic of your boxers clinging over tight hips -
Just need to remind myself that it's real
Picture perfect, but this perfection is real
Take the roach to my lips
Take a minute to appreciate this
Inhale, exhale
This moment is infinite
The smoke twists away slowly
My mind's eye sees how beautiful it would be
In gentle-focus monochrome...
Then, I let the notion go
I act so naturally, but in my head I know
This next motion is picture-perfect
My white fingers are slim
Hand not quite steady; I tremble from our workout
Not moving from your shoulder,
I reach around the cocked neck of your guitar:
Just relax, and let time slow
Hear the peaceful tune flow from your skilled hand
I press the roll to your mouth
The crackle of burning embers dances with the string notes
Smoke streams out as I lift it away
And there -
In that split second as I begin to move,
There the Polaroid would have clicked and immobilised;
This moment so high in too hot a day
Picture perfect in my mind's blue eyes
May 23, 2012
May 23, 2012 at 5:40 PM UTC
What is it to be compelled?
What is it to have a feeling ****** upon?
Like a needle
It ******
Scratches and sticks
Stays in mind
Repeats, rewinds and repeats
Time and time and time...
Until, another comes about
Pricking, sticking and repeating
Like the one prior
Only different in its nature
Stemmed and born to cater
The prototype that preceded
Predicated on deceiving
One's perception of the first.
And another third to sift off the second
And a forth to sift off the third...
Leaving one deaf, blind and dumb
Becoming nothing but an outcast;
A sad and lonely ***
Immobilised and cocooned in bed;
The warm glimmering shine of sun-
Touch not registered
Given the compelled numb.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 2:02 PM UTC
I often wonder
as the night
closes in and
so do the walls
around my mind
I wonder when
it happened in
human evolution
that we would
become inescapably
immobilised by
the hands of a
clock
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 11:13 PM UTC
Why do my eyes waver in salt water?
It's just a concept I don't really understand when
The ocean in my mind is dry but
My eyes? So wet.
And yet, fire roars through an ***** named Passion - and the sand beneath my feet burns their soles and tries to
Penetrate my soul
But I have buckets,
Tucked under two lids,
That can spill with or without my will.
They can put out a flame, both good and bad. A blessing and a curse.
I'm told that fish can't climb trees but I have neither arms nor gills you see
I have been immobilised,
And it's down to a monochrome smear on a canvas with so much potential;
A plethora of 'dos' and 'don'ts';
The slaughter of a lamb.
I would like to stand in solidarity with each martyr of idiosyncrasy.
I wonder if anything we ever do will be enough.
May 31, 2018
May 31, 2018 at 3:11 PM UTC
With a single chord, I am prisoner,
My capture immediate and absolute.
An injection of electric sound-silk
Tangles my veins
And I am immobilised
By its essential truth.
With a single chord, I am devoured.
I savour each note – touch it, taste it;
I would eat it if I could.
But it is delicate, bird-like,
And it must be treated gently
In order to soar.
With a single chord, I am changed,
Lighter yet full to the brim.
The walls of the world are thin enough
To catch sight of a vast heaven,
And I breathe in its iridescence
At the point where music and person overlap.
With a single chord I am awakened.
Memories long pushed aside
Seep again into my soul.
Sensual, soft and clinging,
They tug at my being, dress me in silver,
And the cloud lifts.
Vicki Watson © 2014
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
The sky rising up from the sea
something in me?
Each man sets his own horizon
which lies on
the
broadsword of the uncut
umbilical.
As much as I see
I see virtual reality
and a veil drawing
over the day.
Voices of reason chattering away
scattering the clouds that
lay over the bay and
spoiling the view, but
you are the muse where
the words from a heart and
the thoughts in a head
come together and
fuse.
The cat
(if there was one)
has gone
the bell tinkles on.
The fine line,
the first line of defence
was,
(when I was a boy)
the old garden fence where
words were batted like
ping pong *****
Old fences fall and
innovation calls,
the mobile phone
the mobile office
the mobile home
and we're all immobilised
looking surprised.
The sea remains
stains on the bedsheets
***** plates in the sink
washing in the basket
I think
I must make
a move.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 1:10 AM UTC
Frozen in place I stood,
A deer caught in a hunter’s crosshair.
I never thought you would,
But you did; you killed me, right there.
I am angry at myself, most of all;
For staying when I should have left,
For not dodging the bullet and taking the fall.
Twice now, I found myself broken;
Carelessly adrift in life,
Like a raft on the ocean.
Too much pain this chest,
These monsters in my head
Feel like an obstacle I cannot best.
I don’t just want to be loved;
I want us all to love and understand one another.
‘It’s not possible, we’re too different,’
Those who wish to rebuttal will answer.
No, that is the distant path you chose,
I choose to keep my humanity close.
And yet, I cannot stop the terrifying flashbacks.
You made me feel like a train veering off its tracks.
Like a bridge that leads to a precipice,
Nothing but a cold, dark abyss.
Meet the millennials -
The most criticised generation,
Suffering from emotional stagnation,
Raised on a steady diet of instant gratification.
‘What do you want, then?’
I want us to feel the soil with our bare feet.
To associate freely with others we meet,
Not bow down to the pretension of the elite.
To embrace our soul,
Not shun it and drive it into a locked room;
To retrace our role,
Not simply run our life’s course to its doom.
We are being led astray,
Our hopes and dreams hidden away.
We have no room for thought, little to say,
For few want to go out of their way.
No criticism, no originality -
No witticism, no vitality.
We are criticised for criticising,
And we are ostracised when we act defying.
We are the paralysed;
Our fears leave us immobilised,
Anxiety and depression,
Killing variety of expression.
We languish in prisons
That we build for ourselves in our own head;
We have nightmarish visions,
Like a guild of the living dead.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:57 AM UTC
Past the vines of grins
and hopeful beams
lies the audacity
of discouragements,
assuring you
the existence of doubts.
Timeless records
will stop playing
at the back of her mind
as memories
immobilised with tears,
and fears,
and doubts.
She will despise you
as long as she loved you;
and will continue
to lie at your image.
Apr 25, 2017
Apr 25, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC