"lolloped" poems
Rustle in the leaves,
tussle with the vines,
afoot in the tree of life,
the gutsy snake coiling,
Raddled and rattled with mans sin,
Divulgence to the loner who cherished the fruit,
in the dusky orange red skies which brought in the adhen
and from the tolling bells in the distant church ,
While the snake lolloped in the stark blue skies,
Manipulating this oppo for the abyss.
The wandering seam of the night,moon,
With flickering light forbade the seance on the seemlessly never ending night,
Pity the snake for another morn would rise
For it will have to go to the *** ,no the pit.
The ***** and cuckoo within cooee , chanted and coerced another morn out !
Following the sun like the grail, the people lounged in to the waters of the ganges.
While broods of hurted children huddled in hate,
hurling stones at the traitor.
Hauling the renegade into the throngs,
Hunnish hands assaulted him until he swooned in to the motherlands lap,
Hue and cry of the avengers brought in the tripper,
Heavy loads hugged on to his shoulders,
In poise words he spoke,
''for every creation has its flaws,
And when we batter on the withered soul,
It leaves the barren man dry again,
To ward off evil is like blowing into the forges of Vulcan,
And only when tests and temptations are burnt in the bonfires of joy,
will man be moulded into a joyous being''
Hissing whisphers from the crowd spoke,
Heresy of the tripper is the hold,
Hasten yourself and bring our brother medication,
Hunt down the snake will we,
For this vagabond has spoken in verses,
Only to be filed in the trippers travelogue.
Hushed up as the snake in the pit.
May 20, 2012
May 20, 2012 at 1:19 AM UTC
the heartbeat rumble
in your ears
is the signal
you’ve been waiting for
a warning
that too much
has piled up
and your head
has gone all Kandinsky
blood lights
blinking like sequins
in the crook of your vision
tangle of duvet
half lolloped on the floor
echo
of a neighbour’s conversation
a gloopy mumble
through the walls
and you’re thinking
of skin the colour of wheat
un-lipsticked lips
a song that hasn’t been written
but the words exist
longing for you to pluck them
like a novel from a shelf
in a second-hand shop
a thunderclap
snaps you back
to the same room
the same face
looking back from the mirror
with its wet blueberry eyes
and you say
you have a story
fashioned from mashed potato
and sticky tape
all it needs is a listener
to kiss a whisper
to your neck
drip syllables
that glow as torches
tell you everything is fine
your listener
as the shower rain
leaves a network of streets
jogging down your cheeks
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 6:46 PM UTC