"materialised" poems
“Do you have children?”
“No” I reply.
“Did you not want them?”
What's with the why?
Oh I wanted them alright
But try as I might
Their father never materialised
So neither did they.
Don’t assume my career must have got in the way
Or hypothesize that I’m gay
So proud all you mums of your legacy
Well,
it just didn’t happen for me.
some of you think I’ve missed out on life
And to an extent
I’d agree this is true
But how many of you
Have seen as much of the world as I?
I think with a sigh,
At least I am free
But, yes at times
Incredibly lonely.
So please don’t ask that question as though kids are a given
BECAUSE THEY WEREN’T GIVEN TO ME
By anybody.
And I have to get on with life
Hearing that question
Which cuts like a knife
I'm sorry
It's fine
It just makes me sad
This reminder that I’ll never meet
The children that I never had.
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 3:04 PM UTC
He rubbed his weary eyes...
What trickery could this be?
Was it a signboard draped in disguise
Or the reflection of light off a tree?
Seconds ticked as he drew closer.
The lady materialised to rule out prior suspicions.
His fingers wrestled over the rusty brake lever,
Wheels squealed their futile objections.
The lady wore a face he could barely see...
She had long tresses that bore an alluring fragrance.
Her beauty tipped the scales allowing him bravery,
Unafraid he asked, "Miss, may I be of assistance?"
Her voice seemed to ride the subtle night breeze,
Coating his ears like sugar laden candy.
Soft and demure... Yet laced with a hint of tease,
She had said, "I'm stranded in the dark as you can see..."
"What luck!", he thought, seizing the opportunity
He removed his sack to make space for her.
His heart raced being in the damsel's good company,
The lady slid herself onto the rack before they both rode together.
As he pedalled hard, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Her voice came again, a tender little whisper,
*"I live rather close... Not far off from here...
A little over the hill... Just over yonder..."*
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
The first time I kissed you (again),
we were sitting in your car,
under shadows and street-light orange,
and the impression I was going inside.
But then I found your NERF gun,
which you said was for robbers and slow drivers,
but proved more entertaining for girls
who like to sit in your passenger seat.
So we broke into a scuffle
in pools of orange light
abandoning seat-belts and any pretence that I was leaving
to wage an epic war
inside a parked car
over ownership of the polystyrene darts.
The end came when a missile was lost to your backseat,
and we both reached for the NERF gun,
and that kiss I'd been waiting for since I'd first put on my seat-belt
materialised between the space above your handbrake
and a little plastic gun.
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 8:59 AM UTC
stuck onto a rock with sticky glue
to live an uncertain life
two feet with one in front of the other
wobbling on the spot
wishing for the wings of a bird
never materialised
trust in your gut and make sense of it all
is it a wonder fermentation is so popular
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 10:14 AM UTC
i tried
to write this poem
to tell you
and explain whats inside
but words refused to materialised
so now i'm sitting here
telling you
i tried but
i failed
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:22 PM UTC
with a radio less things move, less distractions, added focus, you can conjure pseudo-telepathic tendencies to things, but of course objects don't move, but imagining that they do is aimed at probing more and more subjects, cognitive archaeology - a beautiful name for your own personal addition to the whole architecture of a person.
so with memory, otherwise named cognitive archaeology -
i think Walt Disney was a pauper in this realm,
archaeology prizes pity pennies worth of ceramics at
the time of their display, but in a dusty trench
museum materials... most of van Gogh was worth
toilet-paper at the time, then the numbers came
with Don McLean - it was worth it for that kind of love;
but truly, the richest man on earth is a man
who doesn't escape using his imagination,
but the man who escapes using his memory -
no fake images are materialised, nothing Mickey about it...
it's tartar steak materialisation, the mandible bits -
few beautiful people know how to use -
like i said before, i have absolutely no imagination,
but i have a banknote of £1,000,000 worth's of memory
to cash-in every time i invest in a regression of my
cognitive affairs in the current stasis of squash *****
lazying in cold rubber not ready for hot soft play with;
people imagine too much, imagination telepathic -
a pathological stance given the curriculum -
no pathology is expected from being apathetic,
as in: no god from atheism - yet people curse apathy
as the lowest ebb of the feeling, humanising man.
better to remember yourself than imagine yourself
otherwise (from what you are now).
Aug 3, 2016
Aug 3, 2016 at 8:32 PM UTC
It materialised in my mind
a notion that could reshape my life
It was the prize I was born to find
I debated whether or not it was mine
then I scribbled it between the lines
solely an idea thats where it lies
Dec 12, 2011
Dec 12, 2011 at 11:46 PM UTC
all that was
is
uncovered
now
basking
in your sun
growing
into
awareness
one-ness granted
before time
mankind
materialised
out
the
storm
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 11:29 AM UTC
The young female driver headed on her journey
the satellite navigation switched on.
Which led to a very desolate rambling road
passing through a thick wood.
Happily singing to the music on the car's radio
not going very slow.
The car she said seemed to take over steering
as a woman materialised ahead!
Approaching very fast it swerved into a tree
she could only watch.
As what felt like an eternity before the collision
no time for revision!
The air bag was deployed and it came to a stop
a moment of noise and pain.
A depth of silence never before encountered
steam poured from the radiator.
Realising the danger unhurt stumbled to a rock
being in a state of shock!
From where she sat a figure appeared again
a woman dressed in red.
Arms out with a pleading gaze then faded
frightened just wanted to run.
Found herself on the road weary confused
her body aching and bruised!
Collapsing waking up in a small hospital ward
questioned there by the police.
Though not taking her story seriously
saying there was no evidence!
After extensive searches nothing was found
of this haunted ground.
Taking months to get better for her own search
she to never located the spot.
It must have been real her precious car had gone
haunted by that ghostly face.
Was there a split in the fabric of time and space
lucky not to be lost without a trace!
The Foureyed Poet
Mar 22, 2012
Mar 22, 2012 at 8:58 AM UTC
**एहसासों की सवारी,
अनजाने में कुछ यूँ चली,
और लो कोई शायर बन गया,
जब मंजिलें न मिली!
The feelings convoyed as a chariot,
Never realised!
And here born a poet,
When dreams not materialised!**
Dec 14, 2017
Dec 14, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
imaginary fears never materialised
uncontrollable fear subsided
fear of the future never arrived.
Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 12:07 PM UTC
*
*a history, untold
a mystery to unfold
an eternal search
a perpetual urge
too ethereal to achieve
too surreal to believe
a desire, remaining unfulfilled
an epic, still being quilled
a moment stilled
in the veins, it instilled
O my beloved!
you're a dream too grand to be realised
a scheme, too ambitious to be materialised....*
*
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 5:47 AM UTC
Travellers of the crazy kind
eat up the miles.
I was like that.
The need to keep on going
until your dream scape materialised
the one where the winding road
finally ended.
And crazy is what everyone you ever knew
call you now
for settling in a place so remote
from anyone else's idea of paradise.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 9:15 AM UTC
the right choices were made
long before I materialised
all my crosses chosen with care
and as for comfort yes those too
All is designed arranged set in motion
To make Saints of everyone
each unique to their own pattern
Each loved beyond imagination
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Time is fleeting,
We spend half our lives sleeping,
Then only a quarter at most if we're lucky,
Living truly, and freely.
The best friends help us keep authenticity.
I was struck last night,
by a ghost from my travels.
Rushed, not myself,
with my mind occupied by the feelings of others.
As guilty as I felt, I saw more changed in him.
It wasn't just me or our continent.
The Golden Messiah, with bright childlike eyes,
and strongly spontaneous smiles;
Cut his sunshine locks,
Dimmed his infectious grin.
Limped the way he would run towards me.
Rushing to save him from boredom,
I had left him last on a beach;
With nothing but a loud kitten for company,
Alone to make palm leaf huts like Crusoe.
We had eaten and drunk and slept on that beach,
And did everything by the warmth of the biggest fire I'd ever seen.
Last night he needed saving but didn't ask.
he mentioned the fire with a smile I'd never seen him have.
In a buttoned up checkered skirt,
He materialised into the Portuguese
American Gothic.
The full weight of this transformation revealed itself
After the euphoria of this reunion wore off.
I bounce about and beamed at him
And said "Que louco!"
The way he had done,
The phrase had stuck with everyone he'd met.
He looked now like he'd achieved what he
Used to tell me in order to not worry
"Nada louco linda, tudo tranquilo"
Last night I was no longer staring up at him
And smiling in admiration.
The levels had changed to the point where
We just hugged tighter and tighter
To bring back the warmth of that huge fire,
and the feeling of having boredom as our only concern.
May 14, 2018
May 14, 2018 at 12:26 PM UTC
CENTAUR
Hiding in the hay
me a terrified little boy
& my uncle like a terrified little boy
the voices in his head telling him to be afraid
of all strangers...changes.
He’s been like this
since the day his Dad
(my unknown grandfather)
died.
My Aunt’s voice
searching for us...searching us out.
Her shouts like bloodhounds
hunting us down
her words angry & cruel.
Her angry voice slurring us into:
“DonallSeanie! ”
as if we had fused into one being
a metamorphosis of us.
The hay cooks us
and we swelter in our hidey hole
A chicken sits on top
of my uncle’s cap
as if his mind had
materialised into this shape.
He rocks himself
and rocks me.
“Shhhh...boy...shhhh! ”
comforting both him & me.
“Don’t leave me! ”
he clucks
the words scattered around him
like newly laid eggs.
I settle into his silence.
My Aunt’s threats freezing us
in this terrible heat.
His chest hair
tickles my nose.
The cut on my left big toe
throbs through the open sandal.
My uncle cries in fear.
I wipe away the tear
with the ***** edge of my sleeve.
We escape to
the West field
me riding his shoulders
transformed into
a legendary creature
that only exists in myths
fleeing from the realness
...of reality.
Jun 1, 2018
Jun 1, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
I cleaned out my wardrobe today, now I’m depressed, thinking of the sentimental value of clothes, and how I used to be so colourful and vibrant, I think I lost all of the parts of me that were bright, is this a reflection of growing up?
I cleaned out my wardrobe today,
and almost cried at what could have been,
and threw away the pin-striped suit that I wore at your funeral and the pastel pink t shirts from my first relationship that slowly became red in the wash, fading overtime, as we did too,
is living just fading away with time?
I cleaned out my wardrobe today,
and was reminded of things I would rather forget, like when you said that I look best in green and I told you that if I were to marry someone, I would want an emerald ring but now as winter comes, I only feel sadness at the trees whose leaves don’t fall, as like you, they cannot change, is change the lesson I seek in life?
I cleaned out my wardrobe today,
and fell into distant memories of the pair of us,
and how I have slowly lost you to addiction,
reunited with you three years on,
after doing something terrible in return,
as revenge for you loving substances more than you could ever love me, and we forgave each other but once again, we do not speak anymore,
and I often wonder if life will bring us back to one another again?
I cleaned out my wardrobe today,
and found gifts of friends and lovers long gone,
and it brought me to tears and gave me a headache, too many moments materialised in inanimate objects that I want to remember but long to forget, and they are holding me back, so this time I must let go,
but the question is, can I?
Oct 13, 2022
Oct 13, 2022 at 1:42 PM UTC