"muk" poems
Of all my misnomers,
Mistooks of arrogance,
To think I could career careen
A life
in poetry,
Extra pressure of the
Broadest of a narrowing sujet,
the scripting of poesy
on the restricted topical
of only love poetry
Must have been punch love drunk,
When that notion crazy stung
My cerebal,
Gored discor-ed cortex,
Probably just another
Post a Loving,
dreaming scheming moment,
Or reading a Shakespeare sonnet,
Or
Midst the long lonely pauses
somewhere,
*(S)under the rainbow,
tween teener and geezer,
and
Everything in between*
made myself a poet of a restricted diet
not "eating " for days at a time
for love comes and goes,
frequent departures much more easygoing & common,
than regularly scheduled arrivals,
easy go, not so easy come,
what was I thinking of?
what a she-muk,
talking about cutting your nose off
to spite your face,
Jul 20, 2025
Jul 20, 2025 at 8:13 AM UTC
Wi yer eyes stingin n wet wi tears
N muk bungin up tha nose n ears
N a white rimmed ed where thi's ad thi hat
Up tha floats on't lift like a drownded rat
After twelve hours tha's pretty dun in
Whilst t'other folks as been kippin n dreamin
Tha's bin diggin n drillin like summart daft
Now up tha floats on't hydraulic raft
The cold morn air meks tha lungs urt
Cause tha's bin breathin muk n dirt
Fer nigh on forty years or more
That most folks wudn't ave on't floor
N as tha washes all't muk away
Tha knows thas sum that'll allus stay
N whilst outside tha luks nice n clean
Tha's stuff inside thi th't'll never be seen
Until o course tha's gon n died
N them docter fellers tek a look inside
N in amazement they'll stand n stare
At all that muk th't shudn't be there
N wen tha's ded it'll be nowt new
Not too a bloke what's lived like you
Fer now tha's on'y six feet under
Wen undreds is what thas bin used to
N't Crowner'll say thi ad a natural death
Not like them th't had their last breath
At sixteen, seventeen, twenty or more
When sum big explosions brought ceiling t floor
But a doubt if tha'll think it wer thi turn
As tha lays there nattering t worm
Crawlin in n out o yer ears
Not much t show fer sixtyodd years
Still what else cud you ave dun, that's it
But follow yer old man down pit
A mean even his dad was a facer tha knows
Kem out at thirty wi' ands like claws
Ah well it's time fer sum grub
Then half-a-dozen pints't pub
Wi an hour or two o noonday sun
Then back t wife fer an hour o fun
N be six next morning I'll be feelin well
As I teks yon raft t bowels of 'ell
Thirty shillin a week be summer the reckonin
Ah but then they can't see yon worm beckonin
Remember this is a 'Performance Poem'
and the style of writing acts as a
speech prompt. The accent is loosely
Yorkshire. A 'Crowner 'is an old word
for a Coroner.
I hope you enjoy it.
© David Irwin Phillips 2008
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 2:03 AM UTC
I fell for you like quicksand
Going kicking and screaming through the heart of you
Slipping soul deep in to the thought provoking grains of you
And in this world absolving love I sank
Drifting into the fullness of us
Or what I thought us was
Because the further I delved into you the closer I got to suffocating
The fullness turned to emptiness and there was no room to move
I ceased to exist
I became her
That girl I never wanted to be
But when you can't see, can't breathe, can't move
Hopes and wishes will leave you
Kicking and screaming
See, I fell for you like quicksand
At first resisting then accepting the fact that I was stuck
Caught up in the muk of we
And if you ask me, we were never meant to be
A couple forged by fate
To teach a lesson like burning stoves
You left me with scars too deep to see
But I learned from you
Learned to trap and flow
Like quicksand
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 5:37 PM UTC
Wilted leaves overpopulate the ground.
And no tree as far as eyes can perceive.
So far from home.
So close to anywhere.
But here.
A statement that can be heard any second of any given day.
This moment in time.
A random fraction of the incessant routine.
Dreaming or awake.
It all depends on feel.
Not logic.
And even then the rules of both worlds must be learned regardless.
Who is there to say that one's understanding of the environment is incorrect.
Everything down to the information that the eyes process reside in the brain.
I think so therefore I am.
And yet even this comes into question regularly.
The longer one stays in this world.
Less and less questions are answered.
But one thing can definitely be found regardless of intention.
One must learn to swim through the viscous muk of disappointment.
To grasp at enlightenment.
Or be insane enough to not care.
For words can never be unseen.
Unheard.
Unspoken.
Sharper than any blade.
Even more blunt than a boulder.
Can the wrong words be.
Sadly.
One cant go through life without first being initiated through pain.
And even after its not promised that happiness will follow.
With so many eyes weighing down in expectation.
Its hard to focus.
On any point.
Pointless.
It may always seem..
Apr 30, 2017
Apr 30, 2017 at 5:21 AM UTC
I used to wear it like armor
sword and shield
a living sigil upon a breast plate
It kept me safe
distant
A bannerman for the soul
"Halt! All who go there!"
for what you see is what you get
whirling and livid
laughing and disheveled
until you
You showed up
traipsing through miles of frozen wasteland
battling ghosts and wolves
You
in all your glimmering brilliance
with the light of a thousand heavens
my bannerman slain and my armor pierced
that beating sigil sinking beneath the flesh
through muscle and muk
sinking deep into bones
bonding and awakening
Falling away fears and doubts
all of that shining steel
glaring and distracting
just for show
oh but how I wore it well
fallen away now
leaving me
like fresh skin
I feel new
old wounds healed
with the faintest of scars
You have given me something
I hadn't known was lost
an awakening as bold as daylight
truth and courage and honor
and
love
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Each ripple makes the visage fade. The muk that obstructed now whimsically decays. The browns and hues began to drift away. The picture becomes focused and now clarity remains. What I wouldn't give for one more day. To reach down and grab something. To look into my hands and see your affection, yet all I see Is pain. I can't follow you anymore. Now I only feel complete in the rain. Each drop falling down from brown clouds. In sets of twos and heavy with blues. All of your moments are passing away. All of them nome can stay. Just your teachings keep my company. Lessons to make me strong. Leading me to a future that I don't belong. I have to keep holding on, till the very last one is gone. I'll wear them on my heart and keep them strong. Memories and teachings are all I have now. I'll cherish them forever and wake them from the grave.
Sep 20, 2019
Sep 20, 2019 at 2:01 PM UTC
I live my life like
rock, paper, scissors, shoot
**** I got both hands on the steel
double ******* like a monkey
gripping two banana peels
I'ma land urchin lurking
the muk, thorns up
Demeanor screaming like
a tea kettle's whistle that's stuck
Or dynamite hissing through
a canyon's sawbuck*
Mastered peasantry so
when I overthrow the kingdom
I can bring the real family with me
Aug 30, 2016
Aug 30, 2016 at 11:21 AM UTC
I regurgitate lifeless sentences.
The breathe I draw can barely keep wind.
Everyone is waiting for a scream.
That I say is not present.
Nor filled with sed distraction from truth.
I have waded through muk and grime.
Loved it at one time I suppose.
These stained hands remind and reminisce.
And the echo continues..
Laughing in my face.
His face.
Grinning.
Spinning.
Lasting.
It's a wonder I am...
Still...
Sane?
Dec 24, 2015
Dec 24, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC