"myre" poems
Used like beige callous entangled in our new desires
Castles built of vanity shroud the myre
As ballistics built to siege fuel the fire
Count the troops that serve you, and forget the others
Prepare your weaponry, we're fighting brothers
I burnt your churches and you sent your spies under covering
What god do you have now to relieve your suffering?
Forget all the holidays and the loving tales
Burn the book and set your navy sail
Guard yourselves with shields and chain mail
The years have dissolved hatred with sorrow
Casualties today have us looking for better tomorrows
We're too far in to declare peace, although all that is left is pieces
White flags are the only flags burning
And our nation's flags still folded at the creases
For our pride weighs more than our purpose
Although we're not proud of what we've done
This war has left us nothing but curses
And we've done enough damage to surface
From the deepening warcry of drums
But that sound will forever haunt me
Sep 24, 2014
Sep 24, 2014 at 12:03 PM UTC
Waking up,
The ceiling's the first thing I see
Plain, white, boring as can be
Another day in my life begins, and
Already, I'm wishing for the end
I walk along no name streets
Faceless are the people I meet
What are we doing here?
I started to think
Why do I feel so incomplete?
Then and there,
I started to write
And wonder how something
Dull as black and white
Could bring so much color, so much life
But this isn't poetry
My sincerest apology
I'm a scribe
That's what I am
I only write what I can see
It isn't pretty being me
Seeing things quite differently
Everything is upside down
Something isn't likely
Right
With my retina
Sep 3, 2012
Sep 3, 2012 at 8:14 PM UTC
In a stirring river,
Garrotted by mud and each rusted carcass
dumped over the slow years -
The dredgers cut down
And saw the metal of a woman,
A frothy corruption, naked, open.
They prized her from the mire and saw the city
through the eyes of the sewer.
The Lady from the Thames.
Her skin broke when she flopped on board.
-
Caved in by the tumbling sky
and the air, dry like leather,
Caught in his throat.
The Kilburn high-rise walls peeled like fingers
and the cogs clicked to fast to bite back.
He turned to the sepia city
like new life
And looked for her.
River of time elapsed
churning up memory
Each gallon lurches grit and rot.
trolley and corpse shudder
Forward, backward.
Teasing in smashed bottle
She was young once.
Looked just like her mum.
'What a muddy little angel you are,
What a muddy little angel you are.'
Til the glitz, the cracking lips
bet on kindness.
'I remember being a girl -
I waited for my mother every morning -
She was smiling and never sad.'
The sunken root scratches for life
Underneath vast, forgotten hangers.
The widow maker sheds her bark
and keep pace with the smog.
Sees what we all don't know.
Lives where we all can't see.
In a squealing Kings cross they met,
He led her to a room with broken windows
and one swinging bulb,
She wasn't scared.
Dank Amazon.
The roots intertwine with wires
sprawling grip for sulking glass tress.
'I'm a cruel joke don't you see?'
As her eyes slowly rolled
'I'm sorry'
As her fist unclenched
'It sorry'
As her knees went limp
'I'm sorry'.
Belted up, un-silent night
Screeching myre, gridlocked light,
He left her in the silt
And to the sound of screaming vans,
Runs rabbit down the hole
The hiss 187, 187 from the radio.
Alive in neon puddles that shatter
Under his pounding feet.
-
It was her who the dredgers found and
As looked to her form and
As they looked to her cuts
They thought that
She was the river.
Just another smashed bottle,
Un-watered.
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
Beware the fuzzy rolligog
That smithers in the myre
(Confuse it not with golliwogs
In fuzzy blue attire)
Beware the rolligogan wrath
(They can breathe fire, you know)
Just feed them up on tigermoth
And bathe them in the snow
Beware the rolli appetite
Which consumes dozy trees
Where zigazots and clambermites
Weave pathways through the leaves
Beware the rolligogan song
There’s poison in its tune
As rolligogan night grows long
Prepare: they’re coming soon.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:42 AM UTC
I was planning to write today.
But I talked, and talk got in the way.
I search for stories, something to inspire
But it seems all the tall tales are lost in the myre.
Anecdotes, like dust motes, can drift with the breeze,
And for some the words come with a natural ease.
For me words arrive with rhythm and rhyme,
But in no special order; they don't stand in line.
Mumbled and jumbled its hard to pick and choose.
And my mind emerges; battered and bruised.
They don't stand on ceremony; they don't mess around
With their speedy advance like a great wall of sound.
I try to be measured, thoughtful and slow,
But my hand can't keep up and leaves illegible prose.
I shake the page, try to wring out some sense
Like panning for gold I look for recompense.
Hold on.
A nugget.
Here,
And there.
But it's me; I get distracted.
And they get lost somewhere.
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 2:33 PM UTC
A fallen angel with outstretched wings
a thousands voices begin to sing
this is the sound of our undying hymn.
Flowers ripped from the stem
babies torn from mothers hem
a restless desire to escape the myre
a lifeless face in this heartless place
devoid of love or god above
the sense of danger at every turn
the fear of life as chances spurn
questions unanswered no time to learn.
A world without truth
beset upon uncouth
lies surround us remain confounded
freedom to leave but always grounded
left astounded
dumbfounded
beached and floundered.
A compass without direction
a heart with no affection
filled with your infection
tasting the infliction
my mirrorless reflection
hate and rejection
no shot at redemption
or chance of exemption
no dream or conception
no allegiance or faction
lifeless action
no anger or reaction
no thought or distraction
no love or satisfaction
a heart unguarded no protection.
Life left unchallenged
decisions in the balance
which path to choose
either way set to lose
the crossroads of life
no wish to survive.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 8:22 PM UTC
I fear my fear is coming back
I run and hide away
but still am trapped
inside my shack
Of fog and smoke
of mud and myre
of skeletons unseen
of undying desire
Of musing turned scars
of vomits and vermin
of memories lost
and memories forgotten
My memory is such
full of anguish and pain
full of harm and regret
that's why I fear the rain
Feb 21, 2021
Feb 21, 2021 at 2:37 AM UTC