"streetlit" poems
say something or just
keep on makin' ghost-patterned, intervening silences,
singing
or half-murmuring
verses, those ones from slow songs under low light,
the same refrain that runs between all the others,
through the passage of weeks, stained tobacco sweet by eleven-thirty iterations;
* [post-meridian or particulate matters only,
of course,
it's hard to wake before noon anymore.]*
with the way these rhythms keep us down
and out,
counting the methods-
the summations of potential miseries,
and the probabilities that all would or could turn around, before the end of the week.
or the next one.
and,
outside the door, the one after that,
over the acres of concrete and pale shade,
streetlit likenesses hushing air through melting neighbourhoods,
I make imaginary footprints,
wondering which, of the field of household starlit comforts,
is the blade of grass you cast seeds from
to inadvertently germinate and sprout a well of aspiration, the wind in a stranger's ribcage,
continually growing, hiccoughing leaf litter,
with every last breath.
Dec 11, 2012
Dec 11, 2012 at 6:24 AM UTC
*I'm a man of lucid
Nightmares; this time
Lost in a world of snow
With nothing to keep me warm
But the piece of unlikely driftwood
I held on to for its familiarity alone,
Sobbing into it; tears softening its
Brittle texture until it transformed,
Became flesh and skin and pulse,
And whispered, as its twigs moved
Against my chest, my name with
Slight concern; either for me or
Her own lack of sleep.
I kissed her elbow, released her arm
And left the bedroom to watch the
Rain dance on the stage of the
Streetlit pavement outside the window,
And thus celebrate reality, where I can
Sit and listen to something breathe that
Loves me so intensely that my absence
Would be a world of
Snow, without a single piece
Of driftwood to
Cling to.*
Oct 2, 2014
Oct 2, 2014 at 12:34 AM UTC
The night will corrode
Our smiles will erode.
It's been a long time coming down the track I s'pose.
The weather's finally warming
but I'm cold, ya know.
And I know--
the season's gonna change.
So peel back
the streetlit sky of a Sunday night.
Reveals black.
One empty gut, one clouded mind.
Got a fistful of pocket lining says I'm right.
Wrong way. Left turn. I'll be alright
without you.
I know my way home.
One talk at a time,
I finally know.
Out of words. Out of time. A frown growing slow.
The temperatures are turning,
turn my back and go
'cuz I know
that you already have.
I've always known
I would walk out alone.
Had to come out swinging for the quick K.O.
I hate the ******* heat;
you're sick of the snow.
And you know--
My reasons. Your excuse.
So peel back
the ******** smiles of a Winter night.
Reveals black.
Your toothless mouth, this empty fight.
Got a fistful of pocket lining, walk all night.
Wrong way. Left turn. I guess I was right
about you.
I know my way home.
Without you
I know my way home.
Without you.
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 11:25 AM UTC
tonight the streetlights shall guide my way
as i scramble up and out of the lonely street
there's a man walking vigourously behind me
it occurs to me i should pick up my feet
he starts to get faster picking up pace
i swipe the twigs and leaves infront of my chin
all of a sudden it seems it's errupted into a race
and i was so set on never letting that man win
i hid in a bush and waited for him to pass by
as he asked another member of the public a question
he said 'have you seen a girl with chestnut hair about this high?'
as he added on more with a humble expression
"she dropped her bow on the ground infront of my feet
i wouldn't want her to lose something that makes her eyes so bright"
they replied "i'm really sorry i haven't, but that is very sweet"
he replied a simple, 'thankyou anyway and that is quite alright'
i emerged from the bush, he turned around with me at his glance
he held out his hand and smiled gently to give me the bow
he said ' i would have given you this earlier but you didn't give me the chance'
i said "thankyou, i am greatful more than you will ever know"
he stood there for a while and then said "well i guess i'll be on my way"
as he walked off i noticed he dropped a piece of paper from his sleeve
i picked it up off the ground and held it in my hand
i was running after him faster than you could ever believe
Jun 13, 2010
Jun 13, 2010 at 6:05 AM UTC
Flesh of a lonely man
Needs make up
Wreaths on this list coming
Crossing out and ticking the boxes
We’re still holding the dust of souls
And ashen glances look like desultory glances
****** on the nursed streets
The streetlit howling winds can fly out of educated lives
We are only left educated minds changing their ways and stealing cigarettes
Feigining for the father figure
I hope we have had a good time
The night’s brighter with the vivid growth of the undernelly
Knell bells tolling, killing the bleeding
Sojourn the dress, and adjourn th court
Red crimson tresses sense the mallet of sentences marking forever
Those worst worshipping travelers of trafficking
Altruist, my forefathers are looking at us like it’s now or never
The darkeness is inevitable, but, the tunnel runs out with indomitable spirit stealing glances from the Gods of religions so decrepit
I had my luck in my pocket from these corrupt politicians, and reiterated that I’d run and reign and then run
Like the apoplectic season of the monsoons, teaming up either way
Aug 17, 2019
Aug 17, 2019 at 7:41 PM UTC