"tilbury" poems
Ululations break the night –
Primal lows meandering over marsh:
The voices of creatures curious and lost,
Alien to these muddy shores.
Spectral under first-light obscurity,
The estuary’s fog swathes those beasts,
Slick hulks rippling the dark water
With trailing wakes of brackish grime.
Bank side, a lonely smudge stands sentinel,
Helpless to heed the low mourning song
Trembling across the fen.
These wearisome keens are muted in murk
And all sound is swallowed
By the rallying dawn.
Feb 19, 2012
Feb 19, 2012 at 11:53 AM UTC
Poor, broken-hearted Abel Spleen
Beneath a streetlight casts a shadow.
He'd hoped to find a sunny, green
Elysian meadow.
Barely a man, at sweet sixteen
He's gone where none who love him can follow.
He drank his cup of bitter teen
In one large swallow.
Where he has gone,—to what demesne,—
(If we in life are ever rooted),
Is all conjecture very mean,
And much disputed.
He's gone, and yet he still is seen
Suffering love's disdain and panging:
Poor, broken-hearted Abel Spleen
Is dead weight hanging.
O.O
Oct 22, 2015
Oct 22, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
There once was from Tilbury Town
A king in a Burger King crown:
The king was neurotic,
Paranoid and despotic:
His kingdom came crumbling down.
Mar 8, 2025
Mar 8, 2025 at 5:44 PM UTC
Janet
You feel her like a minstral wind
Warm and zelous, vibrant, and on fire
Enticing enchantments dwell on Ingersoll hill, past on from a Tilbury state of mind
Randy
A tradesman biding for currency, whilst holding satire court through rose coloured glasses
They meet, time stops, a reset has been fathomed
For tender love is emerging with torrents of wild, primal, passion flashing premonitions
Feb 25, 2021
Feb 25, 2021 at 8:31 PM UTC
I awake from a nightmare
And feel relief
At the slow realisation
That it was
But a dream
And yet
My body still grips the tension
Of the terror which tormented me
In the dawn hours
The nightmare aroused
Deep anxieties
That I know I carry
And for the morning
I struggle to recover
On this same day
I see a woman
On the seashore
Washing her sore legs with seaweed
The white windmills of Tilbury
Turn the industrially poisoned air
And boys punch each other
At the train station
And then
Music
Created
Sung by brave people
For each other
Lifts me of out of my body
To a higher spiritual plane
Returns me to my memories
Of younger days
I am carried back
Reliving my emotions
Sharing and remembering
Experiences of years gone by
I am older
Yet somehow I am re-connected
To my younger self
My heart swells with emotion
Nostalgia
This is what art can do
This is why I live
With music
This is why I live
With art
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
It is 7:30 in Appleton a Monday
wet with two straight days of rain,
of course it is 2012 but I can't quite get
on my feet when this blanket is so warm
and the 8:30 class is so cold but there
is usually a 8:20 urge and a 8:25 surge
and what do you know, it feels like fall
I have arrived at the crosswalk, this time
with grace and style but also with a thought
that I should one day run full sprint in
the wrong direction to see where I end up
but there are flashing yellow lights so
anyway its rather foggy and I will
have to cut across the frosty grass with
all its leaves because I need to ***
and there is a restroom next door
but hold it because my phone says
8:31 I am a whole minute late, run?
what’s a minute but a mint and a nut
Elevated into Evanescence by Elixir Endpoint,
because that class was quick plus I have
Philosophy today but I forgot to print my
essay so I walk to LANCE HALL and
walk up stairs to my door and there is my
Click-Click, with Song-Song and Look-Look
still on upon waking and I a few seconds
later close those and print but it is slow and
there is a spinning rainbow wheel with a
dreamscape reel and a time warp feel
but that happens so I go downstairs
and double-click twice and hear noise!
Fear strikes as TONER LOW appears
and a red light blinks for ATTENTION
however the pages come out and
I staple them with careful ordering of course
and after I place it in the mailbox it is
lunch time, or cool-down-mindful-now
I sit down with food ready and a PACKERS
victory staring at me enthusiastically from paper
I begin to eat with Time coming around
the corner in a tilbury rolling his wheels to
11:07 and my name is called by a friend
who comes and we talk and we talk
and we -
Apr 17, 2015
Apr 17, 2015 at 10:36 AM UTC