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'The walls we build around us to keep sadness out also keeps out the joy: Jim Rohn (1618 - 1658) English poet
Faking it
False smile
Limp handshake
Badly wrapped gifts
The sad smile of the widowed aunt
Tight unfamiliar clothing
(Last year's hand-knitted sweater)
Perched, knees together on the edge of the couch
Dying for a fag
The odour of burnt fowl drifting sky ward
Noisy sprogs and lecherous old men with halitosis and wandering fingers
Oh, The Joy of Christmas
Friendship
Milk the cow
Steal my soul
False love
My feelings were true
Fuck you
Dreaming
Clip their wings before they fly.
Watch them shrivel, plummet and die.
Never dream,
Oh, far too dangerous!
Stay on the ground and cling on tight
Never let your dreams take flight
For if you fail, and you surely will
The lump that forms is a bitter pill.
Love
Is
Not
Real
Tart
And
Acid
As orange peel
Silence
Lying in peace
Blissful slumber
Curled up tight
Dark and warm
Snug as a bug in a rug
Only background noise
A Muffled sound
Vibration from traffic
Shakes my peaceful rest
Clods of earth fall onto my face
Be-leaf
Tree God
Older than a generation,
Or even three.
Dwarfing all life
How paltry I am
I may walk, talk and think
But you can never wish to kill.
Love,
is like a butterfly?
No.
More like a charging rhinoceros.
Rampaging across the swelling plains of your breasts,
as it heads for the Rift valley
I sat, and wept over you.
The damp grass soaked through my trouser legs.
Felt the ache of loss in my chest.
I looked at the wilted flowers on your grave.
The stiff breeze chilled my wet cheeks.
It was the perfect funeral weather.
Wet, cold
and the sky was as dark as Hell.
They called me fool.
I was, all over you.
No more pain can you dispense to me.
I am now, so over you.
Magic Made.
Flat dark stage arise,
Snakes of cables wait to amplify,
The silence longing for our cries,
To the feel of the beat underfoot and inside,
Brings the prickle to our eyes,
And knuckles white, grip barriers of steel,
A rush of blood enhances how we feel,
Anticipation eats at our cores
Music whores, music whores.
Lights dim with rapid speed,
The darkness is near complete,
Bodies press together hot and tight,
Dripping sweat meets falling tears,
Our throats cry out to drown our fears,
And the roar that fills our ears.
We came, we saw, we clung on tightly,
Magic made, a brief respite,
A few shuffling steps into the light.
All poems original and written 2002-2005 © minx