Clever? Confused? Or Just Plain Curious
Prose, Poetry and Wonderings
Prose, Poetry and Wonderings
maybe
just maybe
this is a certain
shoreline
certainly sincere
disappearing
the ocean in waves
drowning in the deceit of make believe
maybe
just maybe
be belief
of the sea
the incongruity actually
apt
after
alliteration alienates
an able
ambling
metaphor
swimming
in its own decay
.
maybe
lips opening the mouth of doubt
a tongue swirling uncomfortably round
my words feeble, cough (clumsily,..
through)
nothing
but sound
breathing
between breaths
the silence found in the most calamitous
sensuousness
until
you were everywhere
and i was just
something
in this
b e
e s
t i
w l
e e and the
e n
n (t)orn up pages wracked with troubled line)
crippling (the)
epiphany that doubt means the end
there may be other things said
or we have not read
/hey jim
\hey Sammy
/did you hear about that guy
\what guy
/the one who made a comic strip with just dialogue
\cant say i have
/well would there be a fourth wall in that
\words are looking at you
a lot of poems start with
i want
or i just wanted
now whats more
poetic
the had and never taken chance
or the chance to be
or is that not simply the question
,
i wanted
to want
to be
the whispered thought of a dream
swayed by pervasive normality
swept through rapture the hell that
is capture by the form
of being ordinary
a quiet storm
stamped on
squashed
the soft rush
as waves crash into skin
washing a life away
shouting at sleepless dawns
And do that thing you
have
to do
, let air fill
your lungs
dont choke on the detail
savour it, let it lay
on your tongue and wait
see if you like the taste
inhale
the vibrant
and ex
hale the things you perceive to be
problematic
see them float in space
observe them
there,
measure your breaths with
the precision of a scientist
and enjoy it with every ounce
of pleasure that you
are the creator of
let your art speak
sometimes it will cry out
in despair
but that just means
a passion
is there
a beauty not recognised
doesnt mean it is not beautiful
simply
breathe
i
was
before
this
i understand
dreams decay
their moments
fade
and our well
wishers pass like
bygone days
then
we are smaller and
smaller whilst passing and
confusing age with wisdom
entwing
our long forgotten hopes with
forgeries that were called memories
and blinding ourselves with peace
so
see that we cannot go on
instead just learn, learn and learn
to sometimes; give in, sweetly surrender
stop
.
its been a while since ive forgotten
seen moments grow longer
cords of time sewing
senile patterns in pampered
youth
.
i am not lacking the truth
but pedestrianising pertinence
because it is no longer ordinary
no longer allowed to be
.
hurt
wounded
dreamers say
deluded
but how could the poetry be precise
we are but riddles
married to rhymes
and signs in braille
for the no longer
blind
.
taking previous chapters
tearing them apart
for messages we didnt have the
heart
to start on
.
those who wander
those
who
wonder
may sometimes
be found
.
and we are
here
around
.
forgetting
our own sound
Dan le Sac vs Scroobius Pip
i feel like a poem in a book of letters because i have said this berfore
and probably will
again
because i have contemplated the certainty
whilst collapsing the intricacies
of melodramas and fate
to conclude.
.
what i had done
on other days
life is life and i
am about to be the same
unless there is a change
a poem
a piece to say…
as i crack
you
ar
e
still looking
back
over faded pieces
you pretend you didnt
draw on
.
but dont you see
it was still just a canvas
an opportunity for painting
second chances
and brightness
.
now you’re always holding the brush
a baited breath ready to tell
and im always the lingering outlines
quietly
wishing you well
