this is not an explanation

you won’t ever get me
the paint drips, the splodges and splashes
the poetry, the way it all comes together
through absences and curiosity
sometimes I am here, sometimes not
I am zoned out, cigarette in mouth
white t-shirt, big sky landscape

you won’t ever find me
I might be here in front of you
I may even talk a little, mumble things
wander off down a meadow path
to the lake, fish from the jetty
howl at the moon, laugh at my reflection

you won’t ever own me
the money means nothing, nothing
it’s all worthless garbage, jazzed up
comes from god knows where deep inside
I puke it up, regurgitate it, spew it forth
without control, an emetic

you won’t ever heal me
wherever you hang me, try to kill me
document me, hero worship me
my life is an endless spiral of creation
I am the devil, the dark angel of dreams
the thinker, the painter, the poet, me

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/doppelganger/

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warning signs

standing still in this long grass of indecision
i look out over a valley of options before me

but no obvious path

there in front stand mountainous doubts
i climb an obstacle to gain a clearer view

but nothing inspires me

these tangled voices crowd and fill my head
i want to curl into a ball within your arms

but you are not here

the ground opens and swallows me whole
i am at peace with the soil in the darkness

and no light will shine

 

 

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/warning/

Peace Puzzle

little pieces of peace
flung around the world like confetti
they fall in the most unlikely of places
and sometimes never fall at all
so what can we do to even the fall
to spread the little pieces more evenly
that my friends is the answer to find
the one and only solution

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/puzzled/

and to paraphrase Robert Louis Stevenson:

The world is so full of wonderful things
So why are we not all as happy as kings?

 

The Lizard Queen

in the compost loo
amongst the poo
shone a shiny thing
an engagement ring
but how it got there
was the strangest affair
for I had swallowed it whole
to save my soul
from the woman of my dreams
who was not what she seemed
once she’d peeled off her skin
to reveal the lizard within
a vengeful coquette
with a strange silhouette
she slithered away
in the cold dying day

a conversation with a lost friend

what you read
and what you hear
is not always true
or not always clear

what you think
and what you learn
is seldom bought
or seldom earned

what you want
and what you see
is not all of you
or not all of me

what we shared
and at what cost
is not our fault
has not been lost

 

dedicated to those who choose abuse
over forgiveness
who choose misrepresentation
over rational thought
who choose to rant and rave
with closed ears and eyes
in bullying cliques
and who find themselves adrift without hope
and without friends
with ever-more hardened hearts
and blinkered souls.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/conversation/

A Conversation with Sand and Wind

hunkered down
in Gower dunes
on a stepping stile
of wind-blown wood
we sat
either / side
this wire fence
eating soup
and sandwiches
and remnants
of Christmas cake
with flying sand particles
that tinkled
tiny whispers
on our Gortex backs
from last year
to this year
or so it seemed

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/conversation/

we kissed

we kissed in the red phone box
until our teenage lips were sore
and in your mother’s unmade bed
her hippy mattress on the floor

we kissed in the silent church yard
amongst the souls who died at war
and holding hands at nightfall
by these glowing moonlit shores

we kissed in the uncut wheat field
under golden rays outdoors
and at the party of a mutual friend
we yearned for something more

we kissed in the poetry book section
of our favourite secondhand store
and there we found the three words
we had dared not speak before

we kissed in the same red phone box
until our adult lips were almost sore
and in this unmade marriage bed
our trendy futon on the floor

 

 

Le Déjeuner sur l’herbe

Mother made quite a fuss
Police probed, investigated us
But it was all fun, artistic fake
Making money for god’s sake

Maybe McLaren was my Manet
A cash from chaos punk cliché
My naked flesh filled the screen
Underage, declared obscene

I didn’t mind playing Victorine
Being part of his money machine
She was later the whore Olympia
And like me created mild hysteria

From a generation with no future
I drew strength from this venture
But now my Manet has moved on
Anarchic in his musical denouement

Would I change any of this?
Regret I hadn’t covered my tits?
Oh god no! Just look at that stare
I’m now a fucking millionaire.

(photo: Bow Wow Wow album cover 1981)

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/extravagant/

Cozy Cosy

Cozy in your clothes
Cosy in your skin
Cozy with the one you love
Cosy deep within

I’m cozy that you’re cosy
Cozy with me there
Cosy when I’m spoiling you
Cozy getting in your hair

I’m cosy when we’re cozy
Cosy in your arms
Cozy when you lay with me
and share your wicked charms

InstaPoem – a silent contemplative walk through a Welsh village landscape.

I gallop like a horse
an odd sight I will admit
but the winter sun has warmed my spiritspast teasel heads and the old gate post
blue sky light
red dogwood stems all of a tanglethe winter garden rests
five tall poplars wear ivy leggings
green arrows point me south by southeast
to copper islands mapped out in lichens
where fungi sprouts from torn silage bail holesI come across a sheep stuck in wire fencing
released and thankful it contemplates me
but an empty belly needs fillingby the road some broken pink rubble
and graffiti in a bus shelter
taking care on the steep descent to the village below

there is an upturned table in a front garden which makes for a sorry sight
as is this home wind power system
but the guardian at the door sits proud and alert

some other words catch in my mane like drops of dew
Doombar and Pint
Grit and Salt
Sunday and Carvery

the crossing by the school not in use
I wave to Santa waiting patiently down an alley
run my finger over carved inscriptions on tarred poles

a familiar shadow greets me on the memorial
as my imaginary horse gallops off down the old railway tracks
frightened I think of the coming water jump

and on to this field for budding heroes
or a blackbird cautiously walking the line
rolling without steam

the people of the world communicate their anger and frustration
with love it seems
on public surfaces

I hear the silent crack of a branch breaking in a storm
water flowing under an arch of trees
I open the gate here -> but the directions are just a joke

here the dead miners sleep under coal black headstones
their old terrace houses have coal bunkers and outside toilets
my illusions momentarily shattered for no reason

tractor tracks cross my narrow path
what I would give to unpadlock these blue doors and rummage inside
a red gate beckons its owner

no more will the bell toll for the village
expanding red foam fungus escapes from a builder’s yard mess
carry me across the crumbling river bridge before we both break with age

peep as we go through verdigris rust holes
down railway line supports
and on festive peeling paint colours

galloping now the last stretch
a pleasant view some might think
like this starling in high wire silhouette
I come home to a sheepish welcome party