Filed under: death, fishing, hope, nature, regression, willpower | Tags: deep, jonah, prisoner, sea, trapped, whale
Inside a whale sits
Jonah, pondering
How many more rotting
Tuna he’ll
Stack up in the corner
Before he dies of
Stench and despair.
Not a scale can he see
Only slime to the touch
As the creature heaves
Through the Deep,
Filtering fish through its
Radiator teeth.
Jonah dreams out
And up, into the light
And over this rut.
cards fall on the table,
Dry, clean in the sun,
Behind the horizon,
Life’s line, noone
Can question
The silence beyond.
Always there.
Forever, back
Down fathoms and more
To our whale and
Trapped Jonah.
Never to see the sky
Split from the Land
And the sea
By the line.
There in the gut’s leviathon walls his
Murmurs sift the
Gloom for gold
But none drops.
Patience and hope
And his jaws will part
And out he’ll fight
Then float like a
Ripe apple, spongy after
The long winter store.
Filed under: acromegaly, control, pain, regression, shame | Tags: centrifucal, conspiracies, cycle, doom, frustration, Narcissus, pain, procrastination, spy, torment, yellow
Round and round it swings
With centrifucal force,
The cycle of pain and self torment, the
Frustration of procrastination
Why not do it today?
Cant! Wont?
Loud the pound, Narcissus
Streaming round the brain,
Pumping full the eardrums
With the sound of sheer
Doom
Boom, it goes, again.
Forget the sun, what
You had won through
Ernest Toil.
The boil on your leg is the
Clumsy spy, whose
Yellow fuss gives away
Conspiracies beneath;
Self sabotage.
Filed under: growth, healing, love, nature, pain, regression, shame, strength | Tags: ache, apple, autumn, bell, doubt, girl, loss, love, muisty, poetry, romance, worm
1.
My name is girl
My age is when
I feel the day
My height is fringed
With misty things, the haze
That surrounds all,
Air , or something like it,
Electrical.
Part 2.
My fate is but a worm
Squirming in the sand
Beneath an apple on the
Beach.
My rubbery coil senses Autumn’s
Mellow fruit but feels
Only grit and cigarette ends,
Yellowed with spit
And the odd spat of sea.
Part 3.
My Date is a round
Can of something fizzy,
A man, who’ll pop
And bubble over
With sense and tunes
Told well, with confidence
Like some voluntary tramp.
Part 4.
My ache is a bell
Bent out of shape
Chord twanged by the wrong
Hand. Who”s hand?
Who cares? Lets fix it,
If it’s copper it’ll meld well.
Part 5.
My tune is a song
Soldered on to the side
of my liver, an odd
Audience, granted,
But keen, it knows exactly
Where I’ve been and what
Deals Life’s dealt.
No, livers make grand audiences,
They’ll tell you whether or not
You were truly magnificent,
With their view from the stalls.
Filed under: acromegaly, cafe, eating, food, growth, pain, regression, strength, Uncategorized, weather, willpower | Tags: bricklane, closing, coffee, guidance, Kipling, life, lost, money, neglect, regret
Sweeping round my feet, no ceremony.
Customer-centric ? What?-
Too close to closing time.
Anyway, this tables’s mine for now,
And on its pink lino I’ll rest
THis little black book,
And a tweed elbow
Like so many others, hordes, in fact,
Vintage with Youth.
I’m here now writing, instead
of Yoga or eating, to stop time
And take stock.
Of what? Of myself, of course-
Narcissism or self-awareness I can’t
Tell, self-indulgence, perhaps.
‘Soup of the Day was three pounds ten.
Why ten, what’s in it for them?!
Three pound is round.
Rhyming won’t get me anywhere.
One day I hope to be above all this.
Taller trees generally have deeper roots to
Counteract the blast of the wind.
Blast this music! Always the same
Here at Coffee@, NOISE,
Racket designed to be heard,
No need to listen.
Why have I come here
To get myself in tune – all this din.
Well, if I can’t tune here I can’t tune anywhere..
Thats it! Back to Kipling,
‘If you can keep your head when
All around are losing theirs
And blaming it on you..’
Yes. I’ll keep my wretched head and
Forget regret and neglect
The errors of a self
Lost, waiting for a way out
Not picking up Ariadnes’s
Guiding thread.
