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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Butterfly Landings
It’s a precarious perch
High by a skydive
In such a leap of faith
A leap of love
Circumnavigates these boots of Earth
Fellow to the stratospheres
These butterfly landings
Of you in my heart
Destinies lance
Has shot me full to the sun
On the twirling chant sung
Ever re initiates
And sounds the river onward runs
Always
Of your name
Settles red iridescence
To tip the scales
These butterfly landings
Of you in my arms
I see you in precognitions
Flashes
In my obsessions of your hair
Lip-syncing to the kisses
In my passions of your eyes
Where my heady desires evolve
This molecular bonding’s
These butterfly landings
Of you inside my soul
It’s a precarious perch
To expressive to encapsulate
How much I love you
It’s a peculiar laugh
That admits I have never even met you
But all of you inexorable
I am conceded to the pull
I am bound to the groundings
In these butterfly landings
Of you
( Everything I am
Everything I do
Wrapped inside
Those landing butterflies
I cannot express
In any vocabulary of words
Only in the dictionary of unspoken eternals
Lay the definitions of
How much I love
How much I need
How much I want
You
They beg with you
This man on bended knees
How this strength in me
Pleads
Come back to me
Come back to me )
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Senseless
What is it inside the heart of man
That cannot appreciate another’s suffering
Were we born with this senseless implacability
Is it from life itself we grow these calluses of the soul
Are we created not to care
Is the face of nature so coldly ruthless
That we must come to be so
For what belief in anything in which to believe
Should we maim and destroy and kill
What is it that we know so well
That the idea of difference can cause such conceited violence
How do we become so voluntarily indoctrinated
Is it some desperate need to have sense amidst the senseless
To have at least the illusion of a purpose
When then do we celebrate the diversity of our sense to make sense of the senseless
Should every woman and man dream and aspire
And have every man and woman dream and aspire to the same
Or say this love is stronger or this way is better
This truth more truthful than anything anyone else can know
Who’s despicable spirit can live with out some measure of guilt in overfed luxury
While others starve and die in poverty
Are we not as one with this the global identity we call humanity
Are we not basically and essentially all the same
If right there is to pass on righteous judgment
For cultural and social and political and religious difference
Such conviction and contempt is that all we see in our own reflection
When then do we celebrate our diversity of sense to make sense of the senseless
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Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Gold Fever
History will not record the bloated weight
Of this pious and bigoted race
Or count the fat and flaccid wealth
Of religions idolatry
Those pages have been scrubbed clean
By prosperous forgivingness
And the cruelty of established political dominion
Will not tally the bodies of the oppressed
To them, faith and belief are merely a weapon
A system of abusive control
And a means of power continuation
A dictatorial right to rule the population
History will not record the inheritance of opinion
But lay blind at the doors of massacre
The Aztec, The Aborigine, The North American Indian, The African Negro,
Pray in silence to The Church
Centuries written in blood and torture
For a message of verbiage and usage
Extracted and leeched from the poor and uneducated
Created the western dream
The long night of the witch hunt is not over
The Inquisition has saved us
With fake blood and wooden crosses
This elite of moral perspective shall save us all
We have paid the price in conscience
Superiority managed by white skinned indifference
Holy mother church has welcomed all
All into its iron embrace of slack jawed wonder
And what more despicable rule can there be
Than to dictate ones own spiritual journey
Spouted by the rote of political expediency
And the promise of heaven
Ingrained now this so called Christian ethic
And so much of the truth left distorted
Forgotten now are the ancient mystical secrets
Which united mankind to understanding
Idol of gold and crucifixion
Of cathedral and stained glass objectification
Gilt and holy water of sumptuous ritual
Of silken pope and luxurious self righteous invention
An aberration of human faith and belief
An unrepentant destroyer of “ Loves ” dream
The curse of The Christ as you continue to translate
The Word
And where the paupers fist crunches the dirt
Where dried and parched lips pray for rain
Where the desperate cry for a reason echoes
Where blood flows in feted anger
Where children scream in fear
Where hunger and despair debase and demean
Where there is no light
And in the dark only pain
If you wish to care for the souls of mankind
Preacher
It is there with them
There
Is where you should be
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2008
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Write !
Some madness banter of insanity
is pulling at my thoughts
spilling effulgent
in giant verbs and huge marching nouns
collecting snippets as it walks
stomping on flowers
and mushing liquid the paints of images
swirls captivated
with great toed boots
I can hear it coming
a hefty heavy steady stamp
and I am almost afraid that it might rack me
hit me hard
and demand some elucidated expression from me
I would shudder
but excitement won't let me
Instead it sets me to a creaking ball points
and tiny alphabets that strain my eyes
while spelling out its diffident request
Write it says
Write, while some half cold sickness grip my stomach
and I wretch on grammar
and thus the great feathers quill
dips in the ink of my soul
and so ineptly scribbles epilepsy
explanation, image, wordage, spillage of sensory lobotomy
partridge in a god-damn pear tree
Curl about my finger
and reek havoc through those dictionary brain cells
yer! smash them brain cells
mush, mash and squeeze the last drip
find expression in the gooey lumps that are left
WRITE ! god dam it !
Be succinct, be poetic
surpassing idiom and useless language
for Christ sake just WRITE it !
Pilloried on my own sheets of paper
by my own pen
because it never catches enough
as it twist this origami of words
i-n-t-o s-o-m-e-t-h-i-n-g
I want to express
I need
I want
To etch with you
A moment of perfection
I need your voices
I need to hear you sing my poets
I need these scratching and scathing claws
and I need your delicate dance
I need something to end this misery
and I need this piquant
this ever enlightened soul search of words
to wrap up this bundle of love
And toss me nonchalant into eternity
Lest some madness of bantered insanity
Takes hold of me
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Remember Me
Cold wet coastal today
I escaped
Sat myself behind a sanctuary
The rain beating rhythms
On window panes
Hot coffee and brandy
Warm inside The Athena Café
Radio spends its missed tuning
Hissing tinny tunes
Love songs
Of losing
Love songs of having
Love sings
Of wanting
Blank the grey sky
Flattering dreaming thoughts meander
On emotions wandering
Focus themselves
With photographic memories
I see
The smile
White satin dressed
Curls of auburn red
All I fell for
All I lived for
My Princess
Her crown tilted
The mischievous angels
Of her
I sigh
As my fingers remember
They once ran themselves
Through your hair
As my lips in accord
Re-taste the peach
Of kisses
I once knew
Sometime so long ago
I can hear your voice
Silent echo
A touch in my soul
Sentient it is
Hieroglyphic speaks
Reverberating something
Deep and known
My eyes replay moments
Of vague tactile loving
These trespasses
And these memories wishing
Batter at some-where’s
Deeping
Inside of me
Aching
Longing
Word forms swirl
In printed pages of you
And send messages of distance
So far from me
So far
From you
To a horizon which is
Part of me
Out into grey meridians
My heart travels
While my seconds record
The splitter and splatter
Of rain on the window pane
Looking back at me
With your reflection
Another cigarette
My coffee cold
And nothing but froth
The heat of my brandy
Matches the twists of floating smoke
Sends my thoughts out riding point
To the cavalry of clouds
With the banner of love
Rides wing-ed horses
With fire on their hooves
Lifts all this nescient knowing
Rushes headlong
To you
Tiny rippled pools
Drop on the sheen
Dark colours anew
Of rain fall continues
One more coffee
No more brandy
Time to leave slowly
And some how find an end
For this poetry
Find a way to Morse code my heart
Out into expansive skies
And wrap my arms
Around you
I remember the home
Of holding you
The rain has stopped
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Home Of The Hang Man
The children are so full of doubt
No one is allowed to speak
No one is allowed to shout
Opinions are driven underground
Seems that every time they do it wrong
Always been the same old song
Never get it right
Never allowed to speak
Never allowed to fight
It’s a strange house
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house
The kids just don’t understand
They don’t see that this is the way it’s all been planned
Keep them frightened is the game
Then all those “other” things won’t need to be explained
Why is big brother always mad
Why is younger brother always sad
Why does he sit in his bedroom all alone
Because it’s a strange house
And not a home
It’s a strange house
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house
Everything they do or say
Is turned into to a weapon to build upon the barricade
And Dad pretends he’s not afraid
Of the sudden discovery of suffocated memories
The dark deeds linger in a cage
Of ridicule and violence that makes the babies cry
So Mum has buried her suspicions worryings away
In Sunday lunches usual farce
A make believe gathering of corrupted loving and pretended merry making
It’s a strange house
The kids are so full of doubt
A strange house
Big brother hit the self destruct
With pills and needles long before he decided he was gay
No one ever asked him why he was so mad
And no one ever asked why younger brother was so sad
He sits up stairs in his room
Surviving in a sea of doubt
The suffocated memories have all come out
He’s always sad and he’s always alone
The babies to they both have grown
But he doesn’t know them anymore
It’s been so long since he left that so called home
It’s a strange home
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house
Their children are so full of doubt
Brought up and made this way
All their futures turn to grey
As all the buried memories fight their own way out
Remember why they always felt so wrong
Remember what happened when we were young
And mother just closed her eyes she did not help
All the future turns to grey
Brought up and made to be this way
Father was the hang man who took their lives away
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2008
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
The Abominable Snowman and The Yeti
Geezus ! what was that !
I saw something outside my cave
And there the footprints leading away
Across the white waste lands of snow
They look kinda big
For it to be me walking in my dreams
And why would I be out anyway
Its so flippin’ cold
Was that the wind I heard moan
Sounded eerie
Kinda creepy
Geezus Christ maybe I am not alone !
Crunching, crunching soft and quiet
I can hear something stealthy
Its coming close
Sniffing and snorting
Maybe it found my pee in the snow
Oh god no !
Quiet ! Shhhhhh I didn’t mean to say Quiet ! quite so loudly
Quiet…………
Maybe it will go away
And I’ll live to see another day
But what’s that !
Has it found my home
I thought this entire mountain was my own
Its coming in !
Oh my God it looks like me
All white and fur and burly
It seems a little cautious though
Hello…. What does it mean Hello !
Hello dinner ! ? I have to wonder
But it has found me
What ever it maybe
Then it said “Hello I am a Yeti”
Yeti…? I think my father told me about Yeti
Strange creatures and oh so solitary
It said quite softly and kinda sweetly
“May I come in if I can?
Its kinda cold out there in the snow all alone”
Now I see it
Its not quite as big as I thought it was
Kinda cute and white a furry
Hmmmm… looks kinda sexy really
So I reached out my hand and said “come on in”
Introduced myself
“Hi, I’m the Abominable Snowman”
She said with a sigh “yes I know”
………. ? ¿ ? ¿
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Torn and Tattered Wings
It’s not easy to have seen
All the darkness inside you
Places I have been
Sorrow and degrading
Thrusting their blades epithetize
Hard into your heart
I look in your eyes
See the padded cells of your tears
Their blackwash lays cringing
Dogging your footsteps
With their fears
Nights unending betrayal
Of innocence used
The child in you defiled
Your love just savaged into rags
No it’s not easy to see
Through the tattered grey flags
Tormented a vicious storm
Fingers of icicle claw born
Would want to rip out the heart of you
Hidden beneath saddening locks
Shuttered rooms dug to pits so forlorn
Buried your sweet beauty
In a shell of nothing to be loved
No one can see
Where the un-healing tracks lead
Where your whipped lashed back still bleeds
From those who simply couldn’t care less
An Innocent lost
Violated by the perverse
Life line cut
Broken by silence
Shoved into the corners
Where playful eyes
Just wanted to end in forgetful dreams
No it’s not easy to have seen
All the pillory deepen inside you
Places I have been
With all the Pain and the indifference
Battering back the resplendence
Born into your heart
And for the rebuke of a guilty world
You took on all the blaming
For having been raped by life
And all the mistrust
All of the desperate need
Left you standing alone
Just needing to be loved
The beacon of your light
Standing alone on a hill top of strength
In a steadfast bravery
You shine it out
For all the world to see
The courage to rise up and fight
Fight against the ignorance
Is how your plight reaches out
In such a gentle face of tenderness
With compassions arms
Your glory is a star
Brighter than many by far
Fought from the disenchanted heart
With all the sacrifice in your soul
And if I knew how
How to tell you
Of the respect you endear
Engendered by your miracle
Your will not to fall
Fall into the abysm of hates purposeless
I have known
And I have been shown
The fierce and burgeoning light
Living behind Angel wings
Lifting up your presence
Exulting your loves triumph over the sufferings
Instead you soar
Even though your fracture remains
Though encumbered by chains
Still you rise up and fly
As high as you can
On those torn and tattered wings
( Inspired by “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol
and written for a dear and beautiful friend )
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Playing With Fire
Afraid for your miscreant soul
While the Devils licking tongues of flame at your heel
With oh so dirty thoughts
Afraid for the flesh
As you are lead to the pits
All the torture there in of your imagination conceives
Be pleased, to afflict on someone else
Swallow your morals
Like a sanctity pill
A Eucharist aspirin swilled down on holy water
Fear the flesh you stalwart middle class
While the upper-class
Enjoy what you cannot
As you wallow in the resistance of sin
And narrow your life to acquiescence
Puerile in such judgements
Of fickle moralities pleasure
Live a life unlived
And all its pleasure turn to guilt and reprieve
Salvation will come
When it ends
Ascend then, the Jacobs Ladder to heaven
Never knowing what it meant
To kiss with abandon
But rather, suckle to demon lips
All those desires in their fetish of flesh
One last look at the skin you left
Untested
Resist my swarthy middle mass citizens
And ply the trade
Of your own oppression
Condemn me, I dare you, to some raging inferno
Where the appeasing of your righteousness
Knows no bounds
In another climactic prayer for torture
I will play with the bonfire
Rather than mess with poor dripping candles
I will stand proud and defiant
And declare that I
Am Human
for Christie
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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Colin Mitchell Williams Poem
Don’t Look Behind You
From swamp I lifted from an arm
But collapsed to pitiful puddles
And ground my fist in slush
As I heard their voices
Drag at thus
And make of evil a cunning mist
Has me bewitched
Lost for all my will to do righteousness
Has led me astray in my ego wish
And left me bleating and bawling
Cowering and quivering
By the ancient grave
That made in secret
Chill, black as the imagination can make it
Seeps through every pore
And begins my desire to do its bidding
And what comfort there be
But
Murder
Most foul
Of stained and terrified blood
For mad men to feast upon
And still I cannot find my way from
This spine chilling howl
And was it me in moonlight
Drenched in red
My reflection does not seem similar now
But my heart races
And lips drool
And my throat
Growls
Am I cursed
The hairs on my arm on down my neck
Stand
But is it bristle they feel
For there is a scent of death and raw meat
In the air
I savour
Murder
In a bath of drooling slavering
Vein pumping
Slavering
Madness
Copyright © Colin Mitchell Williams | Year Posted 2009
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