Filmed by strangers,
a story doomed not to last.
Beauteous verse
wrapped in barbed wire—
each sonnet
a blade to the vein.
Eyes like jade—
not diamond,
but cut rock.
A granite heart.
Tar recedes
into stone.
Still, the boy covets
with hunger.
And the girl—
she has appetites too.
First love:
a pigtail yanked,
a giggle echoing through time.
Innocence dissolved
with each year gained.
But the eyes—
they never changed.
Breathe life and fire into love’s nest—
reignite the spark of youth,
peeking through years like iron curtains,
framing the fugitive selves
we left decimated.
I still see her—
not in dreams,
but in the hush between songs,
in the way a door closes softly
when no one is there.
She has appetites still.
And I—
I feed them
from a distance.
Let her starve for once.
It’s a place I feel off—
not wedded to anything.
Truculent.
I think in riddles
and answer in metaphors.
I dance on my tiptoes—
an adagio of agony.
Passion pirouettes
out of sight.
Tethered.
Bound by grief.
Temptation forgotten,
tempered.
It no longer exists.
It was a pas de deux,
now it’s just a deuce—
a petulant penitent,
an unwanted pardon.
The dancer stirs.
The pulse quickens
to a tango.
Recalcitrant and longing.
Unable to follow the white line
unless it’s condemned.
So the path ahead is delusional—
felt, not seen.
When will the blocks of life
build up
and make me feel safe?
I feel like I’m
in a correctional facility.
I am my own door.
I am my own jailor.
I realise I have the key.
I bury it
under the pile of shame
in the corner.
Every revolution ever
Devised by the most clever
From the rot, they sever
And souls naive
Of anew, believe
Assuming it not too far gone
To rectify all that’s wrong
They must be ready to stand up, then
For combat in the villain’s den
And although it is not as mighty
The sword decides who holds the pen
Yet history provides a warning
And the idealist may end up mourning
For those without a Machiavellian trait
Are warriors destined for a tragic fate
As it seems that thoroughly good men
Will never be esteemed as great
Those who gain control may revise the theme
Drifting ever further from the dream
Men of puerile mind
To knives are blind
And that vision once so fabled
Destroyed by some, we many enabled
On reflection, it makes the morose sigh
When they hear that brave man’s cry
“We serve neither King nor Kaiser”
Acting as a battle galvaniser
Due to the fact that ‘ad finem’
There’s superficial change achieved since then
And all of us are none the wiser
We stood at the edge
of the back yard,
next to the garage—
where I’d pretended to be
an astronaut in a
cardboard spaceship—
on a chill November night,
watching Sputnik II
arc across the sky.
I didn’t know why
he was rarely home—
or why it wasn’t always
like this when he was:
quiet,
steady,
present.
All I knew was the stars were out,
and he was beside me—
and Laika was aboard.
I didn’t know then
she had no way back—
no reentry plan,
no soft descent.
I pictured her peering
through a tiny window,
tongue lolling,
stars reflected in her eyes.
I thought
someone would bring her home.
Now I know
she died within hours—
heat and panic rising
in that cramped metal cradle
while I, warm in my pajamas,
believed in science,
believed in rescue,
believed in my father’s voice
saying, Look, there she goes.
At least they finally gave
her a monument
in Moscow.
She said I can't trust you.
You are to cleaver for me.
so why do I stay?
it sounds foreign
to be close to you my dear.
My morning star right there.
Can you help?
Can you heal?
instead, you are poison for me.
Now you have my soul, but you can't own me.
so please move, step back, don't move.
don't f$%ken touch me.
I'm mangled up inside.
I'm so gothic by design.
Black eyeliner on my eyes.
and now I must oblige.
Can you see the dead?
Then what's dead inside of me?
Help and heal
Instead, your poison for me.
So, move, step back.
Don't move don't f#$ken touch me
I'm mangled up inside.
I'm so gothic by design.
With black eyeliner on my eyes
now I must oblige.
Living in the sunless cold hutch of till death do us apart, sits a chipping soul.
Never had he thought she did be a blotch of many shades.
Spitting and pouring scorn on his dreams of a happy home.
“What? Are you even a man? Your mates are out there...”
The world today
Every thing at our fingertips
A meme factory
Consuming everything
And feeding everyone
A rapid endless stream
Satisfies the insatiable
For the briefest instant
But robs us all
Of lifetimes
Of discovery
And so we are initiated
Taken out of our mind
Into another
Stages of the path
Snakes and ladders
Life hacks
And buried treasure
Whatever it is that holds
Generates
And shares the meme
The light within
A hall of mirrors
Knows no bounds
And needs no introduction
And still the child discovers
Their way
Turning fear into familiarity
Confusion to wisdom
And the simple joy of following
A path
Older than time
(9/8/24)
Felt this uneasy tide of disdain
the world around me seems too mundane
eyes have lost the shine
lost the path I never knew was mine
this seems like a never-ending dream
heard an encroaching scream
uneasy rhythm oozing from these pores
saw a reaching hand, but it was all too blurry
salt brimming the eyes, my lies swallowing me inside
never heard the pounding so high
looked up my vision, all to my dismay
there stood a girl too scared to witness
all these secrets too heavy to bear
these scratches stand in valor
showing the darkest of nights
still hoping for something that might...
grey drapes the colour of my realm
thick heavy fog pervades over
my thoughts that wander
to where I do not know
i cannot see
in bursts of silence
i gasp for air
a stagnant emptiness
is all i find
it boils it rages
and yet i feel it true
that with tomorrow
blue skies may come again
AP: 2nd place 2024, Front Page Pick 2024
In the woods lurks the grey angel;
Wingless and disillusioned, he awaits
The onset of diarrhoea,
Bismarck’s jocular displeasure
And the seagull’s lugubrious weightlessness –
Later than previously, he erects
A flag made of wormwood
Brought all the way
From the ceiling of an underground café in East Berlin -
He sighs….and it is like someone playing
A musical saw: it expresses harmoniously
His perpendicular musical soul –
Expecting nothing, he is perpetually disappointed
By the visitations of crones desirous of petty miracles,
Of repentant tax-gatherers requesting absolution,
On New-Age moongazers seeking enlightenment,
Of people who desire certainty, answers,
Of people who pursue truth and self-righteousness,
Of people who just want to see what an angel,
Any angel looks like. Only these curious rubbernecks
Touch his bland and ironic soul with a faint luminosity –
Their enthusiasm for life, if crass and tawdry,
At least provides the salt which otherwise
Has lost its flavour….a pity
That it just rubs salt into his wounds.
When seeing a woman always downcast, the man asked:
Why that you are always so, sad to crying...
What's wrong with you?
Don't you have the air to breathe,
the sun to warm you,
the water to quench you...?
The wind does not caress your body...
Do you have a chronic wound,
a pre-existing pain...?
you were attacked
crowded,
shot down in hunting...?
-None of that...
She said in response.
- Life just hurts me...
I feel the weight of the world on me...
-I lost my love...!
2020 2023
S implly
C retinistic
A imless
Z listed
N egated
A pathetic
1914 1970s
A ustralian
N ew
Z ealand
A rmy
C ore
S upermen
Burning midnight afternoon
waiting for you in the square lived
from love to psyche...
The pigeons consumed
my bread meal and I dreamed
just to hold you...
After a thousand kisses we were going home
Life seems to be rosy...
Memorable times of wine and rose
we were blissful, anyone could tell...
Time... Ah!... It's been so many years!...
The fate of each other separated,
Leaving us many many disappointments.
In a world full of illusion,
And on this stage of a love that has passed,
I live with wonderful memories, but in sad
indelible disillusion!
The fluffy snow melts slowly,
its whiteness is stunning...
and turning into torrents of rain,
it sets grief on people's faces!
Passing sails are a delight to see,
but the anchored gondolas grieve,
they miss lovers who sang arias;
can sunset change the air of sobriety
and offer dreamers some real hope?
No, gladness is not found here!
Smiles are not influenced by emotions,
seeing the gleaming snow becoming slush
and flowing faster than rivers is even sadder;
all roofs drip, no cooing pigeons greet tourists:
Venice itself weeps surrounded by its splendor!
like a dog with a bone,
I
threw
the
first
stone
burning rage grew deep within
yelling and crying like
sin
explosive curses
-so uncool-
stomping and acting like a
damn fool
burning
==bridges==
with her
cool and calm like water…
was the scared face
of
my
daughter
running on
...
...
guilt
needing a swift
boot in the
rear
for
'Mother of the Year'
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