Time surfs over one page after another.
I wonder about the interludes,
the growth or decline of lesser or greater.
A few pages
stand out, creating pinnacles of inspiration,
that rise far beyond the print.
Other poems are workmanlike,
the tools are all there,
hands can be seen delving into unknown territory,
yet stopping just short of any new frontier.
The best are alien, strange, discomforting,
distressingly real,
they arrive with laser sharp pickaxes.
Then of course, there are
those rarified nuts and bolts
all poets must reshape into the stubborn word,
the perfect symbols of imperfection.
Occasionally I despair,
an eternal uphill struggle,
a hopeless walk to sanity:
what else is there for me to do
but scream?
Occasionally my stomach rumbles
as pain, hunger and strife
make it grow distressingly tight.
Occasionally I try to fight
and seek that elusive light
at the end of the tunnel
only to find an inky blackness,
ebony obscurity of darkness
that smothers the soul.
Occasionally I search
for a twisted street or
an endless channel
only to discover a world
devoid of any kindness,
languishing in defilement,
foul-smelling with pollution,
tarnished with infamy and slander,
and an ever-reigning lust.
But often I stand up,
for myself if for none other
and look down towards the horizon
and find what I require: hope and trust.
PS Sorry I left Poetry in the lurch but was hospitalised for three days. I hope to read your poems soon. But please give me time.
Confronted with memories of her, and endless strife,
I bow my head and cry.
Confronted with the futility of this life,
I shake my head and sigh.
The woman who I wanted for my wife
has gone, let our love wither and die.
With agony, my existence is distressingly rife,
for I can never say
goodbye.
Faced with enduring the brokenness and pain,
I do my best to live, I try.
Clinging to the pieces of me that still remain,
I think about her, and wonder why.
Solace I cannot find, loneliness my heart's bane;
reality I want to deny.
If only I could say
goodbye.
there is a sudden wrath
my one supposed rage
but this is all i have
and it doesn't go away
an emotional hollow
resounds in my head
one voice tells me
i wish you were dead
well that voice is mine
distinctive as it is
my internal misery
intense pain that it gives
i'm huddled in a corner
worthless as i am
distressingly inadequate
my head a battering ram
arousing feelings of paranoia
a mental deterioration
not used to being like this
with strange hallucinations
i'm out of control
but i still ask the question why
what damn right do i have
to stay here and survive
sentence me to death
to stem this raging fire
i'm now prepared to weaken
to calm and to retire
but the fury just keeps going
when will it subside
to ease the sudden outbursts
to feel me slowly die
like a chemical reaction
just ready to explode
demanding all the negative
when i'm existing in this mode