“Welcome”
a robot effigy of painted aluminium
on its face a vestigial smile
chill, uncharismatic and instant,
voicing through it
like rasping metallic file,
a platinum echo, distant.
Its unmoving countenance
worn like a habit, a shiny mask, ill-fit
the smirk of a smile sewn on,
with crayon drawn on,
it did not move as if to prove
a robotic ability as ventriloquist.
I was transfixed
with words that keenly gnawed:
“You have been thawed.”
I looked around with icy perception,
with roving eye and no movement of limb,
where had I been?
As my body warmed and my limbs gained inflection,
so my mind was pierced with icicles of truth
of a previous existence and a distant youth.
It’s all coming back now,
it had worked somehow:
Cryogenics.
Autumn leaves an aftertaste that kisses cold.
Then transfuses startled green veins with gold.
A shivering whisper, slips through oak and elm.
As faded yellow disciples tumble from their realm.
As it hums through wheat; the heavy heads bend low.
To ripen while the last warm amber winds still blow.
A long-drawn-out sigh, draws summer from its reign,
Gold and red leaves tumbling down to an empty lane.
Thin mist curls upwards from the cooling ground,
Cold breath slips down, through cracks, without a sound.
Gasps rattle shutters, and worry the tiles and doors.
Sends dry leaves scurrying like mice around the floors.
Autumn breathes on apples till their red cheeks glow,
Then thumps them down one by one onto the ground below.
It finds the restless geese beneath the cloud.
And beckons them south, to join the gathering crowd.
At dusk its voice turns hoarse, as darkness grows.
Growing rasping and raw, with winter up its nose.
Then Autumn, now breathless, loosens one last leaf.
It spins to Earth, collapsing, in gold-flared relief.
From unconsciousness
I rise, sputtering
Warm liquid erupting
Belched from the lungs
Choked out, retching
Airways blazing
Rasping, gasping
Writhing for oxygen
That time I fell asleep
In front of the telly
With a mouthful of tea :)
Riding out
into the sunset
towards sunny uplands
before moons fall
scattering rock
and tiny diamonds
as crimsoned penumbra
encircles all things.
Dark swoops like a bat
to engulf the rasping throes
of surety.
Dawn awakes fretful
Mirrors and masks fail.
The past rises
grey and pink
amid rasping gravel
barnacled to chasms
sunken and sodden
clawing at hasty feet
that skate manically
and hurl bodies cruciform
onto mocking concrete.
The marred morn pauses
for a nanosecond
to ponder the maelstrom
of mangled flesh
and sirens.
Two carbon entities
exhale green miasmas
and throttle white throats
in a noose of iron.
The cored captives
diaphanous and rasping
plummet to frightful circles
where sardonic wraiths
gnarl wingèd flesh
in screeching packs
as time loops reverberate
manic and mindless.
On meow buses
no cat fusses.
Sweet little kitties
meow rodent ditties;
deck out bunting
time for hunting.
With pounding paws
furries prime claws.
Amid glad rasping
there is no fasting.
Alright still gobsmacked how we were
Attacked..hacked..hijacked...whacked
Ransacked cracked shellacked poleaxed
By his relaxed Rat packed knack maxed
So here's a witty ditty ode to Travis
No ifs or buts can't tut tut... annul it or cull it
Straight out of the hut a classy brassy strut
Gung ho have a go heave ho maestro Mullet
Slaying & flaying.. no rut just a glorious glut
Left a stark dark smut.. every bowler's a mutt
Like some flirty dirty sl*t playing with the nut
Hard not to swoon at the boon of the loon
Croon at Travis's off his Head buffoon tune
Stubby not chubby tad tubby like David Boon
Us staunch fans of the promising paunch gasping
Can't snub or sub.. like a lad down the pub or club
Another out of whack attack does launch rasping
Rogue's Bogan brogue.. flashes his blade like Shogun
Wizard of Oz as loved as X men's Logan or Paul Hogan
Dashes and lashes.."Taches win Ashes" the Travis slogan
A lonely, cold gecko unstuck itself, unsteady,
from the cliff-face, bedroom wall.
A certain, short leap onto my pillow, then to calmly
move up over my sleeping form to my open face,
and there to kiss my closed
eyelids with rasping lips and sticky tongue.
"Lickety Split !"
"Spittle & Slick !"
It clicked and twitched this little tune as it did its rough work
on my quiet eyes. A slow massage,
moving orbits in their boney optical universe,
rolling, rotating, revolving behind the blue-veined lids
of my galaxy.
You didn't spot the camouflage,
didn't see the gecko,
just thought I was dreaming
with my eyes open
The noon heat no longer burns like dog days,
Storms now caress the leaves with care and grace,
The roughness of summer night kept at bay,
'Stead calmness, peace and comfort take their place.
The air is hazy, lazy, filled with fun,
Awaiting the chill and darkness of fall,
Now missing kisses of mid-summer's sun,
And cricket's early morning rasping call.
The sky billows brilliant blue with glamour,
The ocean's coolness purifies the air,
Tempting sunbaths silently clamour
For my pale skin on the beach to bask bare.
The sun having a frozen side~
a wish like a snowball in hell,
or netting the wind while oceans b o i l
in f i r e.
The rage of its heat needs curtailing.
I'm melting...
like chocolates and candles~
roasting like chicken in an oven.
How then
do I hide the cry of my fat?
With the frozen side of the sun,
snowflakes fall but never thaw,
painting my doorstep in white,
chilling my bones dry,
shaking my limbs stiff.
Birds hide their faces...
and songs become faint echoes in snow-draped distance,
while rasping hoots of early-rising snowy owls
mimic the whispers of restless winds—
announcing the coming of an impending
dark sky
that will not abate...
the ceaseless dropping of white flakes.
I'm b o i l i n g—
a tempest brewing...
not as a boiling frog syndrome
but like a fish out of water
in a slough of despond.
My skin scathes,
heat burns leave sores on my soles.
Long rays of shine pierced my sunshade;
sweat formed oceans on my skin.
And I w h i s p e r e d—
in the absence of ears~
"I need the frozen side of the sun."
He played a rock steady beat,
That rumbled as a train on its tracks.
The echoes rebellious stark.
Moving the nicotine in the chest.
Siphoning joy from the very air.
Distilling it down to a sound.
He played a rock steady beat,
The snare rasping like sand on grass.
Hip swaying and ecstasy led.
A blur of microphone humming.
Distorted and redacted down.
Making sense only to the senses.
He played a rock steady beat.
When summer heat promises darkness.
Sweat crawling spider like.
Unable to think through the noise.
A dream of bass note vibrations.
And white lightening feedback.
Bony fingers, thin and white,
Scratching at the moonlit night.
Shadows dance, a twisted play,
Where whispers haunt and secrets sway.
The wind sighs low, a chilling moan,
As cobwebs cling, and leaves are blown.
A hollow laugh, a rasping sound,
From where the dark and shadows bound.
A chilling touch, a ghostly grip,
On trembling hearts, a fear to slip.
Bony fingers, cold and stark,
A chilling omen, leaving their mark.
Through misty veils and swirling haze,
They reach for souls in a macabre maze.
The night descends, a haunting scene,
Where bony fingers, dark and keen,
Will claim their due, come Halloween.
An Ingle Farm house on night shift 1984 …..
You still look up at me
You still look up at me
Down through those long year ago
Rasping and struggling for breath
Your one good eye still stares back
And I wonder what you thought
The gun is still there near your feet
It’s done its deed for you
As you lie on your back
And I wonder what you thought
We do what we can
But it’s not good enough
Your one good eye still stares back
And I wonder what you thought.
© Paul Warren Poetry
Written: May 26 2024
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dark, drizzling recesses that pulse and flow.
A nebulous haze of nothingness, a sad show.
With rasping tears of seabirds, in silent cries.
They uncover comfort in various forlorn sighs.
Horizon depicts a snapshot of dreary gray.
Raven rainbows trance in barren dismay.
Why are you grieving, my wounded heart?
Why are you missing vivid spring impart?
Birds in scarlet, saffron, and cyan hues,
Glorious in the skies, so ariose views.
Yet, time slips by and you head away
Remote star casts me out of abyss sway.
I maunder amid dry gloom, forlorn and alone.
Chuckles echo across my passing groan.
In grief of shorebirds, I learn of my plight.
As I long for your arrival with all my might.
But hope lingers, akin to a glimmer at night.
We will return one day in a pure love light.
I will wait for that juncture, my soul ever true.
In bleak wilderness, memories will renew.
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