Short Disused Poems

Tarnished, cracked, and parched without your love.  
Oh, why hast thou forsaken my devotion?  
Your impulsivity led to my demise, accumulating dust among disused collections.
...

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Listen to poem:

Rhapsodic impulses of skin suffused
Exulted passions rendering, disused 

Intensely emotional of flushed amor 
A mere filament lisp of a lustful gore

Susurration; within my own sad soul
Mellifluous lullabies 'till I, rest whole
...

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Syllables 2-3-4

sparkling
asteroid;
nature’s fireworks.
_______________

sunlight
sweeping fog;
colorful life.
_______________

Syllables: 3-2-4

disused house;
old cage,
hanging bird's nest.
_______________

Date - 18th October 2018

Contest - Charlieku by  Charles Messina...

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He lost his cheque book
then blamed me
throwing all his disused newspapers around
Dementia was acting fast
I left, glad to disavowal myself
from this character change,
claiming he didn't want to see me tomorrow.
Availing myself to several phone calls
he eventually rang me
on my landline by mobile
and like a bad dream, venom's folly, was shot...

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I am in that basement ward,
the disused one,
the one they park you in
on the way to the morgue.

The usual clutter of broken wheelchairs,
torn screens,
long defunct electrical equipment.

I sense that this is where you are left
until they figure out what to do with you.

In the morning I go to work.

I want to be somewhere else,
when they come to get me....

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Old
Digger, lifter, mover, slicer
Friend of ScoopDog and Dugger Graves
Lover of landscaping, building, and gardening
Who feels less sharp, disused, and edgy
Who fears dull blades, broken handles, and rust
Who would like to see verdant gardens, straight fence posts, and freshly laid sod
Resident of the junk section on the old wood fence just outside the tool shed
Shovel...

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Vacant Perdition


Reeling listless
Empty story
Gazing, endless
Mandatory
Purgatory
Muted motion
Thinking sorely
Null devotion

Sudden urges
Fleeting feelings
Will emerges
Sailing ceilings
Disused dealings
Mislaid purpose
Broken meanings
Without service

It’s insipid
Bouncing bluster
Wisdom wicked
Nothing mustered
Lacking luster
Sempiternal
Filibuster
Silence vernal...

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it happened just as I say it did:

I was ten or sometime after.
late for school,
running uphill

then I stopped running

and walked into an open field
knowing I was nobodies problem.

I left town following a disused railway track
and never turned back

except the ending of this story
has been rewritten by time

for that same day,
like a wet dog
coming in from the rain
I returned....

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In my room with its broken latch
There's postcards of hens and foxes
and a disused TV set
There's a collection of analogue cameras
Some I use
Some of my lightbulbs are out
There's a book of Trakl and his Blue Melancholy
and Sylva Plath with her German Mannequins
 There's albums out of time
Susan Pilsbury and Jimmy Campbell
You see  the past comforts me
There's poetry of my own
some bonded others nestling on my cupboard
I hope to get published soon 
...

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I had become less watchful
in this honeycombed body,
blind behind a thousand windows;
windows boarded up, abandoned,
not disused but closed off,
the way a hive becomes blind
one window at a time.

It is the slow drowning of long winter
that opens fusty shutters.
for now is the 'becoming' time,
a time for the winching resurrection
of awakening trees,
of honey-suckling days.

I have windows and behind each one
there is a lively hum and light,
and golden eyes polished bright....

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