DUST
The dust has settled in a thin layer
Fine at least in its tiny particle size
But not fine, as it indicates neglect
Almost white with a touch of grey
Speckled with miniscule dark spots
So ignorant of the effect it creates
Yet despite it all, more will accrue
Unless and until, breezes may blow
That will disturb the localised air
And nasal passages too, in a sneeze
Accidental, yet showing contempt
For all that lies there, merely as dirt
Found in crevices and on surfaces
Whether disturbed or otherwise
Can still persist, but in its own time
Categories:
showing contempt, film,
Form: Imagism
WRITTEN IN PSYCHEDELIC INK
Wrongly chosen words convey naught
Creating impressions of the wrong sort
Even when inspiring lines deny empathy
Especially showing contempt for simile
Causing bloody battles to be hard fought
It’s errors despite what has been taught
As some confusion can still be wrought
An innocent mistake rather than villainy
And ink is the black blood of metaphor
Such a psychedelic tone can’t be bought
When the brain is ordered hard to port
Bad interpretation is the hidden enemy
Betrayed in the garden of Gethsemane
Sometimes a poetic drift is never caught
And ink is the black blood of metaphor
Line 4
Categories:
showing contempt, metaphor, psychological,
Form: Rondeau
Cold grey spires of concrete and stone, a hive of activity yet all are alone
Hustling and bustling yet silent and cold, a mess of steel towers mixed in with the old.
Sprawling and creeping from the murk of the Thames, the city that beckons you also condemns.
The city breaks on you like waves on a beach, till it cracks your defences and opens a breach.
Slowly becoming a part of the crowd, free thought not encouraged, free speech not allowed.
No longer the person that came to this place with ambition and dreams and a smile on your face.
Enveloped, absorbed like a drop in the sea, I am now the city, the city is me.
Cold and uncaring, ambitious and cruel, feeding on carrion, a suited grey ghoul.
Drained of my laughter and raped of my smile, filled up with hatred, derision and bile.
Through throngs of grey people in packed lavish squares, nobody see’s me and nobody cares.
Shrewd and unceasing, divisive and vile, the citizens congregate round the square mile.
With barely a thought for the deeds that they’ve done, showing contempt to all and mercy to none.
Like the bullets that stream from the mouth of a gun, London relentlessly marches right on.
Categories:
showing contempt, environment, lonely, solitude,
Form: Verse