Perth, Australia.
Pretty much all I post is my own poetry, bar the occasional drawing or reblog of something I really enjoy.
What I write can be self indulgent, without skill, without form. That's because it's my experience, hidden behind words. For that reason, if you must be critical, please be polite about it, because it is personal to some extent. I don't take myself that seriously, I promise I'm no literature snob. However, if you wish to use or copy anything on this blog, please ask, because chances are it's mine. Thanks for stopping by!
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
Born from the sky
It holds your wings
As you glide through the air of dawn.
You were raised with the sun.
But the sky will not hold you forever,
And nor will your wings.
The water below you
Will pluck your feathers one by one
That fall like snow which won’t dissolve
On the waters warm surface.
Left bloodied, your skin becomes expose to the sun.
It blisters and bursts to cool
In the wind rising past.
Gliding is hard and cold now.
The water’s warm lures it to the surface to be eaten by a fish.
Let the wind push your wings
To sway.
Pluck your feathers
Fill your hollow bones!
Feel blood drop down,
Hit the ground along with you.
You flew so long,
So long to you!
Your bones were crushed
The blood came blushed
Adieu!
White or black,
Your feathers never matched themselves
One for one,
Like snow flakes they fell from the sky
With you
Raw skin and bloodied spots were left
Adieu.
Twirling the skies,
Perfection was your aim,
You glide to your death
And found perfection just the same.
Adieu.
You slashed the throat
Of the world that held you,
The words you had for it
Ripped and tore at its throat.
You told me you knew nothing
Of the blood left strewn around your feet
And you cried for its approval.
Blood doesn’t talk.
You are a living poet,
Selling books while still alive,
You may keep bleeding blood,
Poisoning ink, and running from the truth-
The world is yours.
I wish to wade in your depths.
You’re warm and my head is cold,
Fearful of the land outside.
Let me in, my feet are warm
But my heart is not.
Do not chain me to shallows,
I’ve been taught to swim before,
Just not in open water.
It can’t be different.
Let me tread waist deep
Until I shiver from my navel
To my cerebellum
And no longer.
Freezing is a cruel way to die.
Take me to your depths,
So that I can be swept away
To drown or to dive
As I please.
the warm air is greedy
calling out is a vain attempt
as the nitrogen clenches the effort
and oxygen absorbs the sound
argon traces the voice back to me
and the carbon dioxide is poisoning you
And then without a warning
Everything happens.
Nothing can be done
Except dream and lay
Unconscious.
Maybe flu,
Even bronchitis
And no chance to defend.
And no chance to even notice.
When eyes open
It happens.
Pain is injected like a vaccine
To a body that didn’t need it.
Hours leave slimy trails in the backyard,
Their empty shells crushed underfoot
Left behind to smile at the blood they draw.
I find myself
More
And more jealous
Of air’s silent breaths.
They graze my cheek, my ear,
And I listen
As they disappear.
The breeze does not beckon
While I sneak for its secrets,
Hunched in tall summer grasses.
Instead it leaves me, silent,
As I too disappear,
Slowly and silently,
So it will not hear me.
The breeze still blows,
Behind me it will follow.
Reflect
Oh reflect!
Fear my face.
You will never leave
My light, artifice replaces sun.
Perfect mirrors arrest their guiding light.
Sun replaces artifice. My light,
Never leave, will you?
Face my fear!
Reflect, oh
Reflect.
In hands lie roads
Of ruin.
Youth held each
hand once,
Promising “I won’t
Let go”,
Squeezing tight and smiling.
Youth left only
Footfalls and an occasional sigh
As the hand that held
His promise
Faded away.
It left him.
It left them.
The promise was broken.
The promise was born again.
If I was to fall in the wind
But withstand the breeze
Would you burn the wreckage
Or scour the debris?
The mortar was chipped,
The bricks began to crack,
The beams were rotten through
I couldn’t hold myself much longer
The questions now all fall to you.
Will you find yourself a home?
Will you give yourself a throne?
Will you keep what I dropped?
Will you hear if my heart stops?
If you start again,
I will hold you in my walls
Though broken.
We can begin.
Hey guys, excuses mean nothing, but I’ve been focussing on University stuff. I’ve been quiet because this has taken preference for the moment being, hopefully it’s worth a read!
A casket and funeral
For you, would be blissful.
You slashed my ribs, and plucking
Them, like feathers from a duck
I winced.
After this, I knew air blew.
I felt it on my lungs
The same way breathlessness
Transfigures the warm blood I hold
Into sleet.
After this, I knew I wasn’t empty.
I fell to the floor
As my intestines
Slipped through my fingers.
After I put you,
Head and body,
Beneath the floor
What will I know?
The stars blow musky smoke.
Pink and gritty, I wish I could collect it-
Collection should be possible.
I want to inhale that smoke,
Own the star
Just to renounce the efforts made.
To start, with out appreciating the end,
And end without meaning to start.
A supernova could made the universe
Burn fuchsia and dissolve
Into tar and cancer.
Would it be so wrong to hope?
To question without care of an answer,
To answer regardless the question.
The moon could grow greedy and unscrew
Light bulbs, one by one.
Darkness without morning is
Darkness without morning.
Sentences, lethally half finished
Trap air in lungs.
Letters, unique to themselves
Present a minute passed.
Mutilated clauses, void of ends
Watch blood bubble blue.
Eternality between a word and the next.
Eternality leaves unrest.
Finish the story
Or drown in the silence.
Dreams grip the vertices of the mind,
Clinging like dewdrops formed
By the breath of morning.
Liquefication is not salvation.
The dew crystallises and shatters
By the breath of mourning-
A realisation left beneath closed lids.
Gleaming beside the sunrise
Broken fragments shred the blades
That fastened them.
Lid opened, the box falls flat.
Illusion lost, eyes open,
Morning breathes its breath.
Six sides, one lid,
The box is whole again.
