No poetry…

For a while. Sorry about that. Call this incubation. In other news, I’ve learn 3 Bonzo tunes on Uke.

Peers

Don’t be my friends, just leave me alone,
Alone, calm and free from stress.
Your complex faces, cruel
Cruel voices, snide, snide comments…
Fuck off. Literally, take your hide-humping lesser-selves
Out of my virgin air,
Stop polluting my personal space
With your blasted breathing.
I don’t even have to hate you!
Until you  push me, refuse to leave it alone,
If I don’t look at, talk to, in away way acknowledge
You
Then.I.Don’t.Want.To.
Nothing personal, just leave me alone.
You are boring, unappealing, offensive
Smelly, obsequious and Janus-faced;
Twist your many countenances
Until you neck breaks,
Please.
Then, when your pulse rate
Matches your IQ,
Then, I may have time for you;
I cannot yet evince with words,
The sensation: seeing, smelling,
Revelling in the decay of a corpse.

You lack the soul to feel these thoughts.

Some writers here…

Seem to think they
Can tell others what to do
Name a great poem
That does that.

…

No, didn’t think so.
Stop with your fucking life advice,
You’re posting poetry on tumblr,
Realise you have done nothing
And you aren’t special.

Nor am I, but at least a rant, is not a poem
Telling other people how to live their lives
Chatting absolute breeze,
And moaning about the Swiss.

Swift unfollow.

P.s: I’m sorry, but what is a hipster?

3. Forest Retreat

The Young Man’s struggle at an end (?)
Friends were forgotten, in eager play
Days passed and absence made
Frontal lobes all the further from feeling.

Stealing hours, a hoard of sand
And dust from squalls,
Socratic passing, ever asking
And afraid.

Pat pat pat- that is the sound,
Cat-paws on caravan roof,
Wetted, weather worn;
Pig-dog intrigue.

Two weeks will pass, with
Little practise, the Family’s games
On hold, routine broken,
Concealed by thickets
Envelop the glade.

In anxious repose,
Prospects glower,
The young man waits
For self-motivation.

The family hopes.

The Ceylon Cricket Club

Blissful maladies
Blight your eyes;
Con your senses,
Quadrafind.
‘Til later, sole disciple,
On the hillside mountain roams;
Samples pleasures so far from home.

Colonial cultures
Marred by the might,
The scarlet sky,
The silver lights, 
On coat fronts, stars align,
Ceylon forests,
Names left behind.
Where we walk, the game is scored:
Kitchener’s karma,
Hague’s reward.

Rapine hussars,
The lands are yours,
To defend in future,
(a generation dead).
Or, in your head,
Play a flute in G,
Beneath the Bodhi tree.

Tantalus

Inside! Concealed by rosewood
Shadows, alight, blue-flame,
Orange-flame, wick white with
Exclamation. Be seated and wait,
Brothers, elder, old one who
Cared, that you might
Silver the compartments
Of his coat.
In huddled muddle, murmur in cover
Each and every
Other has a role to
Play, old fiction’s old fiction,
Gripping children’s hearts
So that in the old, childless
Generation, a memory lingers,
The dramatic performance,
Gripping adult brains.
Kidnap, intrigue,
Romance,
A pre-teen boy’s
Dream; attempts to construct reality,
With wild fantasy.

Charlotina’s Vengeance

To travel witless,
Through epoch woven
Time-space,
Material, sensual,
Theocracy forgotten
Moments blended.
Perfunctory partners,
Solar ray centuries
Apart of a greater plot
By canary yellow
Fluttered cape, weaver
Makes the patterns,
Winding and twining
Interwoven, the lattice-laced
Twigs, time surrendered
Married to a dead man.

In prim fingered clasp
Kiss, leave a lingered
Warmth of lips, to cool across
Vast expanses of space
Vague impressions of touch
Left to the future. 

Untitled 7

Training
Cognitive
Processes.
Detached,
Private
Hotel.
Tall
Pile
Small
Heap
Unread.
Just for the sake
Of words.
Trees wasted
Biro planet
Pennies pour
Shall
Words?
We are all in different places.
Things
Tumble.

Abnegator

Before long, biceps will become brittle;
Harsh bellowed bullshit will be
Timid caterwauling.
You are young, dense and
Without direction.
I am young, shallow,
Sans affection.
Bones will creak as you seek to eke
Some value in your latter days
When you realise
Gravity will steal your height
Strength will weather strain and
Age, my brain.
I am so worse off than you,
Thinking about these things,
I do wish ignorance was productive,
Then your presence
Could have been instructive.

Opinions…

Force them on people:
Fascist pig,
Ignore they exist:
Twit.
Snipe snipe snipe your foes
Hide your ego
Re-emerge
This is war
Not literature.
I want to win
Don’t want to accept
Poorer minds
Are fairer
Based on opinions.

I always believe my opinion is right;
It wouldn’t be my opinion otherwise.

Cache 22

You love yourself with all the love
Another would have if
You did not love yourself
So; you cannot love
Another when you love
Yourself so little, and
Lie, lie, lie.

Rainy Day

Weathering stories, drab
Drips dropping pure, pane-bound,
Glass slab, watching lives
Walk by, or play out.

Subtle acid burn, from
Lower gut to throat,
Pained vocals,
Strained nethers:
That burn and sting.

Wood-tinted, orange-yellow
Lightly pattering, a smattering
Of tranquility, serenity
Indeed, seeps between the cracks,
Finish the seeds;
England fresh and lush
With weeds.

artisticallysuppressed asked: Searching for young talented writers, we stumbled upon your blog and think, both, you and us would benefit from submitting to our magazine/blog for your words are wonderfully written. We would feel honored if you would consider it. Thank you for your time.

Thank you very much that has made my day that has. Of course I would love to submit to your blog; I will publish this response to my page so I remember, expect something in the near future. Thanks again. x

Declare

Black pointed rotted
Bleak gray mire soaked
Fuzz-foamed, moulded
Crumbles, falling, pieces
Pieces dropping out- 
And you cannot catch them
Or replace them,
For they are gone.
Panic, pain, ongoing
Anxiety exacerbated,
Baiting, waiting
To terrify you in sleep,
To train your mind
To train your brain
Clarion.