The creature rears its ugly head
In circumstance I fear and dread;
My pounding heart, be not so loud –
Lest these sheets become my shroud.

I fear my bed shall act my pall
And soon I hear its monstrous call:
“Sleep, my dear, and you shall find
The horror couched within your mind.”

Whatever I think, I can’t say:
“They wait for me from night till day.
And I for them, twixt sheets I’ve toss’d.
I shall be gone I shall be lost.”

And lost I am, I can’t be found
Within my thoughts where dread abounds.
Until, at last, the break of day –
They’re vanquished by the sun’s fair ray.

An angel from heavenly climes
Beckons to me, repeats the time.
If I am the fruit, she is the tree –
My mother, saviour, at last I’m free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The red dirt road stretches its arms out to embrace the sun.
There is something primordial here; something fundamental.
The reds and browns of the ancient artwork are but a reflection;
Like the doubled moon at the ocean’s edge.
Spinifex sits patiently along the way,
They are content to breed familiarity, but contempt is not a word known here.
But now –
Now, the human termites have formed their mounds,
Made not of the sand as red as blood, but of greed.
Arrogance that is quintessentially sapien.
Depleting her spherical form.
She is the ancient feminist.
The original mother.
She has attempted revenge, but she is weak now.
Defeated.
Her femininity is now womankind’s mirror image:
They have progressed and she has been vanquished.

Wide eyes stare unblinkingly,
A dark curtain falls about her face
Framing it like a sheet over an unused canvas.
The words they use swirl like dust around her.
Catatonic. Vegetable. no recovery.
She dreams that she can see her as they do:
A madwoman, muttering the mixed murmurs of her mind,
An empty thought bubble hovering above her equally empty head.
This image, for her, often overrides the preferred –
Green fields.
And through them, a green self running.
Green, innocent, youthful. Her salad days.
Salad days – a stark contrast to her current state.
Her mind screams in frustration,
A silent cry that cannot reach them.
She is an absurdist masterpiece.
Her questions, never asked, never answered.
She is a captive of her own form.
Scans reveal the everlasting cliché:
“The mind is willing but the flesh is weak”.
So she resigns herself to this weakness.
Weakness of the flesh,
But strength of the mind –
And within her she holds the strengths of the world…
Silently.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`


They chatter like agitated air headed cranks
about the nothings of life!
Throughout their select group of skanks,
makeup and hairspray is rife.
Talking at the speed of light
About the attractiveness of their style
(though I’m not sure “attractive” is right)
The disdain rises in my throat like bile…
How is it I am not like them?
I have a brain? A personality?
Or a supreme lack of fem-
-ininity…is that what they now call being pretty?
I am cynical. Embittered.
Has my heart been removed –
Like a peach that’s been pitted?
No; these fashionable monsters are hooved…



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Frustration has me in its clutches…
A malicious shape shifter
who claims a friend as an accessory
does not deserve he love of a green and innocent boy.

Surely I am not the only one
who sees this shameful fraud,
this loveless union on one part,
this façade of real cherish?

But he – even he! Whose well-being is at stake
Seems not to care that he has been had.
The eye only see what the heart wants to,
The ears only hear lies, not advice.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Cowardice
Mere cowardice
Do not hide behind the anonymity
of a monitor just to obtain sympathy.
speak to the boy –
you’re keeping him in the dark
as a trivial accessory.
you do not deserver him,
and he deserves someone who will
treat him like a human fucking being.
Do him a favour –
Do us all a favour –
Break all ties.
You complain about your ‘woes’,
But it is selfishness.
The pain felt for having an unloving partner
Is worse than the day to day angst
Or which you whine.
An unloving partner, yes, but unrecognised as so –
It is cowardice
Mere cowardice.

The thin blue lines shout at me:
“Say something! Say something with meaning!”
So I write
And write
And write
But nothing worthwile.
I write for the sake of writing
Speak to hear my own voice.
The pages are so full of words,
And yet are so empty.
I am speaking so loudly,
Yet I say nothing.

When you mix red and blue paint
It becomes purple.
Will it always be purple,
Or will is be red and blue?
How hard it is
To be and individual
Within a couple?
Being with someone
Doesn’t have to mean being someone.
A couple known only by one name
Is not a healthy couple.
To allow freedom, to embrace freedom
Is to love completely.

The night has a texture all of its own
A velveteen dome enclosing the earth.
Sometimes in seems to last
For an eternity –
It is these times that I am alone;
Cold, shivering, wanting another body’s warmth.
Or fitful – tossing in bed, unable to sleep,
Though the last thing I want is to be awake.
Sometimes the night is over too fast.
You grasp at sleep – but it is wrenched from your grasp
By the too early awakening sun.

The senses of night are of those in the womb.
The air can be seen,
The smells can be tasted,
And the sights can be felt.
The night’s sound is unique.
The wail of a far off siren barely masking
The loathed screeching of a couple in love.
Silence isn’t golden, now –
Silence is a sky of silk tapestry,
Embroidered with the most perfect of stars.

This is a place where I've decided to post some of my writings. I would appreciate any constructive criticism and/or tips offered. Please keep in mind that these weren't written for anybody else, I just wanted to try my hand at some sort of poetic writings ^__^.

NB: I didn't put too much thought into metre, rhyme and so on.

Why is it that sometimes the days seem to go on forever, stretch out like an empty road?
And other times
They are so
Short
You barely
Know
They’ve been
At all?
The inconsistency of life –
Time passes
Quickly, slowly.
Until one day, you’ll realise that the time you saw
Stretched out forever in front of you in your youth
Has evaporated into memories.
And that the road you imagined was ahead of you
Is now to your back.

SHOUT IT
OUT LOUD!
Let yourself be heard!
Silence is not always golden –
Silence is
COWARDICE.
Silence is a fear of non-approval.

My
Mind
Is
Blank.
Not
A
Clean
Slate.
Not
A
Fresh
Page.
Just
Devoid
Of
Substance.
Devoid
Of
Anything.

A broken promise
So often means a broken heart.
But to have a broken heart is lucky.
A heart can be
Shattered
Smashed
Crushed
Obliterated.
But to have a broken heart is lucky.
It means it can be repaired.