Tag: Self
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As Good As It Will Ever Be
Tied Up And Down And Out It’s late again. I’m home again, alone again, and again, in these dark hours, with a light beer in my hand, I look around this cold little room in this old little house, and I wonder, is this all I should expect? Is this as good as it will…
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And I Think The Lights Are Calling
And I Think The Lights Are Calling bright lights spangle in my mind and I think of them and the sounds they bring and I wonder here individually alone I wonder how these colours call to me what they are saying and why I am so hot and frightened and I don’t understand how they…
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You Are So Worth It
You Are So Worth It you are so worth it you are valued and unique you are beautiful
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The Sound Of Slowly Falling
The Sound Of Slowly Falling night-time in the house alone listening to settlement to the sound of everything slowly falling apart I’m thinking about writing or reading or painting or murder or drinking some more about simple, everyday, destruction about doing something anything but sitting here alone listening to settlement to the sound of me…
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Back There
Back There hurrying away rushing to get to somewhere that isn’t back there huffing and puffing and not taking time to see the world as I pass through it just rushing on and on and on and away like an old madman I used to know (perhaps that was me) (perhaps that is me) it…
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Cheap And Tasteless
Cheap And Tasteless looking round my house finding cheap and tasteless tat seeing what I am
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No Filter
No Filter you have no filter said my friend whatever is in there it just comes out and it’s true my filter is broken my gate is unhinged my heart is on my sleeve there for all to see and usually still bleeding though I am equally capable of wounding other hearts, too I have…
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Not What I Wanted
Not What I Wanted What I was Was not what I wanted to be What I wanted to be Was not me
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Darkness Unminds
Darkness Unminds in the light of day the darkness that unminds me cannot show itself
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Creating Things
Creating Things Creating things making things is frustrating things don’t always come out the way you want them to that line can be too straight that red, too bright a smile can become a sneer with just a little quaver of the voice in your hand too often belief leaves you and in its place…
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A Place In The Country
A Place In The Country I live in a house in the heart of a city I always have, always will, very probably, where acres of asphalt abound and surround me, with neighbours in earshot and too close proximity. (whatever I do I know they know about it, whatever they do I just don’t really…
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My Many Lovely Evils
My Many Lovely Evils – A Poem In many ways I am a man made up by many others: by father, brother, sister, mother, grandparents and cousins. I am a man, like any man, who’s formed by other people; by friends and foes, and those that know my many lovely evils. I hated work, I…
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Being Young
Being Young – A Poem Shouting Wearing shorts Knee scabs The joy of worms Always running Never walking First time tastes Ice cream soda Christmas morning! Pets like pals Alien girls Forever friends First time met Eating for fun Enemy vegetables Stories in books Comics Television Games at school Laughing Brotherly love Mother as god…
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Brief Shining Moments
Brief Shining Moments – A Poem When you’re young Nothing is impossible Anything can happen And you believe Everything will happen It just will It’s expected You expect it You expect your dreams To just happen And for a few Brief shining moments They will They really will You’re young You’re good looking The world…
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The Future Passed
The Future Passed When I was a boy The future was a thing I didn’t look for And couldn’t see And now the passed The things not done Are right there Right behind me And I see them clearly For the very first time
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What Am I?
My hair is dirty. Dirty, greasy hair. Dirty with me, with the sweat of me, with what comes out of me, with what makes me, me. Am I dirty? Is that what I am? Is that all that I am? What am I? I’ve often thought about that, what I’m made of, what I am.…
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Losing My Mind
Maybe it’s the times. Maybe it’s the lack of self-space. Maybe it’s just that I’m getting old and even more Leary, but I seem to be losing my mind. My captive thoughts are escaping their brain cells, running away from me like ungrateful rats deserting a shrinking wit. Concentrating is taking a frustrating effort, although…
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Writing Me Up 