a life in transition
new old – old old – old new
blooming You – wilting me
glowing bulbs in empty rooms
secret stories stacked
echoes of life boxed
insatiable nights
inflatable scars
my stars are distant
unfolding days
in folding chairs
untold invisible scars
stationary – sedentary
unmoving yet moving afar
a life in transition
back to barren soil
deserted dust
a new dawn awaits
as a vagrant life stops
some say size matters,
opinion-less I trust my own ears
and the ticking of an absent clock,
one billion
seven hundred fifty-two million
one hundred ninety-two thousand
seconds (roughly)
passed between life beginning
& the veil lifting & fog clearing
for a mind that found itself
– unsurprised
as differences always fluttered
while bones grew in the wind,
dreams never ended
then,
now
endless possibilities await
with a mind described as
– neurodivergent,
others say time does not matter
opinion-less I trust my own mind
to continue counting every step
onwards.
Cracked bowl
Black soup
Pudding for the meagre,
I loathe my tentacles
Rant at mirrorless reflections
Of flailing arms and knob-less knees,
I drink too much
Of love’s secret potions
Sweat from the sweet smell
Of defeat,
I loathe my tentacles
At the bottom of a sea-less sea
Squirting black bile
A fountain of lost hope
With only a cracked bowl
For dessert
Sadness never starts at the soles
Of feet that have seen fells and shores
Crossed desert and pine-filled land
Sailed high above the clouds of Man
Sadness never starts with tintinnabulating ears
Nor in the hollow darkness filled with tears
From seeing all of Man’s creations slowly wither
Never to be seen anew in the silent realms of dither
Sadness never starts as a tightening knot
With the church bells knell, or Death’s first knock
On your door as solid as rock
Standing firm — until it is not
Sadness start in stillness
Delving deep into supporting roots
Impenetrable lies cover fading truths
Of lineage and like an invisible mesh for mosquitoes
Keep you out
Of life.
Hunger. The wrath of the void
Curled up inside a beacon of hope
For silence.
Sizzling Sirloin steak — medium to rare
I butcher my memories
In favour of voices telling me to move
When the heart only wants
A chair.
Sit.
Sit down. Never move.
Never move again.
The silence in the void
Of penury
After the penny dropped
Sköll yawned silently
Beneath a shrouded moon,
Driven by desire
To see another day, another way
To make the bacon last
And the hunger
— a thing of the past.
As I walk your earth I leave no shadows; no footprints on your dunes of doom. Naked skin white as snow sizzles in coconut oil. Fried frowns and dried lawns randomly left for chary craftsmen. Everyone looks of age, everyone looks away. Your forests leafy and needled; I chew and spiked memories re-emerge as new. Green grass and prickly skin, nettles and old engineless mowing machines. I walk your earth another time, another long way round, barefoot and unoccupied. Ghosts of shadows point the way through the breathing forest towards the end of day.
Once upon a time, in a land far far away a man wore many hats. One hat, then another, never two or more as one head could fit only one solitary cover. Once upon another time, in a land devoid of manners the man tried many hats, one upon the other till the head could not bare another. The neck broke and the art choked, leaving the man without a head, without a proper place to put a hat. Once upon a time, art could survive the loss of a head, the whispers of voices becoming spoken truths of stillness. Once upon a time, far far away, hats ruled our lives – in silence.
One day, just any ordinary day, there were rumours that everything that mattered would cease, every written word fade into the unwritten. And on that particular day no one dared post on Tumblr; no one dared to oppose.
And the silence slowly spread across the land
And the low light found itself in longing pretence
And a feeble foot cursed and cussed
As an unpleasant pain broke the silence of night
– the longing and words of woe
replaced by agony from head to toe
Agony! Agony!! Agony!!!
The pain a disproportionate punishment
Agony!
for a tepid tap of toe
on another foot of cold and chrome
a crushing blow
then a howl like a hurricane at dawn
as the brittle bone broke
or the unnourished nail knew
it no longer had a home.
Silence fell. Lights dimmed.
The lonely shadow hobbled
through
the night’s final embrace
towards a brighter morning
– of pain
The robed man looked out over the immaculately striped lawn resting in the moonlight. He closed the heavy curtains and turned slowly towards the woman sitting on the gilded four poster bed.
“Thank God this day is almost over. How are you faring my dear queen, finally this consort nonsense is behind us,” he said.
“We are indeed blessed; the day could not have gone b—” A sudden rumbling from the walk-in wardrobe made them both turn towards the closed door. There was a faint light eminating from the keyhole.
“How peculiar, that door never used to have a keyhole…” the man said and started towards the intense beam of light that now seemed to grow larger and almost embracing the whole bedroom.
“Careful my dear, do call the guards instead of —” The door opened and out through the light stepped a small figure.
“HIIIIIIII! All doors want to have a keyhole, so I did a helping!” The boy spoke and the light seemed to dance around them in a merry waltz. That it was a waltz they were sure of; that the boy Jay was eleven and from outside of the universe there was also no doubting. How they knew they did not know. Some things just are. Especially on days like this.
