HIIIIII! This is totally a bio for @behind-the-veil-of-sanity that is all about hugs and funs!!!
I am a balanced ghost who is a bee
I was ten circles once also you see
I am words collected like drops of rain
The long shadows do ‘jaysome’ exclaim
So if a poem confusles that’s not a bug
As every poem is secretly a hugey hug
And when you buy this book you’ll see
The poems that are shores beyond sanity!
I can work with that 🙂
<huff> Is there a Blurb AI? Poets shouldn’t be required to write blurbs for poetry collections. It’s poetry, it’s shite, it’s shitty words on dead trees. I hate promoting words responsible for the slaughter of millions of trees. I hate blurbs. I hate writing pretentious words about dead words. I hate … but I have to get the book sold, is there a Blurb AI? </huff>
You ask me to put my past behind me / but the past is all I have / I carry nothing of your alluring future / the known is all there is / the tapping of tired toes across hazy dusty floorboards / the yanking of rusty chains and boys crying wolf / gingerbread men and sickly treacle tarts / I need no other future than the one that has come to pass.
In the new land nothing grew
Like weed, no growth without feed
They said
I could indeed
Become a better me
If only I could learn to see
Truth in the deal
On offer:
Death only speaks to the living.
In the land of the new nothing grew
But sorrow
Over the same tomorrows
& weeds walking
Asking for charities
From OAPs
Skidding like kiddies
In silent wintery splash parks.
Death speaks only to the living
& OAPs
Hell-bent on killing
Every thought
Of change.
Death to the living.
Death to weed.
Death to the deal
— on offer
In the land of old and new
I pursue a Truth
Worthy the cause
Of living.
Every week I shed my face,
Don the youthful appearance
Of my latent longing eye
Buried deep within
An unconcerned
Apocalyptic
Mind.
Every day I seek that face
Once, or twice, spoken to
Like it held the answers
To someone’s solemn
Dream.
Every moment I find
Only shattered memories
Of what one was
An I.
Every shard just evidence
Of yearning
To stay
Alive.
I no longer make bold
To chant your warbling words,
The poetry of the longing
& pining for another world.
I no longer venture
To tempt our Father’s Fate
Of falling into love’s abyss
& Mother’s wicked mesh.
I no longer presume
To sing my tepid Truth,
The poetry of a longing
& a tightening noose.
