Poetry Drafts

The Nobel Prize in Poor Judgement

If there was a Nobel prize in poor judgement I would win, hands down I would and claim it with my record as evince, signed and sealed by the magistrates of fate.

I have no defense, no means to fake my failing flaws, hereditary in nature yet I did not see this coming, did not anticipate rust where no iron could be present; where love came knocking like a vacuum cleaner salesman on a Friday just after lunch.

Yet I refuse to give up, refuse to give in to the promised land, the green grass and swelling seas beneath the permanently present sky in all hues of blue.

If there was a Nobel prize in poor judgement, I would win. I would thank them for their judgement, being a being of poor judgement, what else could I do.

Lies Intertwined

I intertwined the lies
the spoken and the heard
with lies soon unearthed,

I formed a plait
wore a short skirt
and painted lips,

I danced your night away
saw the last coil straighten
and a man slowly reverting,

I let it loose
let it fly
and left my sign,

I unpacked and embraced
your final muffled words
behind the plastic mask,

I dyed it blue
my innocence
in a kiss,

I danced alone that night
along the river of dreams
atop your shallow barrow,

I stopped
and turned
to remember,

to greet a strangerโ€™s smile
with a twirl and a bow
is a lie worth pursuing.

creaking in a blessed night,
wickerwork and cold shower
taps; they made another,
an other spawned from darkness
of night โ€“ and of minds
creaking.

incomprehensible: her words of love
and loving and living in a moment,
he found in there no understanding
of the magic they shared; words
so eloquently painted
on a canvas of divinity, of light
where he could only see a moment
fleeting, a lover fleeing and in love
the ultimate betrayal.

no one shares him, no one will
carry forth his stories: the facets
of an unpolished rock
slowly disappearing
slowly becoming
a desert devoid of mirages.

Bad Robot

I blame bad programming,
the programmers themselves
badly programmed
by bad programmers;

I blame bad programming,
the operating system unchosen
and low-level language used
by those inherited classes โ€“ fools;

I blame bad programmers,
the parental trap of tinkering,
the unspoken words, the hereditary
misgivings and an environment
unfit for purpose.

No Stranger

My future is no stranger,
it is the mirrorless face
of sameness, sadness
dancing between blackened trees
burnt to the ground by passions
for someone, something
now eluding me.

My future is no stranger,
Hello Faceless Demon! I see your bet
and I raise you all I possess
to race you till the end
of time, searching for other kind
of mirror.

My future is no stranger,
it was that which always was
and always will be seen
in the cause without effect,
in the mirror sighing.

Friends Lost

Friends lost too early,
untimely demised from the long road,
lost meandering the land of Madness.

Tick โ€“ tock.

From mizzle to drizzle
to the tempest of mind,
they found no kind of peace,
no patience for the patient.

Tick โ€“ tock.

Friends lost too early,
too many too soon
to a Madness that roams
my mind, as they carry on living.

All fuses blown
All energy expended
All I see in every corner are shadows,
scythes โ€ฆ
and a boy of eleven waving?

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