Random Unsorted Drafts

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Yesterday I wrote a poem of sorts

Today I write about writing

Tomorrow I will wonder why I bothered at all

The minds of mine – a fickle bunch


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3

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It takes three 
    to tango
three legs to keep 
    the balance 
trinity in itself 
    a sanctuary

We were three
   the self / the monies / the knowledge 

the self asked the monies for help

the self told the knowledge it asked

the monies told the knowledge: yes

the monies told the self: no

the self began 
    the worrying
inwards 
    looking
spiralling 
    downwards 
the balance 
    tipping
the dream 
    disintegrating 
      q
         u
            i
         c
      k
   l
     y …


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He still walks among mere mortals 

looking down on lesser men

He still glorifies the days of old 

stirring pots in abandoned kitchens

He still stands as one becoming 

watching mignons fall away

He will burn in Hell’s last fire 

a headless ghost without voice


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Näcken

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Näcken

Beware!

The notes he plays carry malevolence

Beware!

Cover your ears

Beware!

Do not go near

.

Deep down a pine forrest dream

a stream he calls his home 

upon a throne of boulders he sits

the violin upon his shoulder

waiting for fair maidens to 

draw near

.

Deep down a pine forrest dream

enchanting songs can be heard

they come from near 

they come from far

without even knowing 

why

.

Beware!

The notes he plays carry malevolence

Beware!

Cover your ears

Beware!

Do not go near

or death by drowning be the outcome 


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Where once there was beauty

I can no longer see you face

blind as a bat with 

eyes wide shut

,

Where once there was beauty 

I can no longer hear your voice

deaf as a post with 

floppy earlobes

,

Where once there was beauty 

I can no longer smell your hair

hyposmia or hypochondriac 

just so

,

Perhaps I am going blind and 

losing my hearing, your fading 

smell though is indicating that 

you are no longer around, I just 

don’t believe it, I just do not

,

Where once there was beauty

I remain

slowly aging 

with the fading 

memories of 

you


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If you happen to pass by 

the place where we grew up

the house on the hill with

an annex full of OAPs,

If you happen to pass by 

as the snow melts under

a rising sun uncovering 

the winter sand, a gritty

place with curtains drawn

and out of the corners of 

condescending eyes tears

of bile; stinging their 

perfect lives, 

If you happen to pass by 

and someone ask what became

of me, what purpose did I fulfil,

did I ever marry and spawned like

the plan God made, did my faith 

ever return, did grace show her 

blessed face, did I even care 

If you happen to pass by 

tell them: no he did not 

tell them: no he did not 

the path he walked was his

in shoes to big to fill,

a winter soldier with

a cold heart 

still beating


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I am the only one that can tell my story

#whydoyouwrite?


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there is so much I want to say

but so much more I never will

so much I lay bare on the tray

but so much more I hide

in the shredder waste and 

overcooked veg. There is 

more than just a pinch of salt 

between the empty sheets of

wordless drivel. I throw up and

resume my search for life 

on the brooding moors of night.


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As I flush the poison down the toilet 

I consider the time I’ve wasted trying 

to become another me; be more 

like them that never feel pain. I do

deserve better days, they will come 

I am sure, when I am ready to 

embrace them

°

Alexa. Play Planet Rock

°

I flop down on the sofa and close my 

eyes. This is going to be a long night.


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that sinking feeling … 

when you convince yourself 

you can swim

and realise that flailing 

under water

is really; really 

hard work


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