text version below
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
text version below
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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text version below
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
text version below
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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text version below
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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text version below
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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text version below
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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text version below
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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