Writer's Block

Time to tell the truth. Last post was a year ago, a lot has happened in a year.. stay tuned.

What does a poet do when they run out of paper?

Bursting a vein all over the street,
Ambulances and suited men,
Youngsters looking for a place to be,
But I can't hold on to any
Too lost to care any more
There isn't any paper for me to write on any more
No distracting faces, parties or even places
To be
Just home or what I make it
And a sad sad voice learning he has to leave me
Because of what I haven't done, more than what I have
Someone like me who spurs this kind of shit on a blog
Dreams spat out to dust
So many years ago
When the stitches never healed
When the silent words were not revealed
When unity was misplaced
Love was there
But only for the people who could grab it with both hands

Suzie

Our fingers could be made of magic
But our bank accounts are low
We're arrogant and ill behaved
But we got nowhere else to go

Our photographs could see us at parties
But our social life is slow
We're turning sour and sad, time will turn us mad
So the stars to us, don't glow

Our unity keeps the sharks at bay
But the depression keeps sinking in
We are older than our ages right now
when we play a game we can not win
We are lost in the lives we used to live

Our homes are vacant hotels
Hearts melting with the sheer despair
Dreams that can't be made with spells.

Road kill

Car park
Road kill
The tall tall trees
and the purring creatures
Mid afternoon is grey Dull,
Quiet,
Lifeless
My eyes sore from sleep
Body aching from the dragging days
Symbols on a page
forming a tribute
to today.

What could it be?
When the rain has laid down on the ground
and the tall trees are tired from standing
the purring creatures bored of quiet
the others bored bored bored of the dull
and the lively falling in with the lifeless

symbols are just symbols too.

a doll's a drag

dragging a lump of tired body to the bedroom at 4
someone else is moving in, they're at the door
I'm not sure whether it's worth to hate any more
I can't reconnect with that immaturity I had before

Everything needs to be worked at here
we are a broken division
Careful to lock the bathroom in case of a collision
But why does it matter, home is in sight
The three years are over it's time to hold tight

For the real ride.

Working in a clustered enviroment

Whales in the bathroom.
Great big beautiful white whales
Smashing huge holes in the walls
bricks flying from ear to ear of the room

Ghosts in the hallway
concentrating hard on moving objects
the unknown shadows growing in the corners
invisible sources of energy
listening to us

Light in the Dark
the only hope we have left,
when the whales are smashing
and the ghosts are swallowing our silence
little flickers of the candle
the green light on our handsets
the hallway light at 5.00am
the red sun bursting through our windows

we know we can still make the finish.