stonepoem : 365

All these
things to do
these things to count
these things to throw away
to say, to shout, to laugh,
to argue all about
can’t we just write
these dumb things down?
all the breaths
we’re letting go
without regard
for things
we need to do
we can stop this
in its tracks
stop this waste
the time that spinss
the moments
sparing dullness
all these worries
all these sighs
we should just agree -
write this stuff down
park tired things
but keep them safe.
We need
a list.

This one’s in the key of blue.
Fellas, are you with me too?
These words are going out for you
and this one’s in the key of blue

No long-necked bottles left to stand
no diamonds resting in the sand
know me, no you - you’ll understand
I’ve got the mic and a kick-ass band.

And this one’s in the key of blue.
The other keys? I know too few
and this is for the moody crew
that’s why it’s in the key of blue.

No happy end to what I’ve planned
no smiling fools at my command
just me and threads in which to stand
and mic in hand and kick-ass band.

So this one’s in the key of blue
yeah this one’s in the key of blue
these words are going out for you
hear me wailing, lonesome, true.

I am afraid
my wings are useless
can’t you see them flapping?
I am aimless.
For all your honeydew
I am toothless too,
maybe … maybe because
I carried on so shamelessly.
But nobody told me
I would become
quite so ruthless -
with tongue to stamen greed
gnawing, so furiously.
Dark pollen clings tight
to a truthless heart,
like blackfaced moths
clinging onto midnight.
And I am earthbound now -
for all your curiousity.
Just watch me,
shuffling,
on.

This is a slippery slope
no roots or shoots to grope
no emergency rope and on
the face of it there is so little hope
that’s what I see
through this narrow periscope
now, I’ll shut my stupid trap
and cope.

this stuff we’ve been breathing in
same old, same old back and forth
tired molecules dragging feet
enough! - we’ve been here before
don’t suck and take this all for granted
I think we’ve forgotton the difference
between a scent and a stink
this huff our chests now heave -
moans of mild irritation or worse
so stale is our brightness of intent
and gone the whistle of being alive
even vibrations we don’t feel
look - it’s as clear as day outside
there’s a million miles of wind
and the sky has invited us
why not run the hill and turn
blow murmerstone and undertow
we should be rolling like rounded chalk
down hillforts and lazy tracks
where whispers never still
letting cracking groans and pleas
be rough vapors blasted free
and to nature’s tether, heaving in
gently calling sighs to laughing breeze
together sharing what we all share
no room for dried up truths
we now must leave -
we need more air.

You don’t
want to feel
like a flea
on the tail
of a dog.
You don’t,
but that’s
how it
is.

You know not
what to feel -
fight or flee,
watch or fall -
through graspless fog
of you know not.
This is just
how it
is.

You mustn’t fear
now tumbling you -
now scared, of all
the shocks.
You mustn’t feel
this way you feel.
This is the way -
it is.

Don’t stitch the sail
if stitching torn-past shreds.
Thus spoke blunting patched cloth,
all to worrymen and woe.
No stitch the sail!
Wish now for wonder wind!
This spoke parchment wings
curled and needing crystal thread.
Don’t speak, don’t speak at all
is what the needle
said.

Shut up, cut the cord
From you to a future come
Stretched but sanguine too.