PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

i am

waiting waiting waiting

for you to love me

your memories of you

are a fraction of

my memories of you

and i still don’t have enough

to fill up all my empty spaces

i grab the letters

all my

silly little words

and wonder what makes this worth it

hey i

wrote you letters

hey i

wrote you suicide notes

hey i

wrote you the world

hey i

wrote you into my words

do you ever

maybe

think of me

i am tearing through all the papers

i will never send

because half of me is here

and half of me is in your memory

i am

waiting waiting waiting

for you to love me

the wind claws my skin i

don’t consider moving i

stay outside i did this to myself

why the fuck am i here

if i am still waiting for you to show up

knock on the door and

fix everything

you can’t fix everything you can’t

fix me

The girl on the corner is flashing her legs.

The drunk at the station is down to the dregs.

I try not to answer each question that begs,

And I long for a train back to you.

The platform is crowded, with nowhere to sit.

It's dingy and draughty, and quite badly lit.

But I'll bide my time here and put up with it,

As I wait for a train back to you.

My nights have been empty without you to hold.

I've felt lost and lonely, if truth must be told;

And these city streets are not paved with gold,

So I'm taking a train back to you.

The man in the mirror is no friend of mine;

He's balding and puffy, and talks out of line.

He followed me here with a bottle of wine,

And we're boarding a train back to you!

Copyright © Robert Haigh 2019

When I was a lad, summers were longer.

Families were closer, and somehow stronger.

There were surely more birds and butterflies

That flitted and fluttered and filled the skies.

   I could be wrong — but I'm not!

Roads were much quieter — less traffic you'd see.

The grass was greener, and advice was free!

We played in the street, enjoying our games;

Neighbours were friendly — we knew all their names.

   I could be wrong — but I'm not!

We hadn't much money, but life was grand!

We walked to the shop with coppers in hand.

Big jars of sweets were there on display,

And we'd choose from different jars each day.

   I could be wrong — but I'm not!

Life was much simpler and worries were few.

Dad stoked the fire and mother made stew.

We'd all play Monopoly after our tea;

Back then not many folks owned a TV.

   I could be wrong — but I'm not!

Nowadays kids have oodles of stuff,

And still they want more. It's never enough!

When I was a lad I had what I'd got;

Not very much, and that was my lot!

   I could be wrong — but I'm not!

Copyright © Robert Haigh 2020

this is new.

this is

there used to be a light

and someone has turned it off

in front of my face

but for years I thought I could still see

before I went half blind

this is

what do I want

strong soft

both

neither

scared

they tell you

lean on a shoulder

when you’re stumbling

but I started this at sundown and there are too many trails

now I am all alone and it is midnight and I can’t find the moon

I can’t find the things that have always been there and

this is my finish line to cross

this was supposed to be a simple walk

done before dark but

it has turned into fighting a clear path through a storm

I used to be able to love without second-guessing but

now you are a given,

nothing else is

how am I supposed to find solid ground when I can’t feel my own body

how am I supposed to love you like I did when I can’t spell the sentences of my own love letters

I don’t know how to reach through my own heart

and find what I needed a thousand years ago

how am I supposed to need you

when I don’t know what I need

this is

being tossed under waves I thought were freshwater

and getting a lungful of salt

this is

not fitting in the mold they have given me

or the one I gave myself

this is

forgetting everything about the words supposed to

and running on

pure

shaky

want.

We are trying to stay the same

as the ground breaks spring

and the world ends.

Feels like a metaphor.

We are on a cliff and

I am trying to keep you safe

in this fraying net.

I should say something about

beginnings and endings

and some things never changing

but that isn’t true, isn’t it?

We are changing

every second.

I want to think

we’re different in a good way.

We are trying to start again

as everything is unraveling

your fingers in mine.

Are we scared enough

brave enough

strong enough

enough to hold on?

The clock ticks across the waves of time,

I count them, watch them, wishing I could 

change the course of time,

Crest, trough. Rise, sink. Tide in. Tide out.

I fell from the cliff into the waters below,

freezing, sinking; the roots I had gone.

All things blurred; salt steeping into wounds,

I'm a relic of an era long gone. 

And I can't turn back time. 

The storm rages on and I suffocate

in the depths, dark and deep, 

dislodged out of time, 

days gone. Dimmed. 

And I can't turn back time. 

A pyre, past lit, 

A catalyst to combust or

A path, of possibilities, of 

probabilities. 

Time consumes, the tide comes.

The fire within, held close and tight,

The only thing to keep warmth, 

Stare at the fiery beacon, 

and learn to yield the inferno. 

Don't let the flame consume you, 

Lest it burn you back to the depths,

Don't the fire go out,

Lest time claims you forever. 

Mimic the light in the distance,

so far gone and stolen away,

To a place that cannot see backwards,

But still a beacon for pathfinders,

And I'll use time instead. 

Burn, contort, shape, and meld

the future to your will, and 

blazing into the future is now 

all I can do. 

Paper trails troll troubling trends into contempt of the truth.

Discount viscounts will turn a rogue rat to a mouse.

No cheese, just smoke them out.

Blow them away with a flash sale.

Beyond the veil is a marriage of malcontent and a desire to fix.

Every troll has a bridge.

Who will hang who with the rope used to support it?

Will you pay per trail that you choose to follow even if it brings sorrow?

Will you step on old branches and leaves in the forest of tomorrow?

To scuttle as a borrower or play possum?

Stiff as the floorboards that formed your house.

Are you leader or louse?

Docile or doused in gangster or grouch?

Is it a straight fight for what you have inside or what you put out?

Sometimes those with those with the most beef will claim vegan for clout?

Sometimes we claim our walls are full of beauty yet we paint them with doubt.

Then we redecorate them and redecorate them until the paint tinge is all we are

So much more

Did you think you could

swing me back

on a tidal wave

did you think I would

be so lonely

that something

was better than nothing

I just want to

turn the world

upside down

Did you think you could

pull all the strings

say all the words

to make me dissolve

I’m coated in armor now

I have a hand to hold

I just want to

make you write

I’m more than mine

Did you think you could

pull the scared

out of all the alleys,

make me into a mannequin

to post all your lonely

upside

downs

I am walking

I am searching

there’s too many things

I haven’t seen

Did you think you could

laugh till I was silent

no, where I am now

I make sound that’s

more than sound

I’m just waiting to

turn the world

upside down

My heart is weary, and my soul goes numb.

There's frost around me, in the shade of blood.

Seven bodies had hit the ground, with many tears, floating all around.

Their names are written upon their faces,

"fear", "loneliness", "lies", "bravery", clumsiness", and "grace".

The seventh body, though, is still warm,

And his name is "torn". I cried.

I thought they had all died, that I was full stolidity,

But now I know that I still feel, and I feel torn.

I screamed and thrashed while I felt him crawl up my back,

I see "fear" crawling too, closer and closer.

He climbs up my front, and I'm being dragged down into the ground.

Next was "lies", and he wouldn't stop screaming, but he was oh so wise.

"Clumsiness" followed and crawled away with my struggling "bravery" and "grace",

He torn off their faces and put on new masks. Now I have my emotions back,

And I feel human again, until loneliness rose from beneath me,

One by one, her dark shroud poured my emotions deep within me,

From the frosted blood, to herself, one by one. "fear", "lies", "clumsiness",

Even "loneliness" herself, and my two new masked emotions,

"Cowardice" and "freak". It was overwhelming, in a flash I felt again,

But now I'm alone, with these poor guys swarming their words in my lifeless head.