PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

If from my stumble I arose,

and forced my gypsy feet,

to fully quit their rabid mumbling,

and walk the straighter street;

Could i find that lonely want,

with the wind along my back,

A solid happy bedding,

'neath my tumbled loathesome shack?

And what could from under cover hold,

my heartness in its plight,

To soar away this restlessness,

And drive away the night?

For the full sun's shining glory,

forgets eternally to pencil in,

the path that musts are to follow,

and escape these sheets of tin.

(Original Ending to which the comments are made)

Away to coloured heights I'd fly,

As the healing purity falls,

And I'll road my footing wisely,

For I'm castling new King-ly walls.

1,2,3,4

Drop down quick and kiss the floor,

2,3,4,5

Jump up fast, You're stayin' Alive!

3,4,5,6

Wreck your hamstrings on Can-Can kicks,

A,B,C,D

Now you can't weight bear on your left knee,

5,6,7,8

Your heart beat 's jerkin' at an awful rate,

6,7,8,9

Your fit bit squeals out a flat-line,

7,8,9,10

You admit sweating hard is just for men!

It's a please for a tree in a fit of rain,

It's hard work and an always open gate,

It runs into all the corners and is very rarely late.

Its the head of a nut tightening the spanner,

It's tall and short all bundled up forever,

It's a long stride and a wheelie if you rev her.

It's filling the trough of a crocodile imagination,

It strays and stays even though it shouldn't,

And it's all of that, knowing that you couldn't.

Boredom is stuck 

on a stool 

with nothing to do.

  A pause in a pale night.

A contingency

                               Pressure for measure

   ESCALATES IN URGENCY

                                                    Into cursive happenstance.

Didn't I put my foot on the brake

So hard the road skinned and grate

The soles of my Flintstones?

Though I did skate through

The junction at the end,

A whallaallabambam,

T'was Blarney for sure.

Yes seizes,

No freezes,

Maybe matters!

Matter mashes,

Utter crashes,

Sworn tatters.

Molten metal actualises cold and hard,

Prised from and quarried,

Decorously surrounding us,

In twisted greedy logic,

Supplanting us for profit,

Reduntantly pointing out,

Frigit impressionable robots,

We, lacking in holy spirit,

Regress harder and colder,

Marching in line, alongside,

The metal we excavated.

Wring the dry nights on heavy sighs,

String the solo days in echo,

For no-one knows,

Silently she cries,

Cursing a longing,

In two hanging arms,

Of loneliness.

I paper feathers

On what you see

On what you hear

To catch your eye

To catch your ear

And wonder if they work;

I hear you laugh

Hear you talk

Watch you smile

Watch you walk

I know your feathers,

Better.