We were three (Poem)

We were three.

To start with, we were a gang of

Three. There was John, and Tom,

And of course,

Me.

We were walking along by the river

When John said to me, I have a sore knee,

So go ahead,

Without me.

So Tom and I, we left John behind and

Ran along the river, soon giddy in our games

We hardly heard the

Screams.

When we found John – or what was

Left of him, at least,

I was sick. I felt ashamed, but I

Was bereft.

As I was sick, Tom took charge. I’ll go

For help, he said. He had only just

Left when I heard him

Scream as well.

Already dismembered when I got there,

No sign of the culprit, but I knew

That whoever had killed John and Tom

Would come after me too.

I slept with one eye open, carried weapons

When I could. Stopped even believing

In good. I hoped to stay safe

That way.

I am old now, and John and Tom

Are long gone. But I have never forgotten

The blood by the river that day. So I know,

Whoever it was, will come for me too. 

A little poem for you to enjoy this Sunday afternoon, especially if you're planning any riverside walks, hehe!  (Once again, post is scheduled so I may not get a chance to reply to comments until Monday, but please leave some anyway, I really appreciate them!)

Another twitter piece - Comedy Hypnotist

I'm too tired and busy to come up with a proper blog post today, so have a fun little twitter fiction/poem :-) Proper update tomorrow, I promise!

Comedy Hypnotist

Comedy Hypnotist

Words strike fear in him

I do not wish

To think I am a chicken

He says

Cluck

Escapes his lips

Alongside a sob

A poem - Self.

Self


Tears
Form in my eyes.

Fears
Fly around my mind.

Lost,
And yet somehow solid.

Sense
Of self endures.

Fragile,
Yet I continue.

Myself,
Cracked but not broken.

Another old one. From the days when I used to use poetry to help heal mental health.

A poem - Sleep

Lie there,

Bare,

Almost innocent,

Energy spent,

Conclude the day,

The best way,

Sleep.

Jerk and twist,

Lost in the mist,

Of a dream,

Things that seem,

So real,

Part of the deal,

Of sleep.

Calm, still,

I will

Relinquish

The anguish,

Ending the day,

The only way:

Sleep. 

Once again, an old one :-) I really should do some writing but I wanted to post something.

A poem - Thunder

Thunder

Clap! But not in praise;

No applause.

Simply unaware,

Except of itself.

Bang! But not like a gun;

No lethal aim - 

Though potential is there,

To deal a lethal blow.

Flash! But no new knowledge;

Lightening is not a lightbulb.

No way to switch off;

Its power is its own. 

Clap! But not in praise;

No applause. 

Bang! But not like a gun;

No lethal aim-

Flash!

That can kill all the same.

Another old one - I haven't written any poetry for quite a while.

A poem - This is Not a Pen

This is not a pen

This is not a pen

It stabs and imparts poison

As it pierces.

This is not a pen

It tears and scrapes across

All chasms

This is not a pen

It drips with sugar and spice

Words nasty and nice

This is not a pen

To write dark upon light

Oh no

This is not a pen

But my mind liquefied

Preserved in time

I know that since this is online, technically it isn't a pen/ink so much as a cursor or a little light/darkness on a screen....anyway, the sentiment remains.

Some poems

These have been previously published but I still own the rights to them so I thought I might as well share:

Cat’s Eye.

Curled up there in the corner,
You give me the evil eye.
That powerful stare
Is intended to scare
And I feel a shiver down my spine.

Such a hypnotic gaze
From your tiny black face.
Feline finesse, a
Bright light in darkness;
Is the magic little window to your soul.


Published in the Anthology Our Little Friends published by a division of Forward Press, in 2004.


Grey

I cannot see beyond the grey,
What out there wants me for its prey?
I hear no music, silence rules here -
I must not let it smell my fear.
When will the grey turn into day?

Though a non-believer, I still pray
To a different god, my own way.
Nothing at all is at all clear –
I cannot see.

When the time comes, to take my pay;
No one to tell me if I may
Go here or there – I shall be freer
Than wind and rain, with music to hear.
But for the moment, life is grey.
I cannot see.

Published in the Anthology The Ultimate Rondeau Collection published by a division of Forward Press, in 1998.


That's all for now though I may post more another time!