Tag Archives: depression

Quarrymen

quarry
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

We wake, shale-eyed,
clutching at cold, sharp edges,
 

pebble-smooth warmth
eloping with sleep.
 

Dawn finds us on our knees,
scrabbling in the grit,
 

searching for crude tools
to chip away the grey.
 
 

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Filed under Couplets, Free Verse, Poetry

Dog Days


 
 
 
 
 

Lain beneath the filigreed dust
of a spattered mackerel sky,the
snaggle-toothed, black matted mongrel,
 

wet tongue lolling over spracked
slack lips, its sickly damp dog smell,
blood-bloated fetid breath,
 

embraces easy slumber, rattlesnake
snores and lumbers light,
beneath the adipose surface,
 

its conscience unencumbered.
On Canicular days I would poke
with a stick or slick-sharped blade,
 

bid him wake to rake my face
with rancorous claws but not today.
The dog days are long past, now
 

rapture fasts while winter feasts.
Let the lying canine sleep,
I choose to bury the baying beast.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

Sink


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Lip-synching to a life half-lived;
cold maelstrom meals, slim doldrum days,
citalopram-clad drum roll haze.
 

In bowls of broken glass slop-sieved,
pus-puckered mouth too sore to pour
lips’ ink into a life half-lived.
 

Tongue lolls in shrunken gum malaise,
lips sink into a life half-lived.
 
 

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Filed under Octain, Poetry

Petticoat


 

She slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days,
a torn and ragged wisp I failed to grasp,
that withered in the mottled mirror-gaze.
 

Caliginous dysfunctional malaise,
shushed-silent but for dusk’s death-rattle rasp,
she slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days.
 

Bewildered child within the laddered maze,
seduced by sorrow’s vile puissant asp
that slithered in the mottled mirror-gaze.
 

Entombed within the muddy-mettled greys,
enveloped by seclusion’s gutt’ral gasp,
she slipped beneath me, lost it seemed, for days.
 

‘Neath fractal glitter, hope returned rephrased,
deft-delicately held with hook and hasp,
soft-swithered in the mottled mirror-gaze,
 

her party dress – resplendent polonaise
and in her hand the proffered, beaded clasp.
Wraith-like beneath her, lost it seemed, for days;
I found myself within her mirrored gaze.
 
 
 

~ a polonaise is a woman’s dress with a tight bodice and an overskirt drawn back to reveal a colorful underskirt or petticoat

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Filed under Poetry, Villanelle

Rock Paper Scissors

If I’m on fire they dance around it
and cook marshmallows.
And if I’m ice they simply skate on me
in little ballet costumes.

 

~ Anne Sexton
 

A bemused observer
of their game until now,
I have become a portentous player
for I am Water.
 

Not the cleansing hill streams of Snowdonia,
the bottled minerals of Cerist,
or the bland, reservoir-rated,
‘lapped from the dog’s bowl’ drink.
 

No,
I am neither clear nor pure.
I do not quench their sand-filled throats
with the serum of their early years
or cool their ragged-flanelled fevers
as my beads burn from their foreheads.
 

I am torrents of snot-filled globules
bubbling in a salty cauldron,
liquid spittle unravelling before them.
I am deliquescent disorder,
drowning amid the septic sewer’s craw.
 

So what will become of them?
 

My rock,
my tiny pebble
who grew into a heather-faced
mountain of a man,
strong enough that I could lean on him
and feel small against his contours
his steady drumbeat a perfect paradiddle
to my erratic metronome.
Will he plunge into the slithering river,
his rhythm faint and failing
as he sinks into the brackish silt?
 

My first-born paper boy,
so many scribbled lines shared late into the night,
even when distanced by the delerium
of drunken student life.
Will his blue-scribed words bleed,
his pages turn to pulp
as his adolescent song
runs sopping through the gutters?
 

And what of her,
my sharp-tongued, slippery seamstress
with her silver-fish wit and her precious metal smile,
her glinting shears swathing effortlessly
through the diaphanous dream
that she weaves around her.
Will her blades rust
beneath the deluge of my sorrow,
as the naïve loom lies abandoned
in the corner of a cobwebbed room?
 

No,
for I am Water.
I can be poured
back into the pitcher,
treated and filtered
until I run clean and clear again,
dancing weightless and unfettered
in the myriad sparkling streams
of Mynydd Mawr
where they will lift me to their lips
in cool-cupped hands
and sup from me once more.
 
 

~ Mynydd Mawr ( Welsh for big mountain) is a mountain in Snowdonia, North Wales and is pronounced Mun-ith Mow-r (rhymes with hour)
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse

Sinkhole

Dreading dawn’s vertigo ache of first-wake light,
sound bite quietude a hushed interlude
as carnassials gnaw at gut.
 

Nausea burns constricted throat,
fingernails scrape at chalk dust entrails
of a dismantled reality.
 

Cotton-sheathed, saline-soaked wretch,
wracked and ruined, slinks back down
into caliginous midden.
 

Though light climbs agile through the blinds,
the damned diurnal will not dredge up
the dregs of fragmented flesh today.
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry, Tercets

Wakey Wakey


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Slept in late,
woke up to find
noon at the gate;
she can wait.
 

Slipped down,
magic pillow,
wallowed for a while,
couldn’t even muster a smile.
 

Postman
banged on the door;
more mail,
didn’t we get some yesterday?
 

Bills to pay, special offers
that end today,
colourful catalogues,
vast array,
 

small white card
 

gilt-edged,
wedged in the letter box,
almost missed,
discrete,
calligraphy-neat
 

‘you are cordially invited
to attend the rest of your life’
 
 

Screw sleep,
temptation to weep,
showered, dried tresses,
picked from numerous dresses.
 

No time to snooze,
find shoes – four inch,
don’t care if they pinch.
killer heels that make me feel tall.
I’m outta here baby –
Cinders is off to the ball.
 
 
 

Posted for the wonderful dVerse Poet’s Pub

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Filed under Free Verse

Sunrise over the Pharmacy

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nursing caffeine;
yawning,


watching Belenus
fight Arianrhod
for space in the sky,


realisation
dawning –


her only blithe warrior
the little white lie
she allows to slipslide


down her throat
each morning.

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Filed under Free Verse, Uncategorized

On Darkness

‘when we fuck we go to the dark gods’

Just hold that thought between your glist’ning thighs
resist the urge to let the bastard in
for penetration’s sanity’s demise.


Moist oral appetiser’s a disguise,
soft whisper merely heavy petting’s twin;
just hold that thought between your glist’ning thighs.


This stark desire still burns behind the eyes;
all thoughts of chastity will soon wear thin
for penetration’s sanity’s demise.


Crepuscular embrace would be unwise,
as flesh parts, darkness slides against the skin,
just hold that thought between your glist’ning thighs


lest it give way to grim dysphoric guise.
Beware the false serenity within
for penetration’s sanity’s demise.


Dark gods will bathe in rapture and baptise;
anoint with balm of rank addiction’s kin.
Just hold that thought between your glist’ning thighs
for penetration’s sanity’s demise.


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Filed under Villanelle

crawl space

woke up small
crawled
across the splintered floor


almost made it
to the solid oak door


climbed the chest

gasping
spent the day in a drawer


dark dusty corner
let myself fall

 


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Filed under Free Verse