Summertime Blues

The echoing voices are like lucid dreams

Swans in the lake in the background

This time last year I was reading a book in a park

With no compass, sipping on liquid

Within feet of a fillip

The sweat was like a homeless poison

Seeping into the elm and the pulp of the garden

Now I can feel the cabin fever my body is fighting the feeling

I'm like an aeroplane heading in a straight direction

I've planted the seed, the cycle continues

Like a definite appetite

I'm going over Mecca, over the cistern with an alias

Over the shrubs and the informal horde

I am as quiet as snow

 

Primeval, bracing for a soft impact                                                                                           

I've let myself off the leash, the moon has absconded                                                           

I've seen a week's worth of regret accumulated                                                                       

In one little moment                                                                                                                       

A year after I met paranoia                                                         

I counted the ugly ducklings, escaped Alcatraz                                                                           

Died in the darling shark-infested sea like Frank Lee                                                                     

Had gathered the THC, relaxed like it was Miami                                                                     

I could go on and on like a threesome                                                                                         

I'm lukewarm and soaring

 

In my bedroom, in tune, I may fare better

On the sunny side of life I twist,

I've been left exposed

It had gotten to the point I didn't want to write poems

I know how hard it is to share my feelings

I know how hard it is to pour out my emotions

I feel like an ocean, a hundred years of hoping

There is no remedy for the sadness I feel

I'm in knotted masses

 

A greenhorn, in a room with a nice view

I can't stop thinking about you

When I get the summertime blues

I feel lost and I don't know what to do

I don't know what to do I don't know what to do

Trapped in a room with a nice view

I stare at my shoes, bright stars with no mouths

Full of grief and anguish and bleak thoughts

I sell my love stories to that Old Nick

The bastard in the night

I could sit after every incident

It all seems connected in my head

It makes sense like the sweet bells or the daffodils

Golden and crisp mornings

My frosty breath lingers as the middle splits

I have been reoccuring in spells

The deep blue washes ashore like a whale

I see ivory and pearls and a beaded necklace

Prostrate leaves on the trees

Headless, reckless, feckless, useless

The wind knocked me senseless

I was like a statue, freckles, unpolished dots, dots, dots

I felt the upsurging heat like a fire in a liver

I was riddled in doubt

I had my eyes held on the naysayer

The spots recrudesce, moonstruck

Red in colour, the naysayer is a busy wasp

Bleeding red, infectious

Coiled up in anger and frustration

I sulk like it's Halloween

Five foot odd, wearing nostalgia

On a jaunt to Heaven

I dance, japonica, on the clouds

I wander as lonely as a Jungle Book

Cooked up a storm

Nothing changes the value judgement

I walk out of my reputation

Like a H

Simmering like a coffee

The music sheet reads, "Pizzicatto"

I can only pluck my feathers

All I've ever known is to sin

I'm the shrinking violet

Next to the hamlet

No rain has fallen in weeks

I can't believe it has been weeks

I was jocund, in a bonanza

I restlessly cried

Why? Why? Why?

I cried why like an Abracadabra

The darkness was tailored

As dark as a basement

I remember it like diamonds

A mane or a chin groove

The paper is showing its age

Jackanapes

The metropolis is chequered

Read a fortune-teller

A fraud, a Jesuit, a dweller

The true Jonah

I disport oneself in torture

Disparate to pleasure, tingling

The loins, dissident to anything I do

Four gibbous moons possess my soul

Like a dirge playing on a grammophone

The Erse erodes, I deciphered the codes

The crypt opened to my surprise

Inside was empty like a big fat balloon

I had found the free space, the milky way

I walk the ghat in the Himalaya ranges

Our blood exchanges

 

I am bombarded with facts and science                                                                                   

I feel so idly disparaged                                                                                                           

On Fridays I dissimulate                                                                                                                 

I am made-up in my drug fuelled world                               

Even though my lust for love ponders, fifty-fifty                                                                             

I get that, I get that, I've dispatched everything germane to the past                                         

I want to start fresh, I've tipped the fedora                                                                                   

My snake tongue speaks in riddles                                                                                         

The sad feeling is just like an owl hooting                                                                                     

Like it's a new vogue, something I should know about                                                                   

I get my fix on a shoestring                                                                                                           

I put the pen down on the paper and breathe                                                                             

Viva poetry! The great king                                                                                                 

I love all things sugar, butter, syrup, milk, silk                             

It's as if I'm a laughing child, young and wild                                                                     

Running faster towards the summit                                                                               

With unrealistic expectations                                                                                                             

I hear echoing voices.