Charlie Six;
button to the flea-hole.
park bench or trench it matters jot
the scribbles count as nothing to the dust;
no soft retreat to the red meat of saliva
dripping safe it's candle waxed as blood;
Black Watch alive now kicking through a stream.
Epsom now a stop-watch for the turning age of man.
journey long the feathers of the Crown,
two hands down, still the cockroach drills
his spills of war. his bullets to the grave,
his crave of yarn three inches from the Rook as thin as grass;
green envy now the passing jealousy;
who lives so shall I die as horses tongue of elegy?
the rotting winds of Autumn plague the circles of my scalp.
she loves me not; the maid of hapless tundra now the cabbage of a King!
who knows what when Leopard spots the curse as bored as Spring?
Owen and the May Queen,
each rooted to the steps of shepherds chalk;
my idle hands now twitching with their infant leprosy;
how I envy now the migrants and the cheese.
blue veined with knees more wounded than a heroes hidden breath;
time past but still I soldier through
the thousand chimes that suckle on a death;
simmer cold the twisting tail of man.
Antaeas antlers broader than the word.
dressed now as breakfast poached as ill afford;
the sponge of love; an earthquake for my son;
this day begun.
the shouting and the river to my lung;
this day begun.
I guess like any other;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 19th, 2023 13:03
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments3
I have plucked bunches of words from your text to imagine a haiku according to the rule !
My idle hands now twitching
time past
winds of autumn
living in the past more often than I should perhaps;
good old pasta ...
The darkness is haunting. 💖
a haunting I cannot free myself from;
'Epsom now a stop-watch for the turning age of man.'
brevity, I name thee a place
seeped in the salt of my woes
(it is a crime your poetry
is not celebrated dear friend)
Brilliant!
and so raw and brave
you and Sylvia would write
one hell of a Poem!
Thank you for sharing your talent, dear Poet
it is an honour to read your work
(i'm sorry if I sound fake
but I genuinely mean it)
would loved to have met Sylvia Plath;
and an honour we share L B Mek.
and I would never think of you as fake.
we are lovers of poetry and have become very good friends, an honour I am very grateful to have,
an honour reciprocated, cherished friend
thank you!
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