I cannot sleep.
nor can I bleed as circus to repent.
am I as sin to the great heights of intent,
or inept as coal now free of cordial?
water and the limescale
two puppets mourning goldilocks
locking horns the ladybirds of wine and cenotaph
am buried where?
somewhere between an angel and the soldiers of elite;
enemies have I?
none bar those who march backward beyond;
invite me and be dared;
spare me the blush of spare meat on the spine of cinnamon.
two strangers we,
bi-polar and a smiling monkey
amused as death
what wants so shall be free from moneys tree;
the slag of night brings havoc to the sperm!
hermaphrodite,
two barrels to the street-wise,
two knives but still a city sleeps his spies;
this latter year
something else as clueless as a bride in dungarees
flees poverty three minutes on her knees;
how many trees the envy of her womb
no tune the sinking skull a bright and sunny afternoon;
as white as child in company of corpse,
feed me a death
as trinket rounding thumb-nail to the throat!
I cannot sleep,
only daydream suicide as Sylvia;
what separates her root from tender-stem?
her hair of blond too cute for gentlemen,
on the streets as blind as drab as Bethlehem;
month to month
from argument to the beauty of a mouth,
fly south to pyramid of gonad in a drought;
three barrels and am drunk as sleep is green
I cannot sleep.
clip my heels and trade my wide awake for ice-box glee;
dismember me
a stomach full of pebbles
and asking Sylvia remembers me;
-
Author:
Melvin James (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 23rd, 2023 14:33
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, L. B. Mek.
Offline)
Comments4
somewhere between an angel and the soldiers of elite;
enemies have I?
none bar those who march backward beyond;
invite me and be dared;
My dear Melvin being in the middle of anything can sometimes be overwhelming, I see a battle here but in the end you will find the peace you so desperately seek and deserve ❤️
thanks for your favour !
find a compromise with your nights !
!BRILLIANT!
'locking horns the ladybirds of wine and cenotaph'
'two barrels to the street-wise,
two knives but still a city sleeps his spies;'
'clip my heels and trade my wide awake for ice-box glee;
dismember me
a stomach full of pebbles
and asking Sylvia remembers me;'
(finale wishes
in an oven bake of a despairing plea delivered
in gluttonously vivid poetic imagery)
I humbly bow
to your superior talent
oh lauded Poet!
(some of your lines thrilled me
like Sylvia
and her inking thumb's cutting poetry..)
many many thanks, as always;
good to be back in the company of poets;
and touched, as always, by your kind words.
Brilliant use of language to paint your scene.
thanks again Thomas, much appreciated.
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