Hunger

A flicker bursts and light fills the

A cupboard opens, he withdraws a

And sets a pot under the

Where it fills quickly with

Clatter clatter, the pot on the

He twists a knob and a burst of

Proceeds to whine and heat the

As he noisily opens the

The drawer slides open to reveal

And he prepares to set the

As bubbles begin to rise in the

He rustles plastic and pours out

Noodles sit hard and golden in his

He absentmindedly stirs them with

And soon he has a piping hot

Sliding effortlessly into his

He absentmindedly eats

There is no rush

This hunger was easily allayed

But

Dye

A butterfly flaps its' wings
Hurricane in China

Consider a still pool
Unmoving, crystal clear
A drop of water
And the ripples spread
That drop integrates itself into the pool
And suddenly it's like it never existed
Except that the ripples it caused
Gallop across the surface far and wide
Slowly weaken
Then fade

Consider this moment
A thin slice of time
This is a part of your life
An integral one
Every part of you is made up of moments
Of memories
Paper-thin sheets of time
Stacked all upon each other
And when you are gone and all that's left of you
Are moments, memories
They reach out and touch the faces of those you loved
Nestle in the minds of those you helped
And glow in the hearts of those who
Loved you back

Like a drop of dyed water in the pool
Even after the ripples fade
It'll be like we never died at all

Television

It was a noisy flat,
Full of the bustle of busy lives.
But that was just noise;
To her, it was silent inside.

She rattled shut the gate.
Fluorescent light flooded the room,
But none of this brightness
Could outshadow the gloom
That hang in the air like
Rubber bands gaudily in rows
In the kitchen, like dust
Adhering itself to the brooms.

With a rustle she dropped the red
Plastic bag on a tabletop
That wasn't small enough for two.
The stall owner had said,
"Here's two portions, I know
That it must be hard on you."

A high whine mixed itself in
To the ambient un-sound,
And she caught a glimpse
Of a family advertisement.

The commercial break had ended.
The National Day Parade was back.
Our country! The seeds it had sowed!
We should pay our pioneers back
In kind, was the line the message went
Something along, unabashedly loud.

She watched the little green men
March around on the TV screen
Like children's toys, immaculate.
Dancers barely in their teens
Filled the canvas of the stage,
A picture of youth, girls and green.

Chewing on glistening white
Chicken breast and rice,
She watched a happy family
Of the future do their happy
Family things, and thought
About how it would be nice
For everyone to eat chicken rice
At her table that was not small enough for two,
But that was enough to encompass something much bigger than numbers or words,
Something that surpassed quantity in every shape, way or size, something she had never seen or heard,
But once always knew was there.

Wouldn't that be nice?

Her quiet chewing seemed to fill
The flat. He was always there to
Chew with her, that was until
He no longer was, of course.

The couple from the future
On her television screen
Cuddled with their grandchildren.

A Question

There is something to be said for disaster

For its sweeping devastation

And the hope for hope after

Neither peace nor bliss will work to unite

A race overcome with apathy

Who thinks they're ready to fight

For in waiting in anticipation of altercation

We are doomed to fighting a war

That sees neither race nor religion

Often has it been said a common enemy

Will bring a race together

Casting aside our proclivities

And in the face of disaster always does hope flourish

Hope things will be better, be okay

For better and okay things are our wish

And perhaps when we face our world's demise

People can hope again

And it'll be like a blessing in disguise

And now as all we know approaches an unfortunate end

We only accelerate it

And never give it a chance to mend

For nothing short of disaster can let us hope again

That things could be better than now

Better than the end

For nothing short of being at an all time low

Can make us listen to those who will say

I told you so

Fishpond

Touch

The water and it will ripple

I like to wait for the expanding circles

To dissipate and for the surface

To smoothen

Now a drop

Clings to my fingertip

And disturbs the water where it drips

Returning whence it came

Drip drip drip

Underneath

The water a few fish

Drift serenely and wave their tails

To and fro, as if

In greeting

Here's one

Coming up to nibble the surface

Pearl white with vermilion continents in

Its shimmering scales, glistening

In the sun

It's clearer

To see through the veil of water

When it comes nearer, as if looking to

Make a new friend from

The dry place

It's mouth

Ripples the wet light again

With an animals' uncontrollable life

Unlike the surrounding

Plant ones

They stand

Green, still, short or tall

Maybe waving slightly in the playful wind

Placid with quiet life burning

Inside them

The eyes

On this new friend move otherwise

Seeming to lose interest and turn away

Waving its tail again

In goodbye

Hospital Flowers

It's a dark room

Like many others

But it's darker in here

Even with light to see you by

Your skin is weary

And your heart tired

It shows in the rasp of your voice

And your unfocussed stare

Look at me, and not

At the wall behind me

There is nothing there that

I want you so soon to see

Sorry

But I want you be here

Stay for a little while longer

And look at me

Sorry

That I must bother you at

This tired moment

When all you want is to sleep

You have seen too much

And it collects in and under your eyes

Heavy

And slowly closing

I lean in to hear you breathe

Just a little longer

I can't see your irises anymore

And can only feel this hand

There are fresh flowers here

Remainders

The silence rings too much when you're gone
I can only sit
Waiting for the phone
Staring through the space between my thighs
At the table mess
I can't get them to touch
Just like us

I'm sorry if I held too tightly
Or too loosely
I can promise not to hold at all
Or forever
On to the smell of burning flesh

Let me drip dry until my skin turns to ash
I can water the carpet
With everything I could have given you

Had you not tossed it in the corner for me to find
Always the unwanted plaything
Like rags
Like my veins when the sun is done with me
Like the weight of the wisps of dust that dance in the light
Like the stirring curtains by the window
Like leaves in the wind
Scuttling over to

Rustle against the tall window nearby
While only the seconds go by audibly inside
Noticeably unnoticed
Like me

A Still Day In November

By the window you sat

Gazing blank as paper

That shrivels in the drops

Like a thought for later

Tense crystals beat at

And adhere to the glass

But this rain, like anything

Will pass

I fixate for a moment

What's there?

Hiding amid rain and wisps

Of coffee-scented air

Of tastes and smells

Of every childhood meal

Of the tasteless present

That is nothing but real

The food's here

And you're finally back

From the cold, driving rain

Which always somewhat lacks

In the deep meaning that

Everyone gleans from staring

At a window on a rainy day

Without their bearings

Why would you go there?

It's cold and wet outside

Your heart will catch it

Even if your body hides

I pick up my knife and fork

And as you pick yours too

In the ice water on the table

Is a refraction of you

All ready to begin

On this great scent and taste

And the wrong sights and sounds

It's quite a waste

You smile, and I smile back

And then my attention wanes

With my half-smile still on, unaware

To the rain

Mimesis

She perches on the table front
Hands tousling her chin
He stands with the structure between
Him and the wide sleepy tin

Hearts and dimming eyes
Flickering at the promise of art
Sense and selective penning
To tug at mind and heart

Last Warning

Don't leave me here
Where are you going
Away
No, don't

Sitting on an island on fire
No one wants this mind for hire
They sat him down and told him
"You don't know how to be a liar"

And it's true, life is just a game
It's all the choices that we make
That, direct where your life goes, it's
Too late for regrets for fuck's sake

I don't know if anything I'm saying is getting to you
But you mean too much to me for me to just let you go, too
And I know I don't hold that place in your life and I don't know if I ever will
So tell me something before I lay down and pop the pill, because

I'm going to run out of time
Snapping at all my lifelines
So give me a last warning, last warning
Before the morning

Blind in the black
With nothing to cover my back
I am running into walls like there isn't any right track

The water flows, gushes, pours
I only see the open door
But the fire keeps on pounding me down into the floor

The walls of this place are closing in too fast
And I don't know if my support structures are going to last

But I know one thing
The resounding sound of this something
Is going to outlast me, I'm dying, you see, because

I'm going to run out of time
Snapping at all my lifelines
So give me a last warning, last warning
Before the morning I might not see

This is a drastic change in
Expectations
And the one who can't adapt
Dies worse than physically

No, don't go
Away
Where are you going
Don't leave me here

Downy

A descending elegy, elegant
In its fall, as the notes, lines and ovals,
Form a bumpy downward slope. A green fan

Twirls with a drunken gait, currents pressing
Against the veins, pulling and pushing the
Leaf spinning and weaving downwards. A red

Flash in a straight path, making contact with
More than a little sound, leaving behind
Air, where it used to reside. Porcelain

Pristine and unblemished, makes a dash for
The core of our living, giving up its
Earthly form for something a little more

Scattered, a piercing sound heralding its
Transformation. Whirling edges in the
Air, controlling the wind and a light breeze,

Unhinge, and for a moment, they seem to
Defy belief, spinning as if they were
Suspended in space, in time, before the

Laws of nature grip fast, and it becomes
A falling whirlwind. When the ball flies high
And yet higher and still higher, it falls.

Fires of Brigid

She was cold;
I might say frigid.
There seemed to be no outward signs
To suggest this.
Her eyes were dutifully turned away
Concentrating on the task at hand.
Icy,
She was,
With a coldness that dug deep,
Freezing through a warm exterior.

Half a face comely,
And half a face not.

Deceptive.
Behind a veil of warmth,
She was cold;
I might say frigid.

Aureus Ventus

A trace of something golden
Lingers
As a silver wind throws up
It's shimmering particles
Yellow wisps of sand

Pinpricks of light
With no numbers to their
Names
Fall, diamond dust
Blue stars against the dark

Settles, an angelic carpet
Pure, clean, white, unblemished
Impossible
White shadows rolling
Out a malevolent clarity

Burgeoning red, seeping
Into
Every crack, every fibre
Of being, and spilling forth
Of joy

Greeting Ghosts

When the stars align
And magpies traverse a velvet sky
A bridge of gods design
Manifests in invisible dye

A lonely night rolls on
In the din of desperation
Quietly, silence mourns
With golden moonlight striations

Holding a vitriolic gaze
At beauty and horror intangible
To all senses a haze
So underwhelmingly incredible

Movement, a shudder, a fit
A slightly wobbly leaning
As the insubstantial sits
To convey some clandestine meaning

Sifting through dimensions
Never truly existing anywhere
Avoiding all mention
Of that transient, unsettling air

Cleanly slicing through
All we have known stored
False promises to he who
Would kill for a lord

Repetitions of loaded words
Lose their weight in the sea
Of white cats and black birds
From which we flee reality

The mist absorbs it all
All alike within burn
And dissipates as time stalls
Never to return

Inebriated and drifting
Through looming tenebrous kin
Kept alive by an uplifting
Lie, inferiority to pin

Upon every tree in the woods
A lumbering travesty
Loaded with nonexistent good
To openly greet tragedy

It floats across the grass
And swirls in the mire
Comes down on the blindingly fast
And sets all afire

Amidst a blaze uncertain
With no dark through which to discern
Embodying a blinding curtain
To curb sanity's return

Falling from the stars
Curious and burning bright
Incarcerated behind a mind's bars
By decree of a fake light

An imaginary haze's host
Stumbles with whited sight
Fruitlessly greeting ghosts
Under the soft starlight

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This blog seriously needs a revival.

Confuse Ray

Awhizzing blur of colour and lights
Blinking incessantly, unnecessarily bright
A daunting weight, crushing and queer
Inexorably hangs over here

Bereft of any form physical
It nonetheless looms, invisible
It whispers nothing, but yet I hear
A warning before an end comes near

Shadows populate the room
Made solid by a light in the gloom
As I think and await the sun
And ponder on what I have not done

With this thought I am frozen, chilled
Is it possible to leave unfulfilled?
But fool that I am, this thought I keep
It's 2AM, and I really must sleep

Bad Timing

A burst of something
A momentous occasion
When understanding comes
That no amount of persuasion
Could get me to believe

Thought punches through
As the very world shatters
And I see
Something through the tatters
That remain floating, purposeless

I'm not quite sure what,
But it's something
Astoundingly bright
The essence of that one thing
That eluded understanding

The world's shards remain
Like dewdrops in the air
Catching the light perfectly
Seemingly crafted with care
Each and every one of them

Sucked backed together
Reality regenerating
My view is blocked
The host darkness dissipating
It's time for breakfast

Redemption

Standing in line
With fifty-dollar proof in hand
Proof for redemption
That's the plan

The receptionist knows no one
Who comes to her counter
I cannot help but let innate judgment
Unconsciously denounce her

Fake warmth and a forced smile
Welcome her stranger line
How may I help you?
However, I find

Perhaps I, we have lost the right
To complain about this.
Everyone stands in eerie silence
As though something were amiss

Amassed to this line for a common goal
Yet unaware of each other's likeness
Only one sound penetrates the silence
The receptionist's false kindness

The silence remains unchanging
And so it seems
We continue beyond redemption
Unlike the voucher I redeemed

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This blog is dead. This poem's a paragraphing test for this iPad. I think it failed though.

Cynodon Dactylon

Welcome to the end.
Many little feet flash up and down,
Stomping over the grass to send
Millions of bacteria to their doom.

Screams erupt. Do I hear the death throes
Of microorganisms cruelly crushed,
Bemoaning their fate? My gaze rose,
And 'twas but the shrill cries of

Overexcited children. Sunlight
Bathed us all, giving the grass the
Energy it could never have at night.
But the grass doesn't look excited

At all. It just sits there, being green
And docile. Resting and soaking in
The sunlight like an old has-been.

Maybe it has secretly resigned itself
To being trampled on. Maybe it was
Unsuccessful in love, left on the shelf,
And so just mopes here aimlessly.

I shudder at the thought.
Poor grass. It gave up so easily.
I would have at least fought
A little, for something of value.

And so enraged by this apathy
I was, I proceeded to tear up
The grass by its' roots maliciously.

"Rise! Do something with you life!"
Not realising I was in fact, extinguishing
It. They could never be revived.

Gasps of horror and looks of befuddlement
Now fell upon me. I sort of stopped
And looked up. Behind this puzzlement
People remembered times past spent doing

Nothing. Did such an outcry lend
Some new perspective? Apparently not.
People scurry off to meetings they must attend.
Welcome to the end.

Speaking From A Glass

I spread over
Roads and houses, roofs and
Floors. Reminiscing of time spent in
The great non-existence that presides
Over all.

I fill
Great cavities, and conform to
Their shape.
I fill
Small cavities, and conform to
Their shape still.

Sometimes I
Spill out, unable to contain all that
Lies within me, and contaminate all
I touch with that glistening
Film.

When heat forsakes
Me, I must steel myself to compete in
Such a frosty environment.
And when
Energy blesses me, I am set
Free.

My touch is merciful, but is also
Deadly.

It is hard to measure
Intentions.

I may fall upon
Innocents, and woe befall
Them. Taking their last gasps, last
Struggles.

Is this not a
Kindness? Perhaps they are too
Blind to see for themselves. They will
Understand eventually.
Except that there
Is no eventually.

To those I
Devastate, I can offer no
Apology.

I am consumed shamelessly, sucked into
The voids of many, from which but
Emptiness springs forth. And this
Powers the creation of nothing.
Perhaps this
Nothing means something in the
Moment of its' creation, perhaps its'
Creation holds depth. But it is
Reduced to a shallow void
Nevertheless.

Do I empower any
Worth?

Who can grasp my
Form? Magnification and clarification collaborate
To explain such.
Detailing all they
Perceive in an Almagest of
Orbs and lines. I am not the Grand
Cross. Am I but a cloud instead? Are
We?

Bits flying everywhere, contorting in
Grotesque forms only to dissipate again into the
Void.
Lines belt out at the surface, disrupting
The view of the world from that tiny
Crystal ball of a droplet. Something
Rising from the rolling hills of
Nowhere.

Were it that I played God, and chose
Where to place my boon. But the void will
Find my blessings and curses, and take them
All, anyway.

Look at me, look at
Yourself. Do you see me or
Yourself? It's not up to
me. I can but distort your presence, dwindling
Accuracies and averting
Gazes.

I exist within, without. I
Speak from the rolling hills of
Nowhere.

Issue

Trust is an
Issue. Yet it cannot be


Issued out. Truth is


Subjective. One


Subject to the truth of
Another, could find it so very
False. The lines between right and


Wrong are so
Blurred. Yet people seem to


Know exactly when something is
Wrong and when something is
Right. Is there a


Truth to rule them
All? A truth that is always


True? Everyone is always so


Suspicious about the
Truth behind this and the
Truth behind that. What


If there is no truth? What


If all we hold to be
True are just figments of
Our imagination? In a very


True sense, this is how things
Are, is it not? Is what we


See, hear, touch, smell and taste
True? With all this, my


Trust is broken. Is it truly


Broken though? Perhaps


That is not an
Issue.




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Sorry about the spacing in the previous post. The iPad really screws things up.