Pavement

At misery crossroads,
there are no great cast aways'
Just paw printed
pre-fossil life.
Beyond the flesh
those mesh of atoms,
Tracing limbed blueprints
till the workers
cathartic.

Point of return

I'll lay my love in these letters,
and how I'm so close to them being the last.

What is here for me?
You say you understand you are only part of me,
but yet you are the only part I can see.

Don't hate me for dreaming
for scheming,
for wondering if I can't be either or.

Tonight I am alone
colliding with the million voices
Tonight I am young
with limited youth beyond me,
wondering what point of my life this is?

Do I work to die with all my selfishness unfulfilled?

Come with me and let me have it all.

Analytic puddles

I will speak statistic,
interpret eyelashes,
look at walls which only invite
the collection of spacious nothings.

Arguements

My brain is running down my fingers,
My brain is slopping on my soldiers,
My brain is yellow
My brain is yellow
And yet I don't enjoy it one bit.

Peggles

Hello,

This is my poem for the The Gooseberry Garden Week 13. For me childhood, dreams, books and role models all fit in one, they float around in my inner child, and I don't think I'll ever grow up and out of their ingrained memory. I hope you enjoy it.

Peggles

I've never been special
but in my heart and yours.

Cave-scribing till I understood
whilst singing in the garden.

The last time my hair fell in my eyes,

I'd become grown.

Shoelaces binding stories
and my sketches
to memories that
can no longer breathe alone.

My clouded head
grazing on love,
I will try to avoid walking
with my hands in my pockets-
I promise.

Back from out of space..

Forgive me, I just started a new job (at Waterstones huzaah Books!) and been unwell, so I have been a bad community spirit! I should be back into the swing of things soon though :) Hope everyone has a creative if not beautiful day xxx

Inside the ribcage

She's difficult-
interchangeable, indescribable.
Incoherent.

And until we're in agreement
my mind can't keep up.

Inside the ribcage

nest upon nests are made,

and maybe I am in there too.

Compass to masses:

stranded out here,
in your beautiful arms- outstretched
across the miles
that descend loneliness.

That ascend her clots.

Picnic on the marrow,
she beats a thousand drums;
land, home, hereafter.
Tomorrow it will be plain,
and tonight in vain.

Stew

I saw a dead mouse
next to a dead kitten
and in the corner the dog
dead too.

What tragedy
could cause these three
to not chase another again?

Well it was in the kitchen
I saw the rotten stew,

slightly nibbled in
paw prints.
That was when I thought
of the butler

and noticed him lying down
face a greyish blue.