Writing the Wrongs
Two new poems. I wrote one on Saturday for Audrey's art exhibition, and one just an hour ago while I was waiting for my pizza to cook.
Steps of silent secret sinking
Sunshine shadows in my eyes
The sky is blue, but I am grey
in the cracks between the pavement
A man tumbles past, caught between
a sandwich and mobile phone
and not noticing the girl with
the black boots who is grey
and who steps, one at a time
along and along and she sinks
into the gum-stained concrete
I could tell you everything
between the sets of traffic lights
but you would still never know
what hides between my footsteps
between my boots on the pavement
and the abandoned portrait in my mind
I know my destination but
the storm comes before the silence
and desperately I spiral
passing the woman with the dog
I would take my torment tightly
blow it up and tie the knot
of a pair of bright balloons
that are not grey and
I would run along the pavement
laughing as the street collapes
and ten at a time I leap
up
leaving the concrete and traffic lights
and making my destination
the sanctuary of the sky
as I dream into the heavens
as my black boots cross the clouds
But there is a thread holding me
a thin chord keeping me tied
to the roof of the mini-supermarket
and the stream of the street below
stopping me from drifting away
and never coming back
so I am here, floating over your bedroom
watching you paint as I as remain
laughing between the clouds and the pavement
and I am no longer grey
-----------------------------------------------------
White light descending in
a spiral of brilliant
cleansing,
pure and agonising
in its intensity
as you bathe under its
rabid radiance
Do you know why
you are here today
why you have chosen
to not be given
a choice
even though they
made a promise that
tomorrow would be
sunny in the West
changing to scattered
showers later in
the evening?
You find respite in
the burn
the glorious twist
of the wasteland spotlight
that even now
stares at you with
an unblinking eye
and a raised eyebrow
in vague amusement
at how you struggle
in vain
against the current?
Feel the embrace of
the generator and
let yourself go
when the brightness
turns you all around
and hands you a ticket
for the last train
back tonight
and maybe then the
chance that an answer
could dance onto your
dusty stage
would be raised
like the angels ascending
into their heaven
as you stand still
on the heavy ground
and dream.
Steps of silent secret sinking
Sunshine shadows in my eyes
The sky is blue, but I am grey
in the cracks between the pavement
A man tumbles past, caught between
a sandwich and mobile phone
and not noticing the girl with
the black boots who is grey
and who steps, one at a time
along and along and she sinks
into the gum-stained concrete
I could tell you everything
between the sets of traffic lights
but you would still never know
what hides between my footsteps
between my boots on the pavement
and the abandoned portrait in my mind
I know my destination but
the storm comes before the silence
and desperately I spiral
passing the woman with the dog
I would take my torment tightly
blow it up and tie the knot
of a pair of bright balloons
that are not grey and
I would run along the pavement
laughing as the street collapes
and ten at a time I leap
up
leaving the concrete and traffic lights
and making my destination
the sanctuary of the sky
as I dream into the heavens
as my black boots cross the clouds
But there is a thread holding me
a thin chord keeping me tied
to the roof of the mini-supermarket
and the stream of the street below
stopping me from drifting away
and never coming back
so I am here, floating over your bedroom
watching you paint as I as remain
laughing between the clouds and the pavement
and I am no longer grey
-----------------------------------------------------
White light descending in
a spiral of brilliant
cleansing,
pure and agonising
in its intensity
as you bathe under its
rabid radiance
Do you know why
you are here today
why you have chosen
to not be given
a choice
even though they
made a promise that
tomorrow would be
sunny in the West
changing to scattered
showers later in
the evening?
You find respite in
the burn
the glorious twist
of the wasteland spotlight
that even now
stares at you with
an unblinking eye
and a raised eyebrow
in vague amusement
at how you struggle
in vain
against the current?
Feel the embrace of
the generator and
let yourself go
when the brightness
turns you all around
and hands you a ticket
for the last train
back tonight
and maybe then the
chance that an answer
could dance onto your
dusty stage
would be raised
like the angels ascending
into their heaven
as you stand still
on the heavy ground
and dream.