Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Beneath the Track (From William Golding's Lord of the Flies)

Creepers and trunks broken, smashed
Witch-like cry; echoed echoed echoed

Thick - was heat - was sand
A pink platform of granite
Uncompromisingly raised four feet jetty

Smiling proudly
Delightedly again, laughed
Like a bomb let him be chief









Darkness of the forest
Still lagoon, blue, green, purple

Piglet SCREAMED
Cut a pig's throat
Stick a pig
Choose a place
Too late

Wacco blue flowers
Wizard coral reef
Smashing boat shaped island


Belongs to us.

Friday, March 4, 2011

I'd Never Been One for Talking

My body went stiff

My hands went numb

My brain went dead

My voice, was gone


A conversation

That was all I sought

I wracked my brain

But no ideas came


I wanted to talk

I just didn’t know how


I wanted some friends

But they ignored me now


I was so quiet

They’d forgot I was there


Not one peep

Came out of my mouth


I was alone

Alone in this world


invisible to all.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

I Gave It My All

110%
Not good enough.
Pushed under, I can't breathe.
I don't understand.
Confusion.
I blink.
Mouthes moving.
Momentarily deaf
I nod, speechless
Relentless voice drones on
Mind racing, heart beating
Nausea, dizziness
Blackout.
Something clicks
I surface.
Denial.
Final scathing comment.
Silence.
The dam breaks.
Tears flood out.
Degraded.
I fail again.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

The Pedestrian.



I am a writer,
The last one of them all,
I stroll through the barren city.
To clear my mind, to breath fresh air.

Where did all the people go
Not a single person in the streets
Oh where did all the people go,
Are they all inside, watching repeats?

Walking along, walking along
Sirens wailing, wailing, wailing.
Along comes a car
It's a robot, it's a cop.

It calls me unusual, it calls me mad.
It hauls me off, to a psychiatric ward.
To inject me with drugs,
and brainwash my mind.

I was a writer, I was, I was.
But what am I now?
Deaf, dumb, brain dead.
Gone.


Monday, November 1, 2010

Why?


Ignored and hated
A girl sits alone at her table
Wondering why she is despised
Laughter fills the air as the popular girls joke
About whom, her?
Was she born with bad luck?
Or was being hated just part of her personality?
Questions are unanswered.
Not wishing to be the way she is
screams in frustration.
Why?