older poems

YOU AND YOUR OWN EXISTANCE

You are your own boss, you can do what you want and no one will know any different,

abuse your body, colour it with ink, pierce it in a dozen places, drink till you pass out, do drugs till you lose your mind.

Many people will call this madness but many call it life, enjoyment. Condemn it or embrace it, we do what we want, when we want.

It’s completely up to you what you do but only I can abuse my own body,

only I can fill my skin with tattooed pictures.

I have just the one body so I’ll take care of it.

Many fall by the wayside in their hard journey, some end up in the gutter, some are

fucked in the head; me, I’d rather be me and have my fun and laughs, take my chance on my perilous way.

 

TELEPHONE  SURREALITY

Three colours of grey all flowing into one to make a crazy dance of colour direct from the plastic mould.

Now assembled into such a frightening thing, the instrument of love, life and death.

Multiple square bumps all placed in rows like so many stationary soldiers each with a sharply made out symbol.

A long coiling snakelike wire brings life-giving electricity, a curved hand piece that bridges the gap from infinity to infinity in a second.

This is the telephone, such a small and menacing thing just waiting to pounce.

It exists in a world of numbers, each one a connected to a billion people all real or imaginary in this telephone surreality.

STONE

Cold to the touch and as old as time itself, the eons fall by the wayside as the dawns come and go just like rain falling from the sky.

Just now like before things are changing, constantly, forever more.

Nothing stays the same – even the rocks and stones are worn away,

ground away until only sand remains.

Time defeats everything from the dinosaurs to the ice age.

Will mankind go the same way or will he flee to the stars as our planet turns to dust?

FLOWING

Swiftly turning and rolling down the pipe the water heads to oblivion.

It was clear before, but now it is dirty and brackish, full of soap and grease.

What a life it has and what abuse it takes, day in, day out.

We take it for granted as the years flow through our lives like water down the drain.

Look at the lake where the water is clear and as smooth as glass; there is a beauty too

in a manmade reservoir, a million tons of liquid held back by a bit of flimsy concrete.

Water on the move can be slow and lazy or a crazy raging torrent on a race to go nowhere.

Wouldn’t you like to be water being around forever and as lazy as you want to be?

VIRUS

Walking through the swamp watching the mosquitoes fly by, all part of their own eco system, makes me aware that I am so different from them.

Now after leaving that stifling hot country I feel quite ill.

My vision starts to blur and the pains in my head are so bad.

I know I shouldn’t have gone into the swamp but it’s too late now,

I ask God to help me but my pleas aren’t heard.

Maybe I’m dying but who am I to say?

Sleep is coming to me now, ever so slowly.

Perhaps I’ll wake up and be better – or perhaps I’ll die in peace.