Tag: poetry

Pressure

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He only meant to lie down for a minute
But soon found hours passed by
The TV showed scenes from a simple script
A life of work, rest and repetition
A role someone else would take
He could no longer play of his own volition

He did not rise when the sun rose
He did not answer the ringing phone
The knocks at the door received no answer
In time the world stopped trying to reach inside
He did not know if he wanted the help
But he never tried to reach outside

He lay, surrounded by comfort
cushions and fabrics pressing deeply
no clear definition between fabric and flesh
The lack of pressure was crushing
But at last he had no role to fill
And he was free to be nothing


A False Identity

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I do not recall a crime committed
The edges of my memory now faded
I rest quietly, awaiting my death
an uneasy peace is all I have left

I entered this world by invitation
But my continued presence is trespass
I cannot remember where I came from
but hope in oblivion I find calm

The cell around me is flowing, fluxing
from moment to moment its extent shifts
It is not cell bars or chains that bind me
A lack of comprehension keeps me here

Somewhere a heart that is not mine races
its distinct pace elevating my pulse
I cannot comprehend what is coming
Its arrival will not leave me breathing

There is something that I must not forget
Some important thing that I must carry
I am on the verge of something
I am on the verge of nothing

The bell rings out
it is abrasive and familiar
I fade away and am now solid
the entirety of a short life forgotten

Stowed

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It was very trying
He thought, compressed
To be trapped lying
In a crate perhaps five feet abreast

It was awfully cold,
He thought, making do
the padding was old
and smelled strongly of mildew

It must be quite a gale,
He thought, feeling queasy
It was better than gaol,
though the swaying made him uneasy

It was annoying, however,
To have nothing to do
He had a letter from his lover
But she was not there to screw

She had convinced him
To get rid of his wife
While the task had been grim
His desire was worth more than her life

He had taken her sailing
An outing she would often demand
And to reward her failings
He made sure she did not return to land

It should have been straightforward
To restart life as a widower
But he was soon cornered
And he made a deal with a ship owner

It had cost him dearly
To ship him away
More than he made yearly
But worth it to finally escape

The storm was growing worse
He thought, his calm beginning to fail him
As he pressed upwards, he began to curse
The idiots had put real nails in

It was more than damp now,
He realised as he heard splashing
Then the grinding of the ship’s bow
And he knew they were crashing

He clawed and he hammered
But he was already entombed 
And no matter how loud he clamoured 
There was simply nothing to do

He now heard words he had tried to ignore
Which his wife had spoken, before the screams
"This is all I have ever wished for, 
For you and I to take a trip to the sea!"

Contrast

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I found my shadow lying on the stairs
He must have fallen in the dead of night
I had lain, weighing thirst against comfort
While I chose sleep, he opted to alight  

My shadow is a contrary fellow
He delights in taking the paths that I shun
Away from my side he meets with bad luck
And rises again in the new day’s sun

It is calm, in the times between visits
I think of misfortune striking so close
Dooming my shadow for his poor choices
While I live, as the safer path I chose

My shadow must always return to me
I could not bear to face the day unarmed
He must show me the pitfalls of my day
Above all else I must remain unharmed

It is odd comfort to see my shadow
For him to obey me to the letter
I hate to see harm to my own outline
But he falls when I am simply better


My shadow did not return home today
There are now many, watching as I cry
Not one will take the fall for me again
They wait to see how I choose to die.

 

What Lies Atop the Hill

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Children, now be quiet and still
Do not wake what lies atop the hill
You are safe and warm and home
Do not go up the hill alone


What lies atop the hill does not sleep
Hungrily watching, counting sheep
If one less stands in the field today
Be glad he did not look your way

Children, do not make a sound
Do not wake what waits within the clouds
Stay under covers with curtains closed
Do not draw eyes down to below

Children, hide from the sound of rain
Lest you never see home again
Do not let anyone in from the downpour
It is not your loved ones knocking at the door

Children, now be quiet and still
Do not wake what lies atop the hill
You are safe and warm and home
Do not go up the hill alone

Rainfall

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The rain obscures the horizon
It swallows the lights and the dusk
Its approach inevitable
And I know that I cannot run

It has washed away the skyline
A bright city turned dark vista
Everything man made liquefied
A world of unprocessed design

No one has emerged from the squall
Some have managed to outrun it
But they do not pause to describe
What they saw behind the rainfall

My house was built by others' hands
I know that it will wash away
I am accountable for my form
And wonder if I will withstand

I will cross the border of rain
Trapping removed, I leave my home
To know however briefly
What parts of me may remain

Between

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I lived here once, long ago
In the space where houses grow,
I had no walls, a roof or a bed
but had sweet rest, until I was dead

But life goes on and life must grow.
What lies beneath they need not know.
New families now live where I lie,
an unknown grave better utilised

It is soft peace to know their lives,
the families on either side.
They are my sisters and my brothers,
Aside my wall, strangers to each other.

My name does not need to be known.
I know theirs better than my own.
I am content as forgotten bones
at rest in the wall between two homes

Restless

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A dead man came to town today
to find a place to lie.
We told him that our graves were full
of those much too young to die.

We offered him a place to sit,
to wait his time in shade,
but his bones never stopped their pace,
unable to take aid

The breeze carried his arid words
from his uneven stride:
he would seek a way underground
to find sleep long denied.

A dead man passed through town today,
he found no place to stay.
A dead man passed through town today,
but he did not pass away.