Glass Flesh

Depression's not a five letter word,

does being a 'freak' mean being unheard?

No one left to hear you speak.

Cause you're the black sheep,

but the beetles will creep, yes, seep an oozing oil to your breast

or to your cheek.

Does seeing a ghost mean you're merely a host

for 2^nd class citizen, weak adjective's criticsm?

Cause It makes you mad,

that being a 'little sad'

is what they call it when you drink your feelings

right

down,

you're no more than a frown

when you unzip your veins

and the budget for your pains

trickles down the Tory's drains.

Depression's not a five letter word,

you're not a 'schizo' or a 'loone'

just cause you've gone out of tune;

you need someone to pick you up.

Not pluck at your strings,

you're so used to abuse being everything.

So swallow your pills like a good little boy,

turn into their toy,

become part of their ploy.

Cause their solution to your mental revolution is to be in an institution.

You're a stain on their surveys,

a wine drop on their cliches.

But white spirit won't clean you,

til' they've ink-blot tested and brayed you.

Then you're out.

Depression's not a five letter word,

do they think we're the terrorists?

Polluting their air with scars, shooting-needles and “therapists”.

We're the end of 2-poles, 'nut-jobs',

'Why won't you eat hot-dogs?',

unemployed little bastards who are purely disasters,

living off vodka and plasters.

But would they understand if we got up and run?

Carving into our arms 3 new ladder-rungs.

You think this is fun?

Do we choose to see figments

or separate food into calorie segments,

does this look like a fucking contract agreement?

Stop using us as an excuse cause we're

use-less.

Depression's not a five letter word,

let us free our own thoughts,

don't set fly-traps and fish-hook consonants.

We don't want to be caught.

And if the talking cure is your minute mission,

then

L-I-S-T-E-N

Zugzwang (Performance poem)

He lays his queen down,
unaware - a feared or scared - that he just lost his
crown.
Tea-tree wafts from shingles quaffed
as he lays his queen down.
The queen I took, yet I feel like a rook
being pulled and picked, a frown; stay down.
Cause I can only go forward.

My sweet Lord sings in hoards of 70's mists and
sociological twists when I took his queen up.
Fucked up.
The 5 stages skip, denial no - a drip in my arm; the human in harm,
try to be calm as the papers get scribbled signatures. Alarm!
He lays his queen down.
Kind is surrounded, drowning, confounded. But mum she went
bounding,
a needle in hand with one-man brass band.

I don't blame you

You laid it down because you had no choice
but I had no voice! No shoulder to scream to, no advice or mere coos.
Just a frozen waffle. The ice wasn't there, it was trapped in mum's hair. The both left me bare.
   So you go to her and she'll go to him,
no birds broken wings cause I fell from the nest with no pudgy-faced protest.

I'll pack the board away.

Unchanged Host (Rondeau) (Place stimulus)

Hues waltz in Buttercup Meadow,
both paws and boots alike leave sultry shadows
upon carved, oak benches which 'belong to
Edith'. Sweet repose of laburnum's coos,
pods struck through with gold, with cricket's bellows.

Jason, all taut skin and jutting elbows;
small sweet clutched in pudgy grasp, rough lego
brick cascades curdled with buttercup dew.
Hues waltz in Buttercup Meadow.

I see Jason no longer, no echoes
of his laugh, the drip leached to his arm. Ahead,
puppies sprint in blind bliss, a bomber crew.
But now grey speckles temples, last walk through.
The meadow sees all change of breath; lost/mellow.
Hues waltz in Buttercup Meadow.

New Hues (Sonnet)

Okay so the homework for my creative writing AS level was to write a sonnet. Hmm. Easy? No. Google the details of a sonnet if you don't believe me. But just to warn you, I do know that this doesn't exactly work as a sonnet; I am aware that some of the stresses are muddled. But it was my first attempt at a sonnet so here it goes...



We're lost in no identity parades,
deep wounds of little consequence, pistols
slumber under billows, day no erodes.
Clean and sew your wounds out - clear flesh crystals.
Yet she has broiling, coiling thought of who
she is, minute beetles under her moans
to knit each word, caress the dark: sooth, help,
sleep, no. Blue fists upon her brittle bones.
Fists, MINE, did burrow at the cheeks, her whites
blood-shot and leaking where the sun should rest.

At six we flew kites, dancing as fresh sprites;
the breeze stole gust, myriad dust abreast.
But at eight I saw the need in me to
sock these sprites out from her eyes, no clue!

Mushrooms (Object Stimulus)

Louche pearls beading above the
blades, clinging to the
tiny
minarets above the grass.
Such myriads of bejeweled ghosts
reflected in their curving caps,
do beetles rest their weary shells upon these
turrets? Or metallic moths mope below the shade?

Twilight trickles in

and their trunks recede,
dissolving into umbrous
pools; disease running rife.
       His fingers upon my cheek,
pressure marks.
Grass tangled masses in my hair.
A disheveled foliage upon my scalp:
"You asked me to"
bitter pellets of malice on the tongue
as he leaves me in the undergrowth
with the despondent

corpses beside me.

Drink Me In, Sweeter Than Breaths... (Childhood stimulus)

Waves sleep in tepid murmurs,

planting a kiss of inconsequence on the shore.

With meek, spindly limbs I hobble

to the vast pool; ebb-tides gracefully claw,

idly gurgling their call to me. The sand straps

jesses onto my chubby calves

but still I go

tepid water grins, I grin back with innocent whims

through brumous skies.

See me bumble further into the spume; into

sultry,

serpentine

treacle.

But

the waves grow taller

behemoth

beasts squawking, intertwining with

the oozing sun -

Oxygen forgotten and salted reminders,

liquid as thin as air

yet no air is there.

My breaths dance into new, accipitrine

forms; shrieking and screaming in their

mini-revolution.

When my thoughts drip into nothing but

puddles

                     - arms find me -

Tug.

Iron-weights around my chest. Air scampers

down

my

scarred

throat.

Breath again

and life remains, with

my pudgy moon-pie cheeks

and half-lunar grin. Give

me reasons, please – So sad to say that the breadth of one day

saw my innards dissolve.

When I realised

the water

was sweeter than the shore

Oh Captain, My Captain.

Oh Captain, My Captain. You've gone to make the angels laugh,
You lit up the world with your vigour, being so fiery and daft.
Oh Captain, My Captain. You were a father figure to so many,
Just your shadow on a screen touched lives, oh Peter whisk us to a tranquil place; any.
Oh Captain, My Captain. The demons you hid so well, they hid in your laughs; under your bed.
But you drew from their poison, you turned it into smiles; no one knew there were no smiles in your head.
Oh Captain, My Captain. Just to hear that hello or that distinct good morning made us grin,
If only you could view the love and grief flowing down the streets, maybe you'd begin...
To see the childlike hope you painted on everyone,
From Peter to Genie, you were always a presence.
Your genius and soul will be stamped upon time,
Everlasting with your acrylic laugh that I hold dear as mine.
I grew up with you, my unknown friend;
I feel like i've known you and you've helped me to mend.
I hope now my prince that you find peace at last,
Such brilliance, such tears of laughter that will never slip into the past.

RIP to a man of utter brilliance, Robin Williams. 

The Planet In The Sky

Escape from here, the morose planet, the sonorous ball in the galaxy, the evocative land you can neither love nor control,
Escape to me where your imaginings are not merely a stream of childish thoughts to paint to others the depths of your soul,
Leave that place where happiness once danced, where life and spring sprang from dew,
Run to me where you can be soothed, we welcome you with glistening streams of new,
Be freed,  be you, be rid of the fear, conditions and labels have gone to the past,
You can lay here with the company amongst the stars, be free at last.
The effusion of rivers, of bird song in night, the midnight dreams of wonder and power engulf all possible fright,
Visions of creatures that dwell in the buds with wings that sparkle in light,
Your sight will graze their perfect forms and tears will flutter with the night,
Forget the thoughts of the world that’s of old, allow the boulders of fear to dissolve,
Forget the tint of shame that immersed your cells, leave it succinctly in the cold.
Because sleep here, sleep at peace. Summer in the star that gleams with a breeze,
Here in the sky, the florid world where at last you can be freed.