The Dynamic Of A Pram – A Poem

Innocent, you looked up
At the world that walks and talks,
And you tried to sit up
To absorb the wonder of it all

Yet you yourself were restrained
By harsh black Velcro that had you framed
Like a crayon picture for motherly inspection.

Restrained, thus detached,
From your mother and the world:
One only needs logic
To systematise the effect of this cause.

It was a shame when you looked up
And saw your gentle mother
Looking not at you, but the same
Talking-walking world that you were watching

So you winced, and cried, not just for yourself
But for the family unit as it manifests
In today’s absent world.

In short, we are out of touch; asynchronous
With not only the present, but our identities:
The days when mother held child
Like monkey held infant are receding
Like rainforests in the new age.

Infancy encapsulates
The most formative of days,
So every position, every situation
And every sigh of early morning air
Can alter the course of your toy-box ship.

Who Are You ? – A Poem

Who is it you are beneath your mask ?
What task could ever crack its curse ?
Your persona;
Faceted as a chiseled diamond,
Distorting any glaring light
That could expose the essence below;
I long to scratch it’s stony surface,
I long to see it’s final end,
To put its tired smile to rest.
I wonder, if I tore off your mask
Would it be one of many layers ?
Layers, that work together,
Like soldiers in an army,
Prepared to be replaced ?
Let me catch a glimpse of You,
And see at last what is true.
On the meadow, let us lie
And let us dance until we die.
Show me every shade of blue,
That makes your sky so beautiful. 

High-Speed Rail – A Poem

A high-speed rail connects
The distant north
To the distant south.
We all are close;
Closer than ever.
Too close, in fact,
That it’s impossible
To get
Maybe we’d
Have been better off
With simple roads...
But why stop there ?
Let’s just walk everywhere !
But what
Would that change ?
The flaws in life 
Are fundamental;
Restrain them 
As we may
They’re here to stay
And a lifetime. 

Drunk – A Drunk Poem

I’m bored
And pissed 
The worst
Someone’s talking
About stabilising
The drug economy
Which doesn’t mean
A fucking thing
To me
Because my drug
Is alcohol
And it’s royally
There are seven letters
That mean more to me
That stabilising
The economy,
And they are:

And opinions
Like two streams
Of piss.

No, man,
I don’t,
NASA’s droopy flag,
Or owning,
That are frankly
For some abstract reason,
Like how
They look like
The Michelin man
Or something

Im willing to bet
Against the man diagonally
Opposite me;
I’m willing to bet,
That he is pulling bullshit facts
Out of his very own
Faecal matter
That he just rocketed
Out of
His Ass.

Fuck this.
I’m done.

Life – A Poem

Is a car crash
Outside of a motel
That you never wanted
To stay in

Is a mattress
Where the sheets
Change their tone
Every day

Is an ashtray
Filled by doctors
By politicians
And sheep

Is a shark
In a tin of tuna
As squid rings

Is an audition
For a play
But one must guess
The script

The Peregrine Falcon – A Poem

As flecks of grey against weathered crags,
The pigeon flock glides over foamy sands,
They graze the gaunt, sallow faces of cliffs,
Contoured by eternal moss, untouched by sage hands.
The picture of patience, with mercy of man,
From heaven above, the peregrine falcon judges,
Determined, the avian magistrate strikes her gavel,
And so mortal fates are decided; no being grudges.
Hayabusa peels away from the clouds,
Guided by instincts, honed and refined,
With streamline speed and precise dexterity,
Prey and gunsights, perfectly aligned.
Death; the pigeon's ruffled feathers gently fall,
And sink like warships along the turbid coast,
The falcon feasts on her hard earned prey,
And the falcon's pride, a thing to boast.