Womb kicks
the blow is fetched on someone, the blow regains its power
storms blow and trespass in hemispheres
by the hourly tide
you shone with your arms out wide
just perched there like a scarecrow
an innocent crucifix with no ribbons
and no bows.
i would bow in your presence
but it would only sacrifice humility for pretense
the art of pompousness in portent
unrelenting destruction relating to conundrums of the soul
scoring an own goal, kicked off the pitch
wind blown in a ball, all the air kicked out of it
all the air kicked out of it
all the air
kicked out of the very thing that gave life its speed.
Death waltz
The line
Drab
Inked into dust
Cast on the sky
A dusk constellation either way
Waltzing with sentient beings
Obsessed by atomic death
And clause by cryptographic clusters
Cloying to the mind's eye.
Drab
Inked into dust
Cast on the sky
A dusk constellation either way
Waltzing with sentient beings
Obsessed by atomic death
And clause by cryptographic clusters
Cloying to the mind's eye.
Apartness
Apart you say
Who are we
Alluding to catastrophe
Dismay dismay dismay
Who are we
Alluding to catastrophe
Dismay dismay dismay
The path seems rocky
Your bones will soon find
Frailty is not proposed by the wind
Your bones will soon find
Frailty is not proposed by the wind
Nor is calamity produced by snow
Catastrophe, who are we
Dismay, dismay, dismay.
Catastrophe, who are we
Dismay, dismay, dismay.
Apart from the seasons we experience treason
All down to psychiatric failure
No rhythm
No reason
Oh dismay
Are you fickle?
Are we a trickle
A raindrop
Dismay dismay
All down to psychiatric failure
No rhythm
No reason
Oh dismay
Are you fickle?
Are we a trickle
A raindrop
Dismay dismay
Oh, apart we turned to gray.
Convalescence
The transcription of wit
From an inked glass
Blotted like a murderer's paper
What are these deeds, you ask
A cornucopia caper
A trick of the devil
An illusion of relativity
Or a convalescence of greed.
From an inked glass
Blotted like a murderer's paper
What are these deeds, you ask
A cornucopia caper
A trick of the devil
An illusion of relativity
Or a convalescence of greed.
The bright sun shines outside
Oh widow, won't you weep for me.
Oh widow, won't you weep for me.
Affliction of the distinctive soul
Something comes from nothingness
Always from death to life
Pain to strife
Regenerating forwards and back like a marble lock
The smell of machinery gloats on the dock
Cogs in machines
Cogs in streams
Buried from view
Alligators swallowing marbles
Drowning the marbles of others
This ode to death cannot be recovered
It can only be docked
As a regeneration process from death to life
One which we all experience
At a later time in life.
Copyright Michael Robert Buckingham - MRB poetry 2017 all rights reserved.
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