Cycle of man

Life is full of circles
Cycles of disappointment
Happiness spun in
Dizzying spirals
And always the larger orbit
Of years
Grinding away 

Ode to Ra

I’d seek me a poet
Too likely to find
Me driven (I know it)
Right out of my mind

With rhymes falling
Somewhere twixt
Someone and Seuss
Something within me
Then giggles, runs loose

Loose like the running
Of fingers through sand
Loose, unbecoming
Laid back on the land
Loose as a goosey
All feathered with down
Words run profusely
Out, back, and around.

Running like rivers
Run into the sea
Upon the sea shore
Should it be Shel I see?
Time runs like diamonds
Turn tumbled and whole
Your world turned to rhyme and
A poem your soul.

 

Sometimes poetry by other poets inspires me to poem – in this case a tip of the poetic hat to Shel Silverstein, by Ra Avis, in her poem ‘I am magnificent’

Angry Kettles

 

Angry, blistering, snarling,

My kettle needs attending to,

It is screaming for my attention.

 

Inside it boils skin-burning

Frustrations

“Pour me out!” it cries,

Steam pouring from the only escape route.

 

I hurry to stop its ear-piercing screech,

Unsure of what it says about me…

Am I alleviating its pain?

Or assuaging my own?

 

*No pic today to go with this. Letting it speak for itself.

Sack Nasty 2

It begun as a small thought
Whilst cooking;

My huge steel knife slicing
Dismembering
Vegetables,
Their crisp snap
Of flesh
Sliding
Green, purple, orange, red
Onto the board.

Angry

Really,
It takes so little
(Relatively speaking)
To get me angry.

Sack Nasty

It arrived blank.

Untainted by personalisation;
The way I had hoped
It might be, were it not for
The postal services.

Ophelia

 

Where Ophelia walks

flowers bloom

dripping crimson tears

that stain the bottoms of her feet,

 

and where Ophelia lies

there the water salts the earth

so green grass and tall trees

lay themselves down to sleep.

 

Where Ophelia rests

there does Gertrude sit

in hopes to lose her demons in penance

as the grey clouds weep.