Poems: 281220 - December 28th, 2020

[Robert Morpheal]

221220A

----------- 

The talk in my sleep 

slipping those words 

into my ear 

that aren't mine 

to say to you 

and aren't yours 

to say to me. 

Makes my disbelieve

in any of us 

having the say

in the cruel rough

of hard nights 

rending apart 

meat and bone. 

Sad soul

in any morning light 

having been taken 

a little more in

from any might 

have nearer 

to being free. 

---------------- 

221220B

------------ 

They don't want 

you to be 

anyone who is 

among the wanted 

not even 

on a wanted poster 

billboard ad 

heading the column

with a following 

of not much.

A shake up 

in the cold today 

of frozen lines 

spill out 

all those sides 

betrayals of facts

when something  

might have mattered

in warmer places

and kinder times. 

Someone pipes up 

they have orders

came straight down

from mysteries above

the common tease 

lies fools believe 

in endless talk about

the never true

melts down into

gone softened minds. 

Wrap up 

the entire scene

in a clay grey coat 

of purified dismal 

broken open 

day of the dead 

showers down

the sugar coated 

little tastes 

are never was 

and never will be. 

Knowing it 

will always hurt 

more each day 

while demanding 

the same  

being served 

regular dues 

in the shadows

vale of formality 

and its grim courtesies. 

------------------------- 

231220A

------------ 

All Hallows 

blurs away 

into the bowels 

of Christmas 

made cheerless 

under renewals

of old and threats 

forever raised

ever up against 

a perpetual malice. 

Relentless infamy 

of executed acts

pushed hard into 

and up against

the drop dead 

scarred walls 

as lost battles 

along ghoul streets

of no offers

and no offerings.

I lose at me

and I know never 

finding you 

but what is between 

there and then 

of the never after 

dancing up another

ugly eye of storm

wears its shabby 

discard dreaming. 

Fantasize the lies

of being into 

something nice 

but you won't be 

into anything 

as you peel 

away the rind

from the pulp 

of what passed 

as a life. 

Forced to thinking

without feeling 

and trying to feel 

without thinking 

takes up the time 

as a new hobby 

requiring hours 

in diligent practice 

and there are few

who are good at it. 

They say 

the flattened out 

and pumped up 

can be somebody

at half a chance 

in among a legion

of the dead  

who are walking 

careful counts

of pavement squares. 

This week's invasion 

bombs residences

with literature 

depicting the usual

reward points 

and punishments 

under the conditions

of mass surrender 

raising white flags

of underwear. 

You are somewhere

hiding inside 

the snow globe world 

becoming shaken

with a sadness 

of sadder than ever 

waiting there 

under a cover of white

simulated melting 

sorts of love. 

And I have died 

to nearly everything 

in its failed promises 

of being more 

than alone again 

in hot pursuit 

of  another 

plastic grail

holding its secret

of modern happiness.

I used to go out

but it meant nothing 

to any future version

of the sound track 

running on

as it does

to the usual penance

of habitual acts 

pretending it all 

being alright. 

--------------------

281220A

------------

Nothing really to say 

to anyone anymore 

as to anything known

in the talk about nothing 

special or in particular 

unending concerns 

in the stagnant climate 

of secret discontent

and depersonalized. 

Lacking glamour words 

is a new form of sin 

and I hardly know 

anything at all 

of the new languages 

in their disregard 

for vintage artifacts 

no matter the make 

or the aspect. 

The streets are drab

grey and forbidding 

bundled dread 

under a wind whistle 

seems to announce

social referees 

sorting the brawls out 

between bench penalties 

for failing to fight

whatever it was. 

Comes about hard

that you failed 

to hang the right people

from the right ropes 

in the right ways

at the right times 

so you were cut loose 

to drift toward forever 

filling your life boat 

with odds and ends. 

Any psychopath 

would know better

but you had to fail 

at every suggestion 

and at every clue 

that pierced your mind

in that iron maiden 

tight head lock  

until it was everyone 

avoiding the scars.   

It is all being kept 

entirely invisible 

keeping it out 

of see say passages

last legible bits 

the cracked up lines

fade of old stories 

weather erased

from aged hoarding 

along vacant sites. 

The cruellest trick

is no way back 

and no time forward 

so you sit 

sipping at nothing 

that can be done 

about any of it

and your mind 

remaining far off 

any of the maps. 

--------------------   

281220B

----------- 

I used to know people 

whom it was always said 

wrote interesting words 

but the words failed

to say anything.

There is the plowing 

of the same furrows 

the way a farmer plows 

lines of dead land

in preparation.

Words being planted 

in the decaying soils

of our histories

placed as dry sticks

marking graves. 

Trying to find 

that little dark secret 

that is one tiny seed 

of creation 

made to appear. 

We want magic 

and we find none 

in our twisted spells 

of arcane letters 

trying to mend holes. 

Sometimes I wish 

I could actually speak 

and in a manner 

that would please 

such a pretty face. 

My mouth stuffed full

of gun cotton 

and monstrous whispering  

comes cold steel 

spit of reality. 

Words have clawed 

at my face 

until I am afraid 

to gaze at you 

from broken windows. 

-----------------------------

A few word doodles passing grim times.