Poems: 060821 - August 6th, 2021

[Robert Morpheal]

300721A

----------- 

Connectivity is sham 

tangle web 

connections unmade 

and unmakeable 

at frayed loose ends

coming apart 

into too difficult times.

Nothing is perfect 

and what you could do 

was never enough 

to fill a leaky cup 

or mend owned wounds 

leaving stigmata 

shorted any sainthood.  

Missing out

for wrong reasons

and any hard tries

at something better 

craving a listing 

in someone's wants 

but looking foolish 

at the regular drop.  

Those drop and bounce

run around courses 

being dread routines

between walked out 

for strange reasons

and cover up realities

under a usual whitewash.  

White as a ghost dancer

in a reign of terror 

cause of growth fears

lurks bill collector 

and fail dating sites 

between wade through 

of worse advice. 

We were urged 

to await miracles

believing good things

to those who stand

forever waiting

eventual realization

it all passed them by. 

Quiet says the sign

on entering

another laughter zone 

where the passing leave

the remaining choked  

with laughter dust 

rising around that stop. 

Stopped midway 

so many times to ever 

and begin at over 

to add up to something

that they care about

after the inspection

reveals too many flaws. 

That unpleasant gotcha

and then you wake up

long after too late 

left nothing 

but stabbing pains

covered over

with laughter dust. 

How to get boxed in

for a last time 

tight under a lid 

which never comes off

nailed down tight

onto nothing but you

and four more walls. 

What you don't know

what you can't say

comes down on you  

a hostile takeover 

tearing out the love

you once felt 

caught in your throat. 

There is nowhere now

that you can think of 

inviting the going 

and no one is there 

even if you went 

into a crowded space

between random cruelty. 

The infinite possibilities

were the same nothing 

coming to nothing 

but ask forever why

that pound at incessant

echoing the silence

under hob nail boots. 

The ghost march 

bones getting covered

with ancestral blood 

not being anything 

you really wanted

while trying to interpret

the runes of denial. 

If any once had

those have long fled 

soul search places

to more comfortable 

and better designed 

suitably provisioned

for making impressions. 

Not quite dead yet 

but it doesn't take much

to be turned over 

left face up 

covered with laughter dust

at tried to find 

those better times. 

---------------------- 

010821A

------------ 

Sometimes it isn't words

but only wild sounds 

howling at stray moons.

Beams of sanity 

cutting their laser light 

across eyeball slices. 

What you chance to see

is never what you get 

but it makes you wanting. 

Wanting what they tell you 

you do not really want

and would not like. 

Arguments notwithstanding 

you want some 

but you never get any. 

Someone else has it all

and whatever it is

makes a peep show from it.

It isn't on billboards 

or in any of the pop up ads 

cluttering up your vision. 

It is the exceptions 

that stimulate the appetites 

of your slaughtered tastes. 

The completely bored mind 

wanting for everything 

that it cannot ever find. 

The rest of it goes

in the junk folder

marked quick deletion.

You become afraid

that they have marked you

for deletion. 

Threats have been uttered

but there is no proof

that anyone uttered them. 

There is so very much 

that you want to try 

before you buy it.  

Samples made you crave

products not offered

and nothing ever settles. 

Cultural indigestion 

heaves its sick feelings 

in the dirty insides. 

The surface scrubbed

rubbing off bad words

in typical wrong ways. 

You sometimes watch

others play the games

they won't let you play 

That makes you special

in all those ways 

you never wanted to be. 

You wanted to be special

to someone 

but not just anyone. 

Erasing your footsteps 

you wish you could go

the other way.

Maybe it was there 

you would find whatever

wasn't anywhere for you. 

They drummed at you 

that something was for you

but you never got any. 

-------------------------- 

030821A

------------ 

Following fence lines

with nowhere to go

past gated and closed

locked countryside

parcelled and divided.  

A road trip 

among the visual beauty

of these dismal lands

between repeat exclamations

of no stopping.

There was a time 

when you could stop 

and stops were taken 

entirely for granted

as what everyone does. 

Past private lanes 

that are rumoured 

other world portals

into the unknown 

but try to imagine. 

Someone is selling off 

heaps of old invites 

to collectors of nostalgia

along with party favours 

and empty chocolate boxes.  

Past the line up 

outside the liquor store 

right in the middle 

of the small minded 

one radio station town. 

A crowded little park

monkey cage

litter of bad habits 

brought outside 

for the weather change. 

Roadside picnic area

latrine stench drift

overflowing garbage cans

with barbecue smoke

choking crowded tables. 

These are lonely times 

in lonelier places 

where enemies advance

always victorious  

against our resistance. 

There are observers

counting the casualties 

that heard happy voices

where there were none

celebrating anything. 

Try another turn 

down a side road 

in the vain hope 

it will change your luck

but it never does

before it dead ends.

----------------------- 

030821B

----------- 

When we were in the desert

we came to wells 

that were all poisoned. 

We pulled up bucket fulls 

of ancient history 

along with some hymnals. 

A skeletal organist 

played Red Army tunes 

in our collective hallucinations.

The sands of time 

sought to cover over everything 

with relentless argument. 

Individual sand grains

needing to be strung as beads

on superstring filaments.

This was exacting work 

as to placements and numbers

forming coded myths. 

A universe can be made

from such creative expulsions

of petrified phlegm and venom. 

The toxic dust then ingested

created a false sense 

of intense well being. 

Fossilized remains appeared

revealing past lunch meetings

encased in strata of concrete. 

Nothing was ever sustained

in those gatherings of grit

wearing away soft tissue. 

Skinned knees of childhood

joining up with elbows 

reminiscent of holy days. 

There was a playground 

no one plays in anymore

where the gods hang out. 

We had to learn to climb up

long evolutionary ladders 

while pushing others off. 

It was all going one at a time 

and take nothing with you 

in the efforts to hold on. 

Fall off rates being marked

by the decaying particles 

worn as native jewellery. 

It was all about lost tribes

and forgotten mating rituals

emptying your living room. 

A handful of insects dropped 

out of a vending machine 

after it swallowed a quarter. 

They all had human faces

and you could collect

a complete set of expressions. 

They dissolved slowly 

after forming images 

of the immanent future. 

Sometimes images remained

that you could not wash off

from your thin skin.  

You would carry them 

until the time came 

for them to go free. 

They would leave you 

a new feeling of emptiness 

that you could never fill. 

------------------------------  

And so it goes.... not even beginning to note all of the awful things that we actually chance to have been given to notice. After all it would do no good at all, even if we did say so.