Tag Archives: poems

The Siren Call

3 Aug

He knew the rocks were there
all along;
the ever-present timber-smashing teeth
below the froth.
But still he came to the Siren call,
half-knowing his own ruin as he sailed.


Now, dashed upon the rocks,
he slips under the waves,
drowning slowly.
Hands stretched out
he watches her fade away.

Alone Under Streetlamps

30 Jul

A path through an empty park

At the end of day,

A lone walker in the dark

As streetlamps fend the night away.

 

The night air feels cold,

The wind’s caress is frigid

Life is fast, my soul feels old.

Streetlamps; silent, rigid.

 

People pass in yellow

light, wordless as required,

out in the night, exhausts bellow,

as I wander, weary but untired.

 

Lonesome and yearning, my hand

Grips my cellphone tight,

my friends are far away, and

yet they’re here: in my sight.

 

Phone: vibrate. Please, connect,

and bring companions to me here,

give life to my dreams, resurrect

those memories that sear

 

with happiness that’s heart-wrenching,

my hold on you won’t slip,

phone; please become a hand

And return my own hand’s grip.

 

 

This is a poem I wrote some time ago, on the theme of loneliness. Yes, I know loneliness as a concept is a bit overdone and cliched in poetry – we poor misunderstood poets like to indulge ourselves in somewhat vain laments at our aloneness in the world –  but at the time of writing this poem loneliness was the overpowering feeling in my life, living as a lodger in an unfriendly home in a dull small town where I had recently moved for work. I spent a lot of evenings wandering the quiet streets, smoking cigarettes, going to the newsagents, or going to buy beer; any excuse really to get out of the cabin-sized bedroom I was renting.

(it took me a while to try and get the metre and rhymes right for this. I normally don’t bother with them much. Anyone who reads this and has constructive criticism to give, please comment 🙂  )

 

Insect Landscape

29 Jul

Tickling as it walks

the spider traverses my chestscape

as I lie upon the open lawn

in the sun.

Tiny and harmless,

I relish its movements.

 

And next to me, another friend:

It looks like it’s Red Ant

a-wandering.

Hello, Red Ant,

In the grass-forests rummaging,

how are things with you?

What’s new and how d’you do?

 

I like you Red Ant

You are solid and dependable.

I would almost let you climb up

and roam the sparse-haired savana

of my skin, as well;

but I know what you are like.

 

You would abuse the privilege,

with your spot of searing acid

spewed forth bravely;

a suicidal mission

against an enormous enemy.

You would take one for the team

unthinkingly.

Like the perfect soldier

undaunted in the face

of me, your world-filling foe.

 

Except I am not your foe,

little ant, not me,

I’m here to bask, not bite,

and so if I might, I’ll just lay

here beside you a little while

as you go about your industrious day.

 

I like to do this;

lie on the summer grass in the sun

lie prone, immobile, like a landscape feature,

insect-crossed and edificial

like a temperate Ayer’s Rock.

 

To the insects, and to the bugs,

And to the worms, as well,

I am a mountain,

or at least a significant

landscape feature.

 

But to the plane passing overhead

(and to the skies, to God)

I myself am the ant,

Sprawling and burning in the sun.