#520
Somatic, if i could only understand it
and send the spicing signals
to whirl and whip down the drain.
The feelings spike when thoughts overwhelm
and i think it would be nice
if they didn’t cause me to think more,
to suss, to test, under mountains of stress,
another step away from a calm sheltered bay,
only alarms alarming, and aches haunting,
oh what a day, what a day, what a day.
#521
Mud and literature
pen and paper
breeze on my brow
the joys of waking up.
#522
It was as if he couldn’t
have ever been
anything but an old man.
Defining logic, and reason,
that he’d never been youthful,
born with a burly beard,
missing teeth,
and the sparkling
curious eyes of a toddler,
his joy radiant,
unnatural for one his age,
a character constructed,
a joy, a light, a lantern.
#523
Their clothes sat rigid,
stiff from sweat and dust,
rife with labour,
days without rest or wash,
marked in motor oils,
kitchen grease, threads
sprouting skyward
like weeds from soil
cake in their hems,
days long, and late,
their journal entries
mere repetition,
irrelevant as calendar dates,
salvation on Sundays,
only sabbaths, seasons
and weight of golden yields
worthy of note,
the demands of the state,
their mouths, loud and
vicious as their taxes,
eye’s hollowed, souls drained,
the sun spins, and the light bends.
#524
More then half a bottle deep,
the salt is pruning my lips
the music is good, if not great,
the air is cool
tossing my stiff, fluffing hair,
i mean aside from some bores
and other strange drunks,
who am i to complain?
i have nature,
a bottle of wine,
the dreams of prophets,
another sip,
another slug.
Thanks for joining! Find poems through out the week on my instagram @monsieurwrite
Don’t forget to check out the poems being recited on The Write Stuff podcast!
Take care, call your family, tell them you love them.
wazoo!
-Mr. Write