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Tim Knight Aug 2013
Jumps back on the ketamine and the *******
and stands in alleyways and lanes
and forgets why the stars sit and the moon stands;
who fights demons with hairdryers and backward hats.

And it’s okay to look like your Dad you never knew,
in glances through the wood would only a few see the resemblance,
but similar hair won’t make up for lost Christmases
and days away at rain safari parks.

You’ll have to leave the fox hole through the brambles
at some point in the future,
so get scratched now and bleed a little sigh
of relief,
one that you’ve broken the tie and loosened the knot
and show us all that you’re out of your cot.
coffeeshoppoems.com >> poetry blog for the ill informed
JJ Hutton Dec 2014
I read a story the other day.
I read the headline.
It said: There is no god and we are his prophets.
We drive slowly on Saturdays.
At night in our home there are noises,
the dull thumps of ghosts.
We used to comment. Now we rollover.
I wake and return the blankets I’ve stolen.

In the mornings there is music.
A kitchen dance of tip-toes and arms at war with air.
The new car with its heated seats.
There’s a pace I like.
It’s microwaved tea;
it’s 11:30 a.m.;
it’s one more chapter before.

I listen to you get ready,
a chorus of tubes uncapped
and capped, of hairdryers
plugged and unplugged.
You sing softly.
I hear this, too.

Beyond this house,
a brook, a mountain, a trout.
Distances mapped.
Plans drawn with
parallel lines, listless and drifting.
Within,
there is no god, and he is love,
and we are his prophets.
You are my practitioner.
And I, yours.
Raquel E Mar 2017
a flock
of friends
in town
    flaunting
     futile
     fuels
any event of your life
can be put on hold
       toothbrushes
       hairdryers
       emptying
       drawers
you
know
   you
     are
       not
        alone
you
got
movies
and cookies
toothbrushes
and the toilette
doesn't get flushed
neth jones Feb 17
courting breaths   after blue i brighten
       i lighten   with originless humour
and then ugliness anew                          
   i tighten   into some packed pearl of monster
breathe in   breathe out   courting breaths
the susurration    of all this lung
resuscitation    and it's 'good morning mourning'

then 'bring out the empathy' !  and zitty connections
and marvel over   'those poor things'          
larval in their struggles   up the redline
and envision throwing them heaps               
of hairdryers  salad spinners  monopoly boards
            vibrating cushions  for back massage
and obscure tinned delicacies  from my extensive travels
the five devils of my mind  tackle my erratic breath
five mad ideas  of how to run their lives
                        milk their hive
form a worship  and go to war..

..then it is i who goes larval                  
                          carving in on my minuscule heart
crutching in like a fractured pill bug
not daring to raise my eyes      
             for fear of offending my superiors
breathe in   breathe out
counting down the breaths til rattle

— The End —