My uncle Charlie only ever saw things in black and white. He had never owned a colour TV. He said the colour TV license was far too dear. I didn’t even know anyone still believed in that shit. Was there such a thing as a black and white TV license in this day and age? “Black and white’s better,” he’d …
The argon lights dripped into pools along the pavement,
As he followed her after the rain.
When she crossed the road,
He stood at the crossing where the traffic light,
Like a straightened question mark made exclamation
-Became a cold eye bearing down the nervous system-
He wondered whether she played piano,
Maybe in a bar or beside a window…
Not stalking, just curiosity walking. – mh clay
Walter Nye would overcome his shyness towards his lover Kristin. After his eventual first date they became a great couple. Collecting comments from street gossip about their togetherness. Walter would talk of nothing else. Kristen this. Kristen that. Until all his friends deserted him. But Walter didn’t care. Nor hardly realize. All he wanted and needed was Kristin. As time …
When the world weighs heavy upon me
I light up
My feet go from under me
Followed by my legs
Tingling up my spine
Towards my neck
Until all that’s left’s
My face disappearing
Behind a puff of smoke.
Selfish indulgence or self-care? Let’s have a smoke and think about it… – mh clay
The moment I step out of myself
I leave the door wide open
To allow others to walk in
And put themselves at ease
So that I no longer want to return
And remain outside
While they cause havoc
Discerning no respect nor regard for my personal space
Desecrating everything that once made me
Then I close the door on them
Locking them in
Unwilling to release them
Preferring to keep them restrained
Rather than let them out.
This is why it’s best to be a good guest. – mh clay
He was so wrapped up in himself he couldn’t fight his way out
Clung to himself like cling-film
Cocooned as a spider’s prey
Waiting to be devoured by the arachnid conscience of self realisation
Succumb to that inner spider; empty the old self to fill the new. – mh clay
I’m constantly looking forward to looking back,
Tired of falling awake.
Though it’s never for long.
I drift into it then find myself
Slipping back to slumber.
Sleep walking through life,
Remembering things while they’re happening.
The present in past tense.
Sooner or later, we’ll all get around to this. Didn’t we? – mh clay
We drinkers like Rodin’s thinkers
Sat perplexing over the bar,
Contemplating what went wrong with our lives-
As if set in stone.
You may think we live the life of Riley
But maintaining this lifestyle’s a chore.
Drinking to recover from the hangover of life,
With the hair of the dog like inclement clouds
Meshing with the odour of stale smoke,
Living life to the full glass-
Which is always half empty.
While we remain all alone
Crowded out by our thoughts,
Going over memories.
Our unsettled sentiments left semi detached
Amongst a terrace of personalities.
Their dislodged expressions beaming upon us,
Causing us to cast a shadow
As if we were a gnomon.
And we’re left hunting that elusive enthusiasm,
Wanting to lift our spirits
While dragging our weight behind us,
Like a cadaver heavily decayed
Over years of treading water-
Our eyes callused with internal tears,
While remaining the freshly slain victim
Of our sense of worth.
Our insecurity a vanity
That’s patently selfish.
Collectively, singularly, in any light; all cast shadows. Selfish to think otherwise… – mh
He was a jay amongst crows,
Too dazzling and vibrant for their funereal garb
That suited them to a pernicious throng,
Mocking his harlequin attire
While internally shades of green, red, and blue
Flagged their discontent with caulked success.
All that colored angst locked inside explains the parched crack of their cackled call. Let them crow and strut your stuff; jays, peacocks, eagles, all! – mh
Diving into the music
Keys splashing melodic
Mists spraying until drenched
Listening to the iridescence
Of monochrome mood
Following vertical smoke
Of Beaufort zero
Drying off in the cool
In the eye of the storm
And thrown off
To find the wizard
We sustain our holiday hijinx in the warmth of good company; musicians who never die so long as we hear their tunes. That’s a fine brew, indeed! – mh
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