Poets are lovers of words
If you are going to approach
Make sure that you boast
About your vocabulary.
Use everything that you carry
Use everything that you know.
Poets like verbal displays
Being able to express how you are feeling
Otherwise, we won’t hear what you are speaking. “Hey beautiful” is just a mere sentence that echoes.
That might just mean, they don’t really know how a poet operates.
Poets adore serenades
We like to play with the words
We substitute them with grace
We like to hear definitions
We paint life with letters that won’t erase.
But when you get simplified sentences,
Copied and pasted.
Everywhere, in your space.
It frustrates you to some disgrace.
Poets see the world with creative variance.
We seek novelty, diversity and new experience.
Not the simplification and limitations that the superficiality of a “hey gorgeous” brings.
Next time you come near
Make sure to sing me some epic hymn.
Who said loneliness is not tangible?
It is the phone that doesn’t ring
Or the finger taps that don’t please.
All those people in your feed,
Shutting their blinds down
On your window screen.
So, I download that app and walk around
Hoping our paths cross around town.
The red light beeps
Like my heart beats that bleeds
It is not a notification,
But my battery that ceases.
Town is buzzing, eyes are crossing
Heads are turning, men are watching.
Ripped jeans and some fake tan whiff.
Going out for a drink?
Ain’t nothing better than this?
How about a bicycle trip?
The rhythm is faster than I would have wished. I just wanted to fit it all into 1min.
Sorry if it is a bit muffled but I am using my phone as a mic.
I am the face on this tree,
The face that all sees.
I carved our bleeding names onto it
And I circled it into a heart.
But I can’t find this tree no more.
I’ve been banned from that park
I am left to wander and look for parts
of memories left, in the forests of my past.
A date into the city burrows,
I saw the tombs where monks got buried.
I went where you saw Irish ship,
We kissed just right beside those trees.
Your dog was frolicking in the soil
The rain was pouring, but it was no toil
My feet got soaked, yet, you dried me
With lots of hugs and fleshy heat.
I look back and reminisce,
This was a real lived romance!
I then, wake up without your kiss
Was this a dream? Or just a trance.
I’ll let my eyes be on this tree
So it shall always look at thee.
Protecting you, when passing b,
Inattentive to my guise.
You’ve left this digital space
It seems, not only I, devastate.
This realm of virtual overwhelm
Where you used to co-create.
I mourn a death, like they do in old time sakes.
Only, the information is not delayed.
This notification, is heralded in a fast pace.
You can see it, straight away.
Like a slap in the face,
A goodbye note that is left
And cannot be retraced.
You are now, more gone than before.
There’s no more peeping through window blinds, no reason for.
When the person exits your virtual world
You cannot knock on their door anymore.
They leave a blank space in your analogue globe.
Like an empty house, where memories are forlorn.
You type and retype and seek for a shortcut
But you only waste time,
Trepidation waves in the gut.
Suddenly, you have a hole, between your chest and bones.
Then, you learn
Against death, there’s no winning.
Let the questions burn
Ignorance keeps your head from spinning!
Today is a memorable day, since had the first of my poems (“On Aging”) published in the honorable Scum Gentry Arts website.
Do check it out. They have great content, in regards to alternative poetry, prose, visual art and games.
My poetry got wings, it landed in Edinburgh City
It’s cold, breezy and dark, it’s not, yet, even evening.
Where are these men with tartan skirts?
I want to bag their pipes, they want their bagpipes to be heard.
I want to see the Loch Ness erupt.
From swampy waters, undeterred.
So far it seems quite different, from where my spirit lives.
I’m reminded of this partition, when I need to pay any fees
And when listening to quirky accents, as Scottish people speak.
The modern toppled buildings, reminders of my previous life
Old structures elevate the neck, causing shimmers in the eye.
The novelty of all, that can be absorbed
Is captured by these optic nerves.
Be it windows, doors, graffiti.
Nothing here goes unobserved.
A new city tastes like the freshness
Of coffee smell on a morning rise.
As Nan Sheperd once said: “It’s a grand thing to get leave to live”,
So I’ll follow her advice.
I enjoy my holiday in the land of brave hearts.
Hearing kingfishers sing, as the moon makes her depart.
Edinburgh is a magical city and many birds sing through out the night!
This is why poetry and storytelling is so important! It helps us understand its healing powers. Through relating to what has been written, we learn, we are not alone. Those feelings are felt by many, those experiences are lived by many. We feel understood, we feel connected. We feel, as one.
I was asked to come up with a #7wordstory. I could not decide on which one to go with, so I wrote 2, on the same theme… hope I am not cheating haha.
Picture taken at Glasgow Necropolis, by myself.