Dreary my arse! I particularly enjoyed the imagery of your last poem... wish I could write so well. Here's some more crap from me.

Ethics

If life were a one track mind,
Unfettered with curious happenings,
Or already broken beneath the yoke of time,
Like lonely fragments of dust.

Then like some ghastly timer,
How each momentous minute,
Would sear across my spirit,
And smile to see me mock.

And so, lay down or lie,
Upon uncertain confidence,
To soldier on through each dull tock,
And watch the graying hairs grow older.

Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.

Yours & JGirls poetry is good, but I would personally prefer less in the way of noun usage.

I always feel happiest when swanning sideways through the murky miles,
And across the heady hills the green smear of land slides swiftly beneath me.
Could this vertiginous variance of foliage and fauna,
Lost in a creators venomous eyes,
Really be home?

Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.

That reminds very briefly of the four days I spent recently at Mardale Green in Cumbria.

The birthplace of my Anglo-Saxon surname no less.

In reply to:

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That reminds very briefly of the four days I spent recently at Mardale Green in Cumbria.

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Well it's a small world... I actually wrote that a while ago in a notebook I took with me when I climbed up the Old Man of Coniston! So not far off.

Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.

Do you ever struggle with loathsome doubts on those cool spring nights,
Raging silently whilst the mournful moon makes such dark faces at an unhappy soul?
The enchanting destruction repulses me, but I boil to fight back,
But I don't care enough to win as the bastards pull me down...


Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.

Yes.



We knelt at the delicate feet of dilection;
........Groveled at the cloudy skin of our fate
When the shapes of the stars were embodied before us
........In the precipitancy
........Of divine electricity

........They held twinkling vigil in the blackest of hours
........As our dreadful hearts
........Were wholly proselytized
Humble hands
Were unfurled as flowers
Like petals in moon
........Grey veinulets
........Wicking up light through our fingers
We knelt
........At the delicate feet of dilection
........We wept when our wavering spirits were stilled
As the seraphs of sky broke before us and shimmered
........Through the stratus
........Of somber uncertainty

If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.

The Crunch

The present past can never last,
A future often lingers,
You cling to minutes by the hour,
Which slip down through your fingers.

And when you hear the grinding crunch,
Which cuts down to your soul,
Take up those bronze illumined gears,
And pay the weary toll.

Like a Nun on the Run, I'm terrible fun.

I never knew illuminated could be truncated like that. Good to know.

The metaphor of the clock gears as the two coins for Charon - brilliant. Unless you meant something more general, but I love the connotation that if you don't ante up, the memories of the time that you so clutch at will be lost forever. This is mercurial and short, but rich, and that's what I tend to like in poetry, so nicely done. This is a new favorite for me.

If I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.

It’s on the edge
Not really there
It’s like a glance
Not a stare

It’s not quite in
But not quite out
Not in the centre
It moves about

It is, it isn’t
It could be maybe tho’
It agrees, disagrees
It’s very so-so

It comes it goes
You’re never really sure
Out the window
Thru’ the door

Periphery, periphery … artfully aware
In the shadows
Or in the open
Tho’ never really there.


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