Mother's Ruin: Poetry Collection I

A collection of poems written when I've been drunk, or sad, or both - but never neither.

Gallows Humour

Ode to Dorothy Parker...

#1 Draft

So this is the end. A teardrop on a match, Life was insignificant, but enough to extinguish me. You burned me, Set me on fire, and then blew me out. I always knew this would happen,

Analogy of Life in Three Lines

A blade of grass admiring the scenery, The flowers, the trees and the rest of the greenery With the faint distant rumble of garden machinery…

Black Dog

My black dog barks Skin shredding sonic rings; He does not quietly sing. He does not softly sing. My black dog bites. Teeth-mark scars around my wrists; He does not gently kiss.

Cancer

The sickest thought in my sickened head Is the sickest wish for sickness. As I exhale grey spectre breath Twisting and changing in thickness I read the warnings in black and red:

Critically Conditioned

Presented with your requests I crumble, Disintergrating into my foetal position. Protection from you is futile. You force and force yourself upon me And I flinch, I bite, I oppugn.

Distant Point

The enveloping cold shrouds the fields; The sheep, camouflaged, sleep. You can hear the crispness of the air Almost crackling with loe energy. Everytime you breathe you see your mark is left,

Mauna Loa

My anger is the hammer That nailed Jesus to the cross. It burns the fragile earth, Scattering pieces of hearts at my feet. It's likely that some of yours is there,

Medication

Dear Doctor, I was dying. How kind of you to save me. (How kind of you to save me) Sweet little pill, My future contained in one small pill, Luminous with life giving potential.

The Bucolic Plague

The road was dirt, dust and grass, scattering beneath our feet. Cows grazed unaware where we walked, Involved like children with cherished toys.

Still Life

I can still live In this still life With this still love… But you still leave.

The Value of Nothing

Let us play Pooh-sticks with breeze blocks over the motorway And hear the brittle smashes of metal fishes beneath us; What a way to spend a summer’s day!

For Scythe, My Beloved (Ode to Poe)

Ravens dine under corvine skies On carrion wed with blood red wine, A bouquet of hellebores fresh from the vine, A ghostly figure weeps my monody fine,

The Nero Effect

The light bulb blinks at me, like its own brightness makes it squint And wink like I used to when I looked into the sun. The white tiles gleam under the harsh light and I see the lint,
Cherry

Mother's Ruin

Salty air pelts his face with coarse winds, Each granule bitter in its velocity; tiny teeth and claws Riding on the sea air. Feathers must offer protection
Cherry

Pincushion

I am no longer shocked by blood. Scissors scratch what shouldn’t be touched. (How much metal can I insert under my skin?) I lack the surgeon’s skill of precision,

The Lighthouse

There is a lighthouse In the background of the photo I have of us. We didn’t notice it at the time. If we were ships we would have run aground;