Green

Yearly cynical Poem, Merry Xmas xxxxx

Gangrene green chokes

The best of us –

But only the worst of us,

Let the disease spread to our

Brain; poisoned by pride

We return the favour, choking

The accused with our trembling

Fear-ridden hands.

For it is not the act that scares us,

But the life of oblivion of not knowing

So let’s pretend it is; this caution

Gives the green justification.

We are all green-

And we are all monsters,

So we may as well do it properly.

Canvas

We wave our brushes around carelessly-

And before we know it,

Beautiful blankness is suffocated with

Explosive colour.

Your pretty canvas, as pretty may be

Pollutes and illuminates the chaos that is

Mine. And your

Belittling eyes,

That so often comes in pairs,

Circulate, and swoop softly

Like a vulture dropping shit on an already

Substandard world-

Your hands move as cunningly, and with

Tight grasp you wave your brushes around

Carelessly, tarnishing

An already smudged canvas.

                                           

Statistics

One of the many;

Sometimes we stray amidst the

Statistics- once

Indivisible and prime,

Now expendable, wandering

In the monotony of banality,

We implore!

For we must be the anomaly-

But sometimes dreary is delicious

And distinctive is demonic

I’ll endure as one,

for to unite with the many,

is to endure as

None. 

Crimson

Your face turns crimson;

As a seeping grey consumes me-

Friends become like bubble wrap,

We yearn for them on an unlimited tap,

Yet we as much ache to pop them.

But before you pop the air out of me,

Consider your subliminal fret,

As your cherry-like face glistens in the

Darkness.

Beyond

I used my best clothes the

First Time;

And they are still filthy

With the sweat of family gatherings,

My hands- riddled with

Trepidation and a voltage so strong

That I could shake a hug

Find me some black and white

For only that will soothe my reddening hands.

They never throw you in the shallow end.

All I can hope;

The debasing eyes shrivel so they can see

Beyond the insufficiency,

Beyond the inadequacy

Beyond what is feeble,

Beyond what is pitiful,

Beyond a mockery.

I used my best clothes the

First Time;

And they are still filthy. 

A Martian's view on love

This is a poem written through the perspective of an alien viewing human interactions of love. It is inspired by a sector of poetry called 'martian poetry' which gives perspectives of human life through aliens.  This should be  cryptic so it shouldn't be easy to grasp. Will probably do another post explaining it at some point 

Two-headed creatures share a heart,

But stumble on each other’s limbs,

When their babies are vibrating happily,

Something strangely appears to be wrong.

Then the disturbances stop; together they make

Bizarre noises until they rest their eyes.

Now their heads depart, and delve

Into private fantasies, free from conflict.

Their eyes reluctantly open, but soon they

Assume their customary smiles.

Weirdly enough; they celebrate all of this,

with extortionate paper and glitter

Exchanges of the same dusty words and withering flowers,

But everyone seems equally impressed.

Apart from the Others whom lack attention so

 Instead use their thumbs to communicate

Whilst they go off in pairs and celebrate misery,

 The Others wish for the same pain!

They watch films about themselves

Whilst they indulge each other’s faces

The one-headed creatures stay at home,

Dreaming dreams to which replace with.

Evolution

A face so ashamed;

But everyone does it.

So why not exchange such dismay

with beautiful unity and camaraderie

Celebrate the flaws and see them

not as flaws but simply

actions of a Predator.

Which we all are.

Undoubtedly the judges will swarm

and subject their demeaning eyes

on the victims of evolution.

But all us victims will fall together

United in the pigs we are

We all eat from the same trough

And shit in the places we sleep.

But we are united.

And we need to be-

until the judges perish also to

Evolution.

Once Upon A Time

Once upon a time:

People used to be passionate,

Sentimentality ran through our veins.

But now another ‘S’ has conspired,

Leaving our soppiness bound by chains.

We used to pick what film to watch-

With excitement!

Now we just ask how long it is,

Relishing the thought of it being less

Than 90 minutes.

We used to go on long walks;

The thought of a picnic was thrilling.

But soon we learnt that walks weren’t fun,

There was something more fulfilling.

Once upon a time:

People are crude, impassive and indifferent

Disinterest runs through our veins

All because that ‘S’ has empowered,

Even our memory foam has forgotten.

So what chance do we have?

Night Out

We spend the day dreaming

Of intoxication;

Anticipating a break from significance

And welcoming triviality-

When nothing can possibly matter.

We try to make ourselves look beautiful,

And when that fails-

We drink.

And as the music deafens our ears,

We fall into a wonderful stance,

A place where absolutely nothing matters.

But this stance I speak of- so premature!

And soon things quickly turn to manure,

Because what we love can turn to hate,

A vivacious start, a dismaying fate

Things start to matter.

People begin to reapply their perfumes

And aftershaves; with seeping, pungent

Odious smells.

As smiles turn to cries,

And our mouths fill with mire,

Should we have been satisfied with water?

We return to the world-

Shovels at the ready,

And we scoop and divide up the shit.

Then

Suddenly,

Everything matters. 

Demise

I’m the shadow in the darkness,

That ruthlessly yearns for your

Demise

I work cunningly; but callously.

Gritting my teeth at signs of elation,

Because: the joy

 Scares me- should I grasp my torch?

And shine destruction upon your utopia.

Maybe I should- because I the decrepit

Finds your happiness repulsive-

The intense darkness;

You may hear subtle cries

As a merciless loner plans your demise

Window

Transparently gloomy; there looms an abyss,

An encapsulating ignorance,

Compels the confessed,

They’re spoon-fed and they choke;

They romanticize the window,

To conceal from reality

And shield from below

She projects the shadows; under false duress,

They live in what ‘could’

And end up with less,

A peak of expectations- the others

Witness them waste,

Some feel placid,

Others distaste.

The window will crack,

And your dreams will implode

You shall not rise, but disintegrate

As your body erodes 

Stagnant

Everything is stagnant;

How it reeks of lethargy,

How it pines for innovation.  

But as the monotony encapsulates

A lazy mind,

Any surge of change is yet to entwine-

If one is alienated by their own desires,

The body collapses into mental retire

The motionless body, the nihilist brain,

A lack of creativity and I go insane.

It’s time to dig oneself out the mire

And let a greater world transpire 

Reflection

An array of emotions

Controlled by my thumb

A miniature time capsule

In my power.

To structure,

Or to shuffle-

The sweet times and the sour.

I turn up the memories-

Really loud!

And they consume my

Mind in colour.

Then when the memory comes to

Halt-

The present seems much

Duller.

When I fill my ears

With what is no more,

A strangely soothing

Violence-

There is a song for

Every moment, every episode

Followed by an eerie

Silence

For sometimes: once is enough. 

Unconditionally

A poem about some very special people x

When they speak:

Suddenly the trivial is ignited;

A bright, burning flame of love.

Never has the topic of the weather

Been so scintillating.

Nor has repetition been so

Compelling; it is simply that

You are infallible in their eyes-

Unconditionally.

When they smile:

Suddenly your world is complete;

A bright, burning flame of love.

Never has a broken past

Been presented with such positivity

Nor has your future ever been seen so

Paramount; it is simply that

You are perfection in their eyes-

Unconditionally.

Unconditionally-

They will love you

Unconditionally. 

Pictures

The pictures appear to lie,

But the smiles are nonetheless

Vivid-

For there are no such thing

As cyber cob webs.

No, in fact every detail is retained-

The ageing process magnified

to remind us of the slow but sure

Decline.

Pictures: what was once!

And what can never be again.

What a beautiful, yet morbid reminder.

Nothing

The beauty of a blank slate;

But we meddle with it,

We smudge it with charcoal knowledge,

Our parents providing the stationary,

And the schools give us the paper.

Then: we write.

The pages are just a distraction,

From the ignorant yet blissful

Oblivion in my mind,

I wish the words would trickle

Away, and form the perfect smile,

But words are the constant,

And you are the temporary,

And we have perished.

The people that listen are punished,

With the promise of nothing

So:

The days go by;

And I am back at nothing.

But this is worse than the nothing

of my blank slate,

It is a nothing without meaning,

 A nothing without hope,

To know too much,

is to know absolutely nothing.

'Sickness'

Nurture choked me,

With his cold, cold hands.

And now he offers me help?!

They call me sick,

Insisting I can be, in the most

Insulting way, cured!

Cured from the illness that nurture

Gave me himself.

The ignorant gather upon their platform,

and with the authority of fallibility

tell me I am sick.

I grow tired of these words.

However: I am grateful my apparent

Sickness can be cured.

For your sickly superiority will forever

Boil in your murky blood!

Beyond cure.

Nature called upon me, and

Told me I am perfectly healthy.

And I believe him.

I believe him,

More than I believe your stupid book. 

Paranoid Eyes

This is about people pretending they do not care, but really they care more than anything. A poem about being honest with yourself and reality. 

My apathy: unconvincing

At the best of times,

The realms of care, I delve beyond

And focus my eyes on elation

But:

I forget the most prized item;

Reality is easy to leave behind,

The clarity being repulsive, almost like

The truth is nauseating. So:

My spotlight is on the shadows;

Shadows of indifference,

And shadows of dispassion 

Such insensitivity nourishes the brain,

But leaves the heart deprived

This bold exterior just an imaginary

Projection

My soft interior, conspicuous

Within my  paranoid eyes.