soupaphiliac

 

campbells soup
can red white wrapped
filled with inconsequence
chicken creamed white pulse
tomato scarlet flow
twisting opener
pressure and urge
scot towel to mop up
each dribble from serrated
edge of can.
there is no prehistory in these
objects on a supermarket shelf
conditional lifespan,
to be consumed
or immortalized ,
maybe when it is emptied
my heart will be placed
inside a broth of pain
and societies torture,
so different and will not yield
my mind
my art
my love
drip upon my lips
down my chin
i will yearn for more

spit bliss out

i do not have eyes for television

box square unplugged

cable for the rats to gnaw on,

ignorant pictures

in plastic frames support the wall,

as i can only writhe

on nylon chair

that scratches skin

through my shorts,

no virtue to extol

soon a knock

on screen door

impatient and angry

the men to make me homeless,

bacon’s under the grill

beer popped froth

a conscious memory,

i once was in circulation

at the local advertiser

till it closed

shuttered and blank,

no offices or booth’s

soon in it’s dereliction

to fall under the weight of pigeons,

i belch and move

feet sore nails cut too short,

glass that is uncleaned reflects

and i see myself

scratch the flesh of receding stomach

cupboards have been bare,

why did she go

i had eyes for her

maybe my reflection was a true response,

she was vivacious and sensual

tasted of tequila and almonds,

i had become arrogant and dull,

now with soul tempered

by need not want

i was better on my own

 

Brian liked the words i put on twitter for the challenge so i went for it and this is the result

noun: belch, circulation  verb: grill, extoll , writhe  adj : vivacious, homeless random: gnaw , sensual

In Conclusion

does trust come from the sky

or is born in the infancy of fire

bathe in it’s shadow

and let it linger in the eye,

no incident can let it go,

dry coughs

awkward glances,

a long thread no more subtle

than saliva from a bottleneck,

to plume of exhausted breath,

open words

sore like wounds deepen,

as if caught on the ocean’s

roughest coral,

intimacy rare no longer needed,

raw pauses

neglected opening of the mouth

silence fell,

a ball of anger now the abandoned

toy in the corner,

term of arrangement sorted

it could go to court

or be sorted now,

with looks , voices and reaching

fingertips,

solving this was hard,

dissolving would be harder

 

Funnel Face

wool cocoon,

fold hooded head

coiled into room

waiting for

sundowns wisdom

and the choking solace

without resonance loud,

bitter eyes would

shed tears if seen

burning lips,

wishing for a moment

of flesh,

to savor and devour

in own lair

 

 

The Occupants

light a match to see the day,

clouds have darkened us now

pages from an idle press

avoid the subject of our lives

tender kiss an infants hand

and look into its eyes,

beyond the womb

we are still occupants

figuring out where we stand,

they tell us in a filtered way

we listen, then realise

the answer will be no

bread mops up gravy

but is no good for pain

TV shows give us reality

but that is idle  noise,

we have seen as clouds

stripped back

the ugly beast created

by greed and negligence,

now raise your hands

and raise your voice

the light is upon us

Tiny Fingers

She hooked a finger,

in her mouth

opening a gaping maw

inside this sullen hole

teeth and tongue,

but behind a shine

was it that of an eye,

closer to the mirror

nose touching glass,

stretching fingers out

not reaching,

breathing ragged

saliva ran from the

corner of lips,

pushing her fingers in

further over knuckles

back of hand

to wrist,

eyes widened fear

within,

was her finger bit,

struggling

to reach still choking

asphyxiating

pain clouded her mind,

not a beast, just her soul

she touched

as collapsing forward

shattered the mirror

The Horse Is Concerned

the moon conveys

its disgrace,

sun setting poised,

air fragmented still,

aroma of insolence

upon the air

in pasture symbolic

green

head bowed to water

trough,

nudging ripples to

disguise its face

a horse feels very

concerned.

http://gps.southbankcentre.co.uk/poems/1485/the_horse_is_concerned

New Light Calls

night has a transparency

imagined or real,

a place before

filaments of light

illuminate horizon,

each beckoning breath

in solitude,

gives darkness an edge

that is solid,

visibility heightens

the heart quickens,

memory a chequered

blanket unfurled

portraits on the retina

in time long exposed

to attributes of being

amongst life,

intimacy a vagrant

of the heart,

wandering far from the only

mortal fixture,

only solace to find a soul

who could be enveloped

in the passage of your

time and find greatness

there,

a greatness beyond the

limits of life and its

restrictive boundaries,

a life to be condemned

to be painfully short,

yet where a soul nourished

that existence and gave

passion surrendered,

all that came within darkness

was new light