workshop
CATCH THE GOLDEN RING
In a circle bound
like a merry-go-round
beginnings seek their end
never knowing when,
I catch the moments
and hold them fast
but soon the present
becomes the past
and the future comes
all too soon.
The tongue of those who can't relate to struggles of the sickly,
Those who don't know what it's like to suffer in silence
From an auto immune disease (multiple sclerosis)
Keeps me depressed and oppressed.
Glaucoma has taken my sight rendered my driving useless
The dimness in my right eye has me wondering
If my left eye will follow.
Figures walking by with blurred faces
Eyes are no more like empty sockets
Shadows in my peripheral.
They say alcohol makes all things better,
I hope this is true; as I drown my sorrow in a bottle of liquor,
Drink till I black out; and shut my mind,
But the more I try to shut out;
Thoughts of you,
The more I see images of you,
Your beautiful face and divine smile,
Can a visage so pretty camoflage such bile?
My heart skips beats,
Every time I see you,
Till I fear I would die of a heart attack,
Let me apologise if you think I hurt you,
(I'd apologise even if I didn't hurt you),
6th June 1944
I was only two and a bit,
but I remember you.
In that you flew over little me,
I saw the sky filled with planes.
The ones towed behind,
never to return again.
As the soldiers that they held,
to save us, not themselves.
I cry for you even now.
They have told me all my life,
that you gave yours.
Without thought so freely.
My memory could not see,
the pain in body and mind.
Where death stalked you,
to save those left behind
Whispers in the dark leaking from the window
revealed treachery of which I didn't know
I kicked open the door and my heart bled,
seeing two bodies entangled on the bed
My lover's face now masked by fear
while an old friend cowered in the corner
How long have I been a fool, I wonder
but the answer doesn't really matter
By Ian Thomson
The economic situation in the European nations
Is the reason why our savings disappear
For the banks gave all our money
To their pals, who think it’s funny,
To get free loans for champagne and high-strength beer
This social deprivation leads to food banks, near starvation
But our feathered friends seem happy with their lot
For although we’re nearly skint,
Those seabirds seem to have a mint,
Put deposits on new cars they haven’t bought.
momentous seclusion in bracelets
salted silt bristling bed
twin dis-part in aeons
and a doe on the brink skein
brown backed a sand pyramid
tri rising the collar baked
well far for the desert scene
in the forests with a rush
ribbon of a gazelle and her elongation
freedom frisk for a patrol pedestrian
be this before Venus vanilla twilight
the murk drools past
the soft touch
holding face in all the shine
each crafted pleasant
petal up to the sun\
prittie puts it on\
complex as a knot of twine
and the ball hits the
blacktop
and the skies eyes
are as blue as mine
they can see
forever
and ever...
There are too many stoney fields
which plows will never again touch.
They bear those stones like ancient shields,
these glades which aren't frequented much.
Perhaps the last crop planted there
was planted far too deep.
Though each was spaded with great care,
above the surface sprouts don't peep.
The soil here is deep and dark
made fertile by too many souls
spaced neatly as if in some park
in ordered rows across the knolls.
Words appear as
fire in my bones
memories like fuel on red ashes
Writing things down
cools the flames burning
At the end of the day
I am who I am
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