This is my directory of bleeding hearts
She sits in her bed waiting for the cold
To touch her leg
The cold is her Mr Man
The only one she invites to warm her egg
And he comes also
When the dawn is breaking
And half herself is in the other world
And the other is still clawing
To make it up with you
And on the shore
The waves are crashing onto the land
The flooding waves
Are stretching their ringed fingers
Deep into the sand
Losing their precious jewels and
Moonstones Somewhere only
Time and God understand
As we walk our feet
Along the shore
leaving footprints
In the sand
The cymbals clash
The drums beat
The thunderstorm
echoes down the street
People hide indoors
But one goes out to meet
The rain
Tap dancing soles
Diamond feet
She splashes up the puddles vein
Like arteries of falling rain
She follows up the steep hillside
And as she goes she slip slides
Oh always pain, this pain inside
This mortal frame where we reside
Can we cut out a hole for our soul
Can we let it bleed without control?
Can she escape? Can truly I
Rise above mistakes
Like a cloud in the sky
But I am a fake, just a model guy
I stand by the lake watch my hopes fly
Like geese, like bleeding hearts
Forever sewn-flown into the sky
I remember the pattern
How I was sewn into you
My patchwork heart
Your needle and thread
Pulling the pieces together
I thought were dead
Making the quilt
We will lie under in bed
Free from faking guilt
Just the roll of thunder instead
My cotton wool eyes
In the blue, blue skies
Sometimes the verdant green
Of all the islands we have seen
Sometimes vermilion of the dark valley
The villainy of passion
The 3 am street or alley
The yellow of a tram
That we speak on
Conversations of nonsense
Let you know who I am
The silver grey of rails
That run across this land
That neither of us can escape from
The train wreck, rubber neck
Tin pan alley man
Sunday, 11 June 2023
My Directory of Bleeding Hearts
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The bite of remorse
The con climbed over the wall
He scaled the razors and barbs
And miraculously those little sabours
Left his flesh unharmed
The he ran with the spirit of a rabbit
Darting the spot lighted eye
The search the perimeter horizon
He was determined that he would not die
Next after swimming the short moat
He found himself in the cemetry
At least when they measured his pulse
They'd note no unusual telemetry
So not to be down beat, he let his heart and feet
Rest a while
And the hint of a smile
Began to creep across his face
This graveyard was a god send, the peace and quiet
Ensured he'd be undisturbed for at least another few hours
Except then he remember, tomorrow was the Day of the dead
There would be women bearing flowers
And men bowing their heads
At least for now he could rest in peace
Or at least that's what the tombstones said
He was overcome by tiredness and drifted into sleep
The veil of the other world opened up
And in his dreams he could peep
He saw the ghosts of his loved ones
Uncles aunts and cousins
And then he noticed something stirring in the bushes
But he was paralysed by sleep's soft bosoms
Suddenly a twig snapped
And he was jolted awake
Wide-eyed and blinking
He surveyed his surroundings
and it was all he could do to stop thinking:
Someone is watching me!
..Or something...
Nothing moved, and the night was still
But then a scurry a movement quick as a flash behind a grave stone
And then again it popped out two furry ears
And his nerves were allayed
Just a rabbit he softly spoke
And all tension left him as he got the joke
The lucky rabbit's foot, he remembered in his pocket
And rubbed it for good luck
Somebody up there must still love me
But as he looked up searching the night sky
Through the branches of the lime tree
He seemed to see two green jewels starring back at him
Unlike any stars he'd witnessed before
Then the realization dawned
Oh God a figure in the branches above
But it was too late
It, whatever 'it' was
Had swooped down upon him
And its superhuman strength had wrestled Joseph to the ground
It seemed a swirl
It was over in a flash
The creature had sunk its long fangs
Into his neck and was drinking his blood
Joseph began to feel weak
As his strength was leaving him
But it was beyond him to speak
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Greed nation
I think we're turning German
In our cars, in our cars
Shaped like pandas and podgy rabbits
We race around like contented Chinese men
We have the veneer of China,
You are what you consume
After all in the technology, the
blatant and obvious over consumerism
Because what else is there to do in a vacuous life
But grow fat
Body building
And mechanizing ourselves
Just the rich grow richer
The poor stay where they are
Watching the fat cats driving their cars
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Walking to Wedmore
Walking to Wedmore on a Sunny
Sunday morning
And the path is like a limosine that just runs on
And the river's like a swimmer's scene which lies in blatant sun
And the blackthorn flower, white as any nun
And Hawthorn stands in towers of the Chaffinch song
As primrose's sun's powers pray to all
And ferns are like the hallowed specks that drip and drop
I'm walking into Wedmore on a beautiful sunny morn
This is how the song goes, the song goes on and on, the song goes on and on
The fields lay so beautiful around the lightning swan
And the sun goes climbing skyward as the song is sung
Walking into Wedmore the sun shines on and on
Beautiful sunny flowers on the road to marathon
And it keeps on going on
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
American Frontier
West of the Mississippi
"historians sometimes define the American West as lands west of the 98th meridian or 98° west longitude," and that other definitions of the region "include all lands west of the Mississippi or Missouri rivers
On Mars the say the
boosterism
sobriquet
noun [ C ] formal (also soubriquet)
UK /ˈsəʊ.brɪ.keɪ/ US /ˈsoʊ.brə.keɪ/
a name given to someone or something that is not their or its real or official name:
These charms have earned the television show's host the sobriquet "the thinking woman's heartthrob".
Synonyms
moniker humorousnickname
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_Postal_Service
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/General_Land_Office
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Quincy_Adams
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Westward_Expansion_Trails
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Jesup
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jefferson_Davis
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Jacob_Astor
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_C._Fr%C3%A9mont
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_River_(Colorado_River_tributary)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Pass_(Wyoming)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mountain_man
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedediah_Smith
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Texas_Jack_Omohundro
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_Glass
formal
His performance is a palimpsest in which you see all the layers of a single life.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Santa_Fe_Trail
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Spanish_Trail_(trade_route)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fredonian_Rebellion
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_San_Jacinto
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zachary_Taylor
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gadsden_Purchase
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wilmot_Proviso
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_River_(Colorado_River_tributary)
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_Postal_Service
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
interpellation
interpellation
interpellation noun [C or U] (QUESTION)
POLITICS specialized
an occasion when questions are formally asked of a government minister in parliament; the process of asking questions in this way:
The controversy became the subject of an interpellation in the Chambre des Députés.
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
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