Two Poems: The Burden of Angst, and Extradited

The Burden of Angst

 

To play protector,
   or to live out the role—

To separate
             the instances

     Childhood from maturity,
     a lifetime yet of doubt.

Save the smile
   from the burden
             of angst—

Which is to say,
         we hold back
             Authority’s loving hand,

and embrace the future
   as if it were our own youth.

 

 

 

Extradited

Bricklaying.
Building a path
Extradited.
Soft, lingering spit
A neat, messy little package.
Never returned
Arc welding.
Holding the line
Soft, lingering spit.
Never returned

 

A Distant Wave

A Distant Wave


A distant wave to validate
The thousand daily murmurs,
To enrich a curse shielded
From sight, and brightly
Glimmering windows I mean
To discover—

But caught, entrapped by
Rapt attention to
Every expression, and
Every distant stare that
I keep as my own

To fly and have flown:
Left to become overgrown.
Alone, a falcon, offered
A chance; not taken.

Enamoured, curt — soft now,
Neither ’tis here nor thither—
But caught aware in
The act of self-defiance.

In our chests beat
Black stones, we
Strive on little but the want of.

For kindness — a distant wave
That speaks spears to the
Nears and fars of those

Black stones.

Rhetorical thrones,
One for you,
Come by.

Affix those locks, tied so tight—
Walk a while; remain with me, in light.

 

Begotten

Begotten

 

O, tattered skyline:
Greens, reds and silvers,
Skellein structures and
Mismatched colours;
The clouds gather
And watch it fall:
It has all escaped, now,
Betrayed,
Once loyal now in doubt—

Listen! The screams above:
The silence—
Their eyes—
Their movements—

Listen! The creaking below:
The sinking, bleeding—
The splinters—
Their creased wrinkles—

O, sunshine, break through:
Blue, azura, horrifying,
The sky now in sight,
Sounding lost:
Hallways;
Corridors;
Classrooms;
Offices;
Bedrooms;
Kitchens:
And inside every one,
A different cry.

 

Black Spots

Black Spots

 

Walking through black spots, wind:
Sun-palmed trees, wrath of the beach—
The water beyond could drag me down;
Toes cling to sand for dear life.
We noticed the shadow of our friend,
Standing in the black spots,
Dragged by the wind,
Just thinking—

Archiving lists of gates and looms
In a library filled with sand—
Worried only by the leaping of beetles;
Vines, barrels full of beer, bitter.

Damned, deserted, upset:
Heralded;
Welcomed;
Abused.

Lost to the sea, drunk on a lilo, no horizon left
And swimming back to the dense streets of the city,
Where people scream, holler, revel—
And the feeling is mutual
When you say you don’t belong—

 

Paroxysm

Paroxysm

 

Tower block collapses in the distance.
A lonely high-rise, condemned.

One side of a fifty-pence piece smiles.

You told me to be there at three,
But the roads were piled with the cars,
And the bodies:
Set off too late, and I could do
Nothing but stand.

Fires begin across the city.
Soon, the countryside burns, too.
The petrol that soaks the streets
Lights up in a line—

The sky is beautiful
And blue.