THE HUMAN ANVIL

Tag: Poetry

All poetry

  • Brushstrokes In My Brain


    O these times
    These lonely, lonely times
    Of a single tear falling
    From a broken, crooked eye
    For the meadows sunk in shadow
    And shadows that each day die
    On the tar road turning homewards
    To pink hearts falling from the sky
    O these people quietly standing
    Waiting that single boat of hay
    Here are lovers with their children
    And servants with silver tray
    All waiting to be carried
    Somewhere in the ocean
    Where faces are not of plastics
    And even fishes have emotion
    O these homes are now softly falling
    Like snow on winter’s eve
    Left faded to fill a dry canvas
    With damp colors smelling new
    And there is no one to wake the silence
    And no one to hold the door
    Only brushstrokes that breath to say
    We are here for you are not anymore

  • The Soft World Shenanigans

    Dry roads humping shredded towns
    Ghostlicked with cactus eyes quietly watching
    Deeper dreams
    For answers within answers
    For silence within screams
    I see, I see
    Footsteps upon gravel
    And red lips on ice
    Dissolve
    In purple chimney smoke,
    Behind the farts of dust- rimmed truck,
    Where the grey haired goats grazing in saltpits wonder
    Why the fairies don’t give a fuck
    Clippety clop, clippety clop
    Horse hooves on silent sand
    Burnt toast, stale butter, wooden knife in my hand
    I see, I see
    Tears and bright ties
    Choking velvet throats
    Those colouring the white lies
    Like spit on anchored boats
    Bell jars in cotton
    Woodpecker in denim
    Breathing tinfoil fantasies
    Of midnight mind raining, whispers upon paper:
    ‘Wheatfields underwater
    Ether in eclair
    Cornflakes made of daylight
    And tulips in dark hair’
    I see, I see
    Last thoughts of dying beasts
    Merge with me
    So that I roar and I bleat
    Being eaten as I eat
    My own war-torn monkhood
    My altarboy retreat
    So I see, So I see
    Dry roads humping shredded towns
    Ghostlicked with cactus eyes quietly watching
    Deeper dreams
    For answers within answers
    For silence within screams

  • The Night

    The Night smiled and the world froze into a mirror:
    An eye without eyelids
    A face without feature
    But timeless in its taste
    Like truth without teacher,
    With flowers on her forehead
    And sweat upon her thigh
    The sea painted on her toenail
    And the sun a firefly
    Dancing just dancing
    On her gold lips as lullaby

    And oft she would curl up to sleep
    Unwanting to know the names
    Of those who suckled her milk
    Only to sell it for pixie dust
    And white rum to last a lifetime of
    Blood on her hands
    Flames in her hair
    Dreams stitched in her dresses
    Leaving her perpetually bare

    Pendulum minds
    Prone to tongue tennis and cold showers
    Stare out the window
    At the hips of dark roads
    Fading under street lamps
    Like sunset on a shore
    Shriveled drops of moonlight on their face
    And she watching the cold blue sky
    And those blind stars; invisible,
    Laughing in the background
    Like extras from silent films
    Happy to beheld
    The recurring eternity
    Of everyday life…

  • The Sailor

    There was dust upon his eyebrows
    And stars under his eye
    Each for one color of the rainbow
    Taped to the woolen sky
    I was swimming on a rose bridge
    And saw him drink the sea
    He was a dolphin from the desert
    Dressed as a honeybee

    So I fell for him forever
    Like lovers on rainy night
    And my heart was Christmas carol
    Raw as Eve’s apple bite
    Thus we drowned in whispering voices
    Pouring out our crystal skin
    There were wings upon our shoulders
    And a shared velvet fin

    But the man he was a sailor
    With a thirst for sea green ocean
    All I had was sky blue eyes
    And a sense of moonlight motion
    So I kissed his salt shaped lips
    And set his anchor free
    And I watched him drift asleep
    On a heavy wooden sea
    Now I am swimming on a rose bridge
    Alone on rainy night
    And I have apples around my ankles
    But no heart to leave a bite

  • Shipwrecked

    Chained to the dust
    With my own lock and key
    I was standing by the tide;
    Remembering the sea

  • Kohl

    There is shadow under her eyes
    Eclipses she called them
    From the tears left behind
    Of the pain that came far too late
    To flow and feel with the pulse of time

    I look at her bare back
    With the bedsheet pattern
    Still alive on her skin
    The crests of her shoulders
    Peeking like crescent moons
    From under the sea of argent hair

    So I turn away
    To another day
    A still life, blur, Monet.
    Years ago to this Tinseltown:
    People leaping out of their skins
    Skeletons dancing in glass cases
    The enamel skulls selling
    A hollow reed laugh
    And a touch at the base of your spine
    As a keepsake

    She was standing
    Under the irreparable light
    Doused in city flames
    And dressed in the dark left behind by dirty minds,
    Counting cars that passed
    Without halting for her

    My feet were silent
    My thoughts far too loud
    As I hovered round her shadow
    Like a leftover cloud
    With neither thunder nor rain
    In the threads of my vein
    But the promise of a shade
    And the warmth of a bed

    It’s been years since that night
    And every night since then
    Whence I swallowed her sorrow
    And she pardoned my pain
    And together we have slept
    Counting each other’s scar
    Some dealt amongst us
    Others unremembered for far
    And yet I can hear her
    Counting cars passing by
    And there are eclipses under her eyes
    From all the kohl she forgot to dry…

  • Goddess

    And I buried the sky
    Deep in my womb
    And there were stars in my eyes
    The moon south of my waist
    And the sun spilled forth white
    From the cusp of my chest
    So my children could glow
    So my children could dream
    And not be sheeps led on sermon
    Taught to bleat and not to scream
    At the world for not being fair
    And keep a woman unaware
    Of her hips and her hair
    Drawn only if in pair
    And shown smiling everywhere
    To please and to care
    And never do truly dare
    Be a child of the flower
    Wild under bower
    With roots of our own
    Chosen by us to be sown
    In our graveyards and glade
    For a fragrance that would never fade
    From the words once unsaid
    Now shared unafraid
    In all homes and every hearth
    Before being born and after birth
    A song, O this song
    To be remembered for long
    We were there, we are here
    No longer in fear:
    Of the Bible and it’s fable
    Seven sins under the table
    Forced to pay for it all
    Every Adam and his fall,
    Without why, when and how
    We are one and we are now
    Equal in this fight
    Of Us and Our Way
    Once Witches of the Night
    Now the Goddess of the Day

  • Dewdrops in the Ocean

    I close my eyes
    And the dewdrops upon my palate
    Rise, like an ocean left unattended
    On hot stove
    Left to seethe and boil
    Fold and uncoil;
    Echoing towards an inconsequential eternity
    Where nothing rhymes
    Beneath the repeating waves
    Washing themself at the shore
    At the feet of a silent, silent kingdom
    Rooted in reminiscence
    Of a homemade horizon promised
    Upon an unpromised path
    There the shriveled hearts sprout as mushroom
    In an endless cortege
    Moving in stillness
    Like taste upon the tip of tongue
    And snail upon the lips of spine
    An ode to the essential
    Both the dirt and the divine

  • Luminaries

    I lean against the firmament
    A droplet of escaped life
    Weaned from the threshold
    Crowded with corpses:
    Waiting to enroll and muse within their scholastic attire
    The drama that began with naked men
    Wandering across blue deserts
    Looking for stars
    Falling, from the firmament.

  • Blueprint

    Life begins and ends
    As a circle
    But the sad thing is:
    Most of us architects
    Keep crying for corners