Green

at least most

shades of green

are like nature.

the soft blades

in an army

of grass

marching through

the fields.

It is neutral

stinging

as nettles sting

and soothing

as dock leaves

do.

Some greens

are bitter

like the first

time you 

sink your teeth

into a

granny smith

and some greens

are vulgar.

Accidentally

dipping your

fingers into

wet moss.

Green can be

running your 

fingers through

hedgerows

feeling the

snap back of

each thick leaf

and green

it can be

subtle yet bold

feeling the oil

and brine

on your tongue

before the

first bite into

an olive

before

the flavour

balances them.

Slowly, I counted the steps between,

Her body and mine. Nine, 

She pulled back a black shawl,

Sprawled over the thorns of her shoulders.

The blue moon glistened on leathery skin.

Eight, and my heart rate rises,

Her eyes dilate as I tear away breastplate.

I beg for her progression. Seven,

Stepping closer, eyes transfix, six,

Her arms rip, a barely covering dress.

She wears less and less, I press on.

I drive towards her, five. We're almost running,

Our gazes cunning, both wanting,

To take each other before, four, the other.

Three, I am reaching for her chest,

Her firm breasts rising as her arms raise,

There are no more plays, two, 

She, who holds my heart,

Now grabs at my horns and hair.

I am there and she has won.

One.

Inside this poem.

Inside this poem, 

There is an infinity.

Inside this poem,

There is an infinity,

Not just in the middle.

Inside this poem,

There is an infinity,

Not just in the middle,

But every in-between.

Inside this poem,

There is an infinity,

Not just in the middle.

Inside this poem,

There is an infinity.

Inside this poem.

I am standing at the edge of a cliff-face,

my feet planted firmly in the ground.

My hands tightly gripping at nothing,

as if nothing was, somehow, going to help me stand firm.

Wind is gusting behind me, pushing me,

pushing me, pushing with such intensity.

I remember the weight of you as you pinned me to the floor and how I felt less of a person at the loss of my person. You stole from a child and you were a man. How could I stop you?

The ground beneath me is crumbling,

as I peer over the cliff edge beneath me.

The waves begin to form.

I remember London - 'the big smoke' I remember the call. "Everything is okay" Of course it is, I thought, then I caught the first coach home.

My best friend resting his head softly on a white pillow as the stench of day-old blood directed my eyes to the wound in his head that exposed his brain and my pain as I lost mine.

The waves grow but I stand firm,

un-phased and smiling still.

My false face, unchanged, hasn’t noticed,

that I am now closer to that edge. I hold on.

I remember the five years of solitude. The rusty little key that unlocks the book of my heart so I can pour out its contents is kept only by myself.

The cliff is leaving me now but I have not fallen.

Instead, I have constructed an arc.

A bubble surrounding myself,

it’s delicate walls seem so easily broken.

Inside there is a breeze-less calm.

Serenity.

I float high above an ocean in turmoil. 

Towering waves typhoon, twisting and crashing,

a torrent of emotions sway my tormented mind.

But... I am safe. This bubble has kept me safe.

I float peacefully away from foaming giants beneath me.

I feel... untouchable.

I remember lighting the wick. Burning the candle at both ends. Trudging down a path I never should have taken. Searing a new route is no easy task when dragging the burden of times that just weren't right. Losing a passion.

That last shift. 

Sailing home I could feel the winds of freedom,

escorting me there; when in front of us,

suddenly, in the middle of the road,

a car is turned over a women screaming.

The ambulances, the fire-fighters,

the unrelenting tiredness,

that engulfed my bones and my brain.

When I finally got home I deserved that bottle. 

I slept like a log.

Until the next morning; my first day off.

I remember thinking "who rings this early?"

I took the call.

My mother shrieked.

My body crashed into the bed.

My brother is dead.

and I am floating now but the waves are so strong.

So violent that I bring myself higher and higher.

I am imprisoned in a bubble I could pop with my pinkie.

Only, bursting it would mean braving those waters.

Feeling those things I have so detached myself from.

Fear holds me in this bubble. I had not noticed,

that all the good in me has been draining out slowly.

Mixing into those waves I fear so much.

I am calm but I am detached, I am losing myself,

and the only way out is to let myself fall.

As I write this I am locked in internal debate,

and the words I use must be forced out,

because they have emotion.

I must not feel emotion.

And if I fall into that ocean.

I could easily go under.

I could easily lose.

As I lost so much before.

I should feel sad.

I feel so little now,

but I still remember. 

Brisk sharp winds disturb,

Calm and peaceful clouds,

Once tranquil; serene.

Now tempers tempest,

In an on edge sea,

Of ruffled feathers.

Notice the thick veil.

The Semblance of hell,

A hammered out haze.

Heavenly bodies,

Enshrouded but dressed,

Disguising the blue.

Clear days twist to grey,

Decaying into…

Dark Obscuration’.

Dance in the torrent.

Saturate yourself.

Drown in the deluge.

This is one I fixed recently and thought I would share.

http://soundcloud.com/joe-lord-2/train-of-thought-spoken-word

I'm on that train of thought again.

My thoughts are racing by much like,

the rivers, buildings, sky and such,

but slower thoughts feel far away,

horizons, I cant reach to touch.

I grab my pad and pen to play,

I stay and ride and pay my fayre,

Aware that soon the coin runs dry,

I think of ways to leave and stare

as rocks and walls and thorns race by.

I cry and clutch my chest to catch,

the breath I missed to brace this storm,

To form the courage to detach,

and jump the carriage off the tracks.

For fear perhaps the train will crash.

A bomb could blow, or coupling cracks,

A thousand voices shout and thrash.

A shadow whispers ride it out,

but stress has gripped me by the core,

and waiting feels like certain death.

A final voice; I hear the door,

"What the **** are you waiting for"

I had this moment of bliss.

A moment of rapture.

Took me away from the abyss,

To a paradise pasture.

Dreamed a crack in time,

Let me breathe a better day.

Imagined what I'd do,

If I had this time to play.

I pictured biking to the water,

Pictured renting a chalet,

Playing board games all morning,

Cooking something up, gourmet.

Slowly drinking rum and chatting,

Watching the afternoon away.

Then just a little molly,

A buffet of fuck and foreplay.

Then alone, out to the water,

Find some private little nook,

Watch the sun and sea, the stars,

Sketch some patterns in a book.

When all the hype was calm,

When sun had set and waters steady,

Set up an exit bag, deep breathe in,

Feeling nothing bad. Just ready.

Then I remembered everyone I loved,

And that I have to stay. 

Felt the guilt and the shame, 

Felt the unbearable pain,

Man, I got angry!

Smashed my fists into my temples,

Tried to go back to staring blankly,

Screamed so loud,

I heard the fire burn my heart,

As it pumped me into trembles,

When I acquired the kind of tired,

That comes from being so freaking wired,

I cried and told myself for fuck sakes,

Tomorrow's another day.

Everything I do is to forget that I'm dying.

I can never forget! So, what's the point of even trying.

Now, I'm crying on the outside too.

I can't deny it, 

For a long time, I've been lying to you.

I can't abide it.

So much beauty in the world you say.

My mortality is turning all these colours to grey. 

I've had enough,

Why on earth can't you just let me go today.

I do want to stay..

Only if I can actually stay,

But I can't. 

I'm definitely going to die one day.

Should I compare you to the sun? Page three?

Your standards are consistent with your grace.

They lay it on one page. What enthralls me?

Your corners, curves and beauty, our hearts race.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by your stare,

Everything else around me goes away.

The models droop, wrinkle and fade from fair,

Your beauty never wanes. It's there to stay.

You'll never lose your beauty nor your looks,

And even when you die they will not leave.

Your eulogy is carved in stone not books,

Your love in action will a pattern weave.

A blanket stretching all of human kind.

So long as people feel your love and mine.

My words are air,

Shaping there way,

Through filters.

Pushing through,

The gaps in my walls,

Venting my emotions.

My words are water,

Filling me up.

Gathering,

In my eyes,

Meandering,

My thoughts.

My words are the earth,

Taking hold,

Of my feet,

Stable and safe,

My heart and my roots,

I gravitate to them.

My words are my fire,

They burn through,

All of me.

Dancing in chaos,

Clearing a path,

Freeing my feelings.

My words are my spirit,

My soul and all of me.

Laid bare for anyone,

Tidied onto a page,

For only my eyes,

And those I choose to let see.