Machine Brain

A forty minute bumpy ride, with engine rumbles disrupting the air that I hear but don’t listen to and even the voices that fill my diminishing personal space are just white noise in my quiet. Somehow I’d forgotten how to lose myself in thought. I’d forgotten what escape was. I’d forgotten that this time was…

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Writing poems with song lyrics

Trees watch those who feel midnight on their wings silhouetted against dust and perilous dreams- walking through drearily sweeping loneliness. Moonbeams purple in windows and eyes, sweet lilac wonder sings above the sky. Hands bottle every dusty pleasure, forgotten timeless souls, imagination running wild, butterflies settle caught in their mind.

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Fleeting Flowers – A poem

Even the pinkest pinks will fade
Eventually, perhaps to a dusty rose,
The open becomes closed, even
The prettiest flower will cease to glow.

Bold days turn to cold days, even the smoothest
Petals fold, soon brown replaces gold,
A shrivelled insignificance falls to the dirt,
But leaves space for a new bud to grow.

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The state of it all – A poem

we stumble home through
dully lamp lit streets at 1 am
hand in hand with wobbly feet
cool night air cleansing fuzzy heads,

sometimes we sit on the edge of
the world (or it feels like it),
the city glitters, it’s colourful
even in the darkness,

window glows and street lamps
are mere scintillas of light
trying to mirror the stars,
and if they look small, then what am I?

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Can the truth be a lie? – A poem

A candle tells of air that never smelled so sweet,
And perfume plants fragrant flowers on my skin,
But with candied scents, she’s a liar, liar.

Reflection flips perception, I’ll never know
What your eyes see, my distorted vision vignetted
By my trust in a piece of glass, inevitably a liar, liar.

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Cocooned – A poem

It’s a relieved-the-party’s-over empty
That will leave me pruned and ready
To return to my roots,
Where I will always go back to trying
To write beautifully about
Un-beautiful things.

I wrap myself in a cocoon of blankets
That pat my hair dry.
Here I go to sleep a caterpillar
And awake, a butterfly.

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