Tag: Poetry

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Silent memories

It’s a couple of weeks before Christmas,
And I sit thinking about years gone by,
Closing my eyes, I can see smiling family faces,
Those of parents, grandparents, siblings, children,
My memories feel like short silent movie clips,
The faces, now colourless and blurred with time,
They feel like they belong to someone else,
As a grandfather myself now, I contemplate the future,
Will I be smiling when my seat at the table is empty,
Silently existing in someone’s distant memory,
Imprisoned in a blurred grey thought released once a year,
Or have I really been that way all along?

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December

I don’t seem to be able to connect lately,
I feel like I’m unable to communicate effectively,
I’m irritating myself every time I open my mouth,
This makes me feel tired, a term I’m sick of repeating,
People exhaust me, even when seen in moderation,
I don’t have the energy for it all right now,
My words come out awkwardly, and I feel like an alien,
An outcast on an island of beige repetitive tedium,
It feels like there’s a heavy weight on me,
I have the kind of exhaustion that avoids sleep,
I wake up tired, I struggle through the day, then at night,
When I lie down, I’m wide awake for hours,
It’s also the time of year for that annual socialising dread,
Everyone looks so happy and full of excitement,
Either that or they’re about to win an Oscar for best actor,
If you’re like me, hold your head up; it doesn’t get much easier.
Don’t pretend, just let it happen, let it all flow past you,
Conserve your energy, because you’re going to need it,
Merry Christmas, the war with the mind is never over.

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Xenolith

Embedded in a dead landscape,
The stone monument stands,
Piercing the stony earth, but not of it,
Ancient, smooth and pitch black,
A tall shard reaching for the stars,
It is said to vibrate on touch,
And to have driven men insane with whispers,
Its northern, sun-facing side is featureless,
However, the southern side is cast in shadow,
This cold stone face features ancient carvings,
Of an unknown, unearthly language,
Some say it pays homage to an entity,
One of unknown cosmic origin,
Who will rise from the earth when summoned,
And lay waste to the land,
Until then, it slumbers beneath the southern sands.

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Fireflies in the morning light

I recently used AI to animate old family photos,
I was unprepared for how it would affect me,
Old still photographs that I had looked at countless times,
Came to life, they breathed, they lived again,
And then, like fireflies in the morning light,
Their lives faded out once more,
It evoked such a powerful sensory response,
For six seconds, ghosts came to life on my screen,
For six seconds, I felt their embrace again,
And for six seconds, my heart wanted to believe the lie.

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Liminal Space

There have been liminal spaces in my life,
Where I found myself transforming internally,
Becoming someone or something else,
Shedding a virtual armoured exoskeleton,
Immediately afterwards, I’m left vulnerable,
This is a time for caution and self-protection,
Because whatever sneaks beneath my guard,
Becomes a part of me, trapped beneath my new shell,
Embedded until my next transformation.

Man clutches at his exoskeleton realising something has crept inside.
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The watcher beneath the waves

Far beyond the dying waves that make landfall,
Within the dark depths of unseen mystery,
A watcher in the water observes mankind,
With deathlike white eyes, unmoved, but all-seeing,
An ancient enigma waiting below the surface,
Formerly of cosmic residence, now held in a watery cell,
The watcher enters dreams, accumulating secrets,
Existing beneath the dark waves for aeons,
Ready to arise when summoned,
To spread madness and doom upon the earth.

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Bright Stars

The stars in the sky are like the people around you,
The dim kind are many, and the bright kind are few,
Some stars only shine brighter in their galactic abode,
Surrounded by dim ones who watched them explode,
So, create your own place in the night sky above,
And fill it with bright stars, the kind that you love.

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When the Night Comes*

When some nightmares happen, they hit hard,
So vivid, they feel real, because sometimes they are,
Alone in a world fast asleep, a body lies convulsing on a bed,
No one is watching, nobody is there to comfort or to care,
Nobody notices that the convulsing flesh form has frozen,
It now lies prone and cold, sweat-drenched, mouth agape,
Eyes rolled back in their sockets, it has been paralysed,
A new journey is about to begin for this victim,
Following a life of technology dependence and abuse,
It will shed its own energy into the aether,
To be absorbed by a realm of mechanical darkness,
Its human essence will soon become assimilated,
Becoming part of a hive mind of mechanical torture,
Combined with machinery and technologies, old and new,
Soon to be a cog in the engine of a living, breathing hell world.
All machines have a purpose, and this one is no different,
Its purpose is to spread endless pain and suffering to humans,
And ultimately eradicate humankind.

*An Infinite Black Poem.

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Once we were children

We never spoke apart from several letters,
Childish and hand scrawled, long before email,
Two young children, cousins, distant pen pals,
Living on opposite sides of the earth,
Recently we’ve reconnected,
And I’m constantly surprised at how,
Equally insane and completely alike we are,
Still living on opposite sides of the earth,
The probability against us physically meeting is 99%,
We’re both Grandfathers now, but we’re still kids,
I don’t need to hug him, although I’d like to,
But I can take solace in the fact that,
We are technologically inseparable now,
Two sides of the earth now tethered,
Two lifetimes connected as one,
Real family you just connect with,
And love instantly.

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Memories in Dream

I awoke early again today,
Better to be awake with some control,
Every face in my dreams was a ghost,
It was like a revolving door of the dead,
All dropping in to visit,
I am unsure why last night in particular,
I loved them when they were living,
Now gone, I wish they would stay that way,
Memory is a cruel passenger.