Old shorts, love them with a passion
They just fit; Years of hard work
But change is inevitable.
Worn though, tragic times of laziness
Kept alive with a feeling of uniqueness
But change can be good.
Today I had a delivery
In a shiny, silly box.
I really loved my old shorts.
I studied the sky intently with a borrowed suit
Designed to wait in the way required by them
However, I could barely stand up straight.
The wind whistled the tune of change in us all;
Difference was hard to spot, but noticeable.
I straightened my silver tie and watched.
Today is a delegation, A kind of meeting;
Awaiting the masters who have always controlled us,
Kept us safe, stopped us from moving too quickly.
I suppose I should be grateful for the envious honour
To greet, parade and welcome the Overseer
Into their world of limitless Joy in the castles.
My feet clicked and my back engulfed me;
Just stand and smile while taking it all in
To show the world what peace really looks like.
After all, I don’t suppose people even noticed a war,
There was no rubble, no burning buildings of hate.
It was an extermination of our disorder; Priceless.
My first guess was that we needed to be taught a lesson;
A demonstration of mechanised efficiency so valuable,
So understandable to live in the castles with pride.
I can turn and see these rounded marvels of steel;
Forged with precision and undeniable authority
Making sure we stand where are with our silver ties.
When the night is as dark as graphite, they appear.
It is almost routine to hear the buzz before your eyes
Adjust – whether with tears or the clouds of dust accumulated.
Emotions aside, here they are and here I am; sold
To the natural way of life, Inside the tall towers.
I sometimes wonder what living on the outside is like.
My ancestors were slimy in their intent; Dominating
With their thoughts of world supremacy – Metal Bullets.
The delegation is a sign of change and continuity all in one;
The Earth is not big enough for two contrasts; stigma.
We sit and take it all in while the mechanised control
And tell us what we are thinking with a sense of purpose.
There are two types of person; we are told this all the time.
I wish I could float
Taller than the sky below
To see the curvature;
Wave at the windows
Inside the little dome.
Arms apart, Hands free
Feet shaking uncontrollably
As the world zooms in;
A mirror of the pain below
Moving further away.
Swimming through Air
In the midst of treading
Cycling with childish grace;
Tears running down my face
To keep up and follow.
I see what I need to
When I’m nearer the stars
And nothing is up here;
Wilderness can be bliss
Looking down at colour.
Somewhere up here anyway
I aim to see the past
That the ground seems to miss;
Violent struggles of time
Spat out into the air to catch.
I wish I could float
To see the line of thoughts
Sadly erased from memory;
Hidden, controlled and lasting
Waving back at me.
I float, I see; we all see.
When I reach what I’m looking for
Crash.
The dark away, it said to me
‘There is a way to deal with pain’
It moved around and whispered this
With the night approaching.
Wondering
Will these words stay with me?
With a light to turn out
All across the room, endless.
Slumped with little energy it spoke
‘pain is not endless; move on’
With that I saw no more.
Logically
My imagination was in overdrive
Which is like every other night
Where I hear the motivations
Told within the whispering dark.
I opened up to the world in order to create the next day.
Yesterday was exillerating; I discovered a moment that overwhelmed –
Laughter and amusements within a simple setting – nothing special.
However, as with unpredictability the situation was like a golden pill;
A cure-all for the terminal pleasure seeker in distress.
I sat in the car with the realisation that recreation would level me;
Quiet pleasures in the sun tomorrow and everyday; keep to schedule.
I knew what the day would bring, I was convinced of it;
In bed I barely moved in dream-mode as the lights flickered relentlessly;
Dominant greens overlapping the shiny blue ether of eternal deep.
We were there, stopping and starting – the tears of summer joy.
Yes, the day will be created to fit the landscape image and ease the pain.
In silent embrace I allowed my contentment to take me through the night.
I opened up to the world in order to create the new day.
I sat, waited and processed, but nothing. The rain was unbearable –
Amusements closed and the faces solumn; whitewashed movement.
As with unpredictability the situation is encouraged by my mood;
Ever changing pathways of supposed order – lies in the open air.
I recreate to maintain this order, a new meaning for a happy moment;
The very pleasure is predictable, but my mind makes it unbearable.
A sprinkling of emotion onto these eyes
Will make it all go away;
In time you realise the decision is made
Without even speaking a word.
No care in the world to deliver
If a cure is on the other side;
No heartbreak from the stick-men
If everyone is cured the same way.
Judge me when you reach the heights
that we supposedly all aspire;
The truth is hard but blunt and fair –
The path is the same for everyone.
Empty house so full of light –
Breathing into every new day;
Open-plan demonstrations in twilight
With me and my bed in the middle.
Empty house take in the air for us –
Circulating freshness in channels;
Bitter fighting in the blind spots
As I try and hide with sound appreciation.
Empty house in the wooded clearing –
New life with every open window;
The yellow flames twinkle to white
With duck feathers all around me.
Empty house with it’s picture presentation –
A testament to well loved oak;
Standing tall as the lone warrior
Sipping in the morning air in waves.
In Memoriam.
Dripping through the cavities
We see each other; hidden, obscured,
Yet very well aware of the decay.
The picture frame is hanging
Obviously at a slight edge, angled;
Unnerving all observers.
We are literally who people see us;
There are no cracks to cover at all.
The surface is bad enough to explore.
Everyday is a sweat-soaked trauma
Of keeping ourselves together;
We are all in this spiral mess.
The pains are imagined; universal.
Experience is the key to survival;
Understanding what pain actually is.
If there was anything left that I could hold onto
No matter how hard it was to translate;
I would do so in a skip of a heartbeat
Even though it would probably end me.
If only the translation was acceptable enough
That communication was bearable in this mess;
Surprises always trickle around this old corner
And reveal themselves as another boundary.
Laughter is the new normality of communication
When all is escaping into a flurry of voices;
If only the words could be concise to sentence
Swearing that the farewell is a common embrace.
Every-time it storms I feel refreshed
As though the world is somehow connected
To my Understanding of the body
That holds me back so often.
Just thinking makes things happen;
I laugh and the neighbourhood is bright;
Go out for a meal and the pavements
Appreciate the attention – with a snigger.
If I cry, the Earth inhales and spits;
Holding me in a whirlpool, centrally –
Until I am able to leave the room
And start all over again.
Yes, I certainly am connected,
Like a vein of pollution shuddering;
Aiming to contaminate to the heart
Until Arrest; And the pain that follows.
All I receive is the waste product;
The filth of memories past – They weep
When they are presented; emotionless.
Every-time the clouds part; severed –
I am not involved at all in the process.
I crawl under the recess and explain
To myself that I have no control this time.
Sometimes I have to face the weather;
Clearly happy with events – Masking.
Brave face and shaking hands; Firm.
Deep within the void I am already dead.
I died when I couldn’t control the clouds
And hid this from myself with a passion;
As though everything was because of me.
I am a self-centered, crazy bastard.
Different Danny 