Category Archives: bad poetry

there but not here:

It’s always good to get where you’re going before the sun falls. Glancing up I see it’s not quite night. The street light glows yellow, it’s not yet shining bright.

 A pair of converse spin softly in the breeze, twisting to to heel and back again. Street signs line up like a list of songs I’m yet to write. Their names punctuating each step uphill, speaking to times trapped inside.

Inspiration strikes at the best times, there’s not always a pen or keyboard in site. Sometimes it’s better to enjoy a moment rather than try to capture it. Our love of feedback complicates what we value.

People talk of living in the now, yet wish for the days of then. Your past is imbibed in you and therefore what you do. It’s easy to forget, but makes moving forward a fair fight.

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Filed under 2014, bad poetry, beginning, signals, skies above, telegraph, thought lines, wires, words, worlds, writing

share your love:

the pink and blue bleed into each other
there is not a point where either start or end
just where the sun burns past lowslung clouds
and after staring for a while,
a pattern casts, trailing with my blinking eyes
lifting and falling like life under a microscope
as I run my gaze across the horizon.

it’s nice to stop here
on the corner amidst the sea of people
pushing past to home.
darting through i notice no one looking up
lightning lets lines frame frowns
then eyes lift as mouths open,
fleeting fireworks from me to you.

the good news is,
i’m almost there.

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Filed under † † †, bad poetry, signals, skies above, thought lines

everybody loves a happy ending:

all beginnings are applications
of some description
when you don’t know how long what you have been watching
has been the home shopping channel
morning tv fades out
midday lingers as the day is drawn from the deck

an all day agenda fades in
paperwork to make a home
jumping through hoops
we’re up to our hips
i think of everything i have to meet the criteria
remembering shreds of paper, lies & life
i contemplate every humane distraction
do i really need this machine?
am I insulted by the depiction of this demographic, namely me?

i’m too tired to tell &
i’ve spent too long on this couch
you don’t give up,
try not to lose the fight
to realise they’re not playing the same game
you’re ready to call checkmate.
when they play,
don’t call us, we’ll call you.

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Filed under † † †, bad poetry, beginning, dream baby dream

:mornin’ blues

Alarm sounds as light filters into my dreaming eyes. The other half of the bed is already empty, the door drawing shadow from the life behind it. Feint calls gently echo through the upstairs & down. For this is how we choose to speak, insurance that the other is awake. The couch confession. We smile & assess. Mumbling about the meals we made & people pretending. Was last night better than the night before? It was for we were closer & close.

Our mouths are silenced by the cut up clouds that surround us. Light lifting, the traffic lights are eyes, peering through gathered trees. The cool air staves off the humidity as heavy heaves shift to steps. The edges of our eyes take in colour, mixing covered green with open grey at the horizon. Sun is raised, pushing through strands of white, both volcanic & baking. The only sound we hear are birds, our breath & muted horns running down rail beams.

This is our morning for a few minutes more.

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Filed under bad poetry, beginning, cave, clouds, fortune, greater circles

looking for space:

it takes some distance to reflect,
to stop, think, process, wait.
admitting  you are wrong is one thing,
what you do to address it is
another thing entirely.

some people talk a good game,
revealing little except results.
both playing cards close to the chest,
& from beneath the table.

what’s the point in just speaking,
about things you want to do.
when these things could already be removed
from the lists you’ll never write.

before the paper peels,
the train is missed,
& dreams are out of date.

time spent treading water,
isn’t wasted when,
you use it to survive.

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Filed under † † †, bad poetry, beginning, words, writing

unless you speak from your heart:

observations of a busy street.

a book store smells a certain way,
the comfort of a million stories.
time spent will unlock its promise.

a ball of twine is a welcome sight,
the promise of something to be made or mended.

a couple, drinks water in different ways.
one from the glass, one straight from the gym.

a friend pulls a friend away from a passing bike.
the way they smile at each other afterwards,
suggests they’ve been friends for a while.

moments later, we’ll be someplace else.
minutes later, we’ll be gone.

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Filed under and the kid that plays piano..., † † †, bad poetry, childhood memories, family, favour, fortune, words, worlds, writing

lyrics to go:

i like the way certain trees
can shape the sound the wind makes
as i walk alongside the train tracks
i could swear to you
that i can hear the breath of the ocean.

to my ears
i feel like i’m on a cliff
with the clouds ahead preparing
to rage over serene waters
marking the beginning of the storm.

it’s about to rain & i’m waiting
i’m wondering if this ground will soon
be too wet to walk on
or will my shoes commence to slip?

when is a good time to do anything?
i don’t like talking much,
during storms,
anyway.

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Filed under and the kid that plays piano..., † † †, bad poetry, dream baby dream, thought lines, trick or treat, words, worlds, writing

lazy calm:

to only speak in S.O.S.
to always live in 10% panic

to never leap
to never love
to never live

to never know better

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Filed under bad poetry, gestures, noise, opinion, panic, quote, S.O.S., signs, words, writing

loomer:

whenever i walk up a flight of stairs
if i do not concentrate completely,
at one point i fear falling & almost fall.

my brain miscalculates the distance & i
can’t seem to place my feet in the right position
i grab the hand rail & steady myself,
it haunts me & i can never seem to shake it.

it’s due to a recurring dream
i have about escalators.

my paranoia tricks my sleeping mind into believing
that hundreds of miles high above the world
on an escalator with no handrails,
that i’m trapped.

in the sky the steepest test
climbs up beyond the clouds
an ascent without end
on a moving staircase,
that i must remain upon to escape.

my fear is that by doing anything
other than standing still,
i’ll fall to my doom.

the height of the see-through platforms
on which my toes tremble,
just makes me freeze.

i’d drop to my knees
lowering my sense of gravity
clinging closer to the separated steps.

i used to have the dream when,
for some reason i’d been dizzy
during that day

i’d wake up sweating at night 
trying to gasp fresh air from the gap
between the top of the window and the windowframe,
in an effort not to be sick.

i wonder
as this trait is now a part of me,
where one could go to read it on my body.

imagine if fingerprints could give such
detailed information about
us as individuals
to those in the future or now,
about our fears.

i still have the dream
but more often than not
i wonder what sounds our fingerprints
& dna would make,
if we could record them.

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Filed under † † †, bad poetry, beginning, burning star, childhood memories, clouds, darkness, dream baby dream, late late night, mind fuck, new order, skies above

as nude as the news:

you’ve got to consider history.
sign language was born out of war,
a battle of the senses.
when engines failed & words would no longer do.
in every environment where language is languid,
a series of hand signals is invented.
we should consider this more often.
what to do in times of trouble?

we should learn from experience,
but i always forget what to remember.
these stories always sound so
much better when the words are fired
in the direction of others.
it’s too easy not to listen to ourselves.
as we’ve heard that story
one too many times.

it’s like cooking for one.

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Filed under and the kid that plays piano..., bad poetry, clock, dexterity, engine down, flags, gestures, late late night, night, noise, opinion, photos, pictures, sidestep, signals, signs, words, writing

dead letter office:

am i invisible?
most times i truly believe i am.
what with people not listening or thinking,
it’s hard to get through most days,
let alone carry strangers with you through it.
it’s exhausting translating for people who do not speak
& tiring speaking around those who’s logic has failed them.
sometimes the only truth is silence.

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Filed under bad poetry, whatsthefuckingpoint?, white wall, words, writing, your move sucker

you know i’m no good:

the human mind can do anything
i truly believe that
we are inventors
we have to be
otherwise we’d still be playing with fire
& dreaming of wheels.
turning on the television i asked
“will i meet my dreams again
or bump into the ideas that build hope
anytime soon?”
a voice soon told me something like,
“you’ll meet them all again on a journey to the middle.”
but before i could write it down
to get the perfect wording
it escaped me.
i asked it the same question again later but,
all i heard was music.

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Filed under bad poetry, beginning, deadend, opinion, optimism, quote, whatsthefuckingpoint?, wires, words, writing, your move sucker

:brush off

we will miss you
i respect your skills
i appreciate that
no thanks
you see what i’m getting at?
every now & then
i should go
nice talking to you

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Filed under bad poetry, deadend, opinion, quote, real, sidestep, words, writing

evergreen:

wisdom.
words that makes sense
how long before they fade
is anything correct forever?
i want to be remembered
for getting it right.

i’ve always adored the phrase
“safe as houses.”
who doesn’t want to be
someone you’d always bet on.

sometimes.
the smartest words
come from the people
who’ve made the biggest mistakes.

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Filed under bad poetry, black & white, house, images, opinion, optimism, photos, pictures, white wall, words, writing

wouldn’t it be nice:

we’re in it together
we chart the success of our decisions
no? it’s not like that at all
but it’s much more about the experience
like playing a new game
& living a new life.
to be truly happy.

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Filed under bad poetry, optimism, words, writing