Tag: writer
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The end of a friendship
Nothing lasts. Oh, we’ve had our blasts like old cannons Rusted now, recycled into bravery medals Nothing is fixed, only stone sticks and even that is licked by wind to wind Unglued the affixed things plunge into occluding gloom Here in the quiet room which should be loud, we planned it loud But you were…
alchemisland
666, alchemisland, alchemy, art, bard, bars, betrayal, creative writing, dublin, feelings, friendship, fury, hatred, imagination, ireland, neuralchemy, OC, poem, poet, poet’s corner, poetblr, poetics, poetry, poetry community, poetryblr, rage, rhymer, rhyming, rites, rituals, spilled ink, spilled poetry, words words words, writeblr, writer, writing -
BALL ALL DAY
Ball non stop like a marble in a perpetual motion machine Promotion machine, lean by the ocean, new sheen Leaning into it, drug dependent Pull the rug out on a dependent Thick chains pendent from my neck Dent with my pen, slit neck Slick roads when it’s cold Don’t drive too quick might end up…
alchemisland
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Ten-footed fake saint who masquerades as a saviour to deranged people
Chain-lifted out of bubbling vats like a murdered man’s car from acid Now that I am massive, this is how my masses of servants remove me from my bath Planned in advance so we were all placid about it We discussed it at the Ranch with Manson Then again in the van parked outside the…
alchemisland
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Old Jack dying peacefully after his bath, dreaming of his glory days ripping and reaving in Whitechapel
Emerging pruned from the pig-hoofed bath Hair matted, a savaged back Rilles now the old slashes, once angry gashes Winged crests and clandestine invitations Cloaked daggers and degree-earning recitations Cross-referencing his letters That reverse S shape of the Rs, like curved shillelaghs For the peelers presiding, valuable pathological lessons about the worse ones in hiding…
alchemisland
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I tried catching a falling dream but upon impact it boiled off my skin and I died screaming.
Dungbeetle how I’m pushing shit Young Croesus, house guts all gilt and guiltless Silk quilts milk smooth satins, the rood in my eyes during matins No edits, on the net to be read, you can check it My cheddar, shooting landlords in the head like The Hill’s only Young Ned My net not something easily…
alchemisland
Alchemisland 