Words

Out of growls of vowels we formed our tongue
From howling sounds of hunger from the mouthings of our young
To shouts of warning, wails of mourning, rousing battle cries
The pity-seeking whimpers, the pained and pleasured sighs

From these instinctive urges our early words will form
Till language now emerges like Babel through the storm
Forefathers’ words can still be heard long after they depart
So mystical and mythical, their words outlive their heart

We scratched in stone our stories, we etched our truths in bark
From ink and quill to digital, we speak across the dark
Every generation’s lexis finds its own new webs to weave
Is it language that reflects us, does it shape how we perceive?

All the prose and poems on pages we wrote never to be read
If words aren’t shared with others, does it matter what we said?
Which came first, our thoughts or words, of what does thought consist?
Do they mutually depend upon each other to exist?

Do the verbose endure emotions the ineloquent can’t reach?
Are all our feelings raw, or do refined ones find a niche?
Is passion not as poignant when less poetically felt?
Does wot’s xprest in ur last txt mean less than wot u spelt?

Lo, archaic phrasings, doth your ancientness imbue
Our lines of love with longing which without would not be true?
And does the metre matter to the meaning of the art?
Is the beat set to repeat the pitter-patter of the heart?

Is there a rhyme or reason for the rhythms we have wrung?
Have you heard a music hidden in the rollings of the tongue?
Would syllables sing so sweetly if not for personification?
Do our hollow hearts hurt harder when we hear alliteration?

Meta-language, meta-physics, met a girl that I adore
She is calming like the ocean, what on earth’s this meta for?
She is cooling, she is gentle; yet, beware her mighty roar
I could see her sea consume me, how her waves enslave my shore

Words, my friends, you leave me, when I could never need you more
Are my fallacies pathetic, is my assonance unsure?
Are words just shields for cowards, just for books left on the shelf?
Is it rhetorically I’m asking? Do I even know myself?

Ghouls

In the dark, the dreams will merge

With screams our pasts have failed to purge

And waking will the mist disperse?

Will words in verse dispel the curse?

For Sunday’s light has lost its hue

And left bereft the children who

Escaped their fates a time too brief

Return November’s fallen leaf

Ghosts

The feast of all saints
Finds your pillow with paints
From the face you forgot to remove

Did all the ghosts leave
From the old hallowed eve
Or have some stayed behind in the groove?

Or have new ghosts been formed
In the castles you stormed
Where the gaps in the memory loom?

Cos not all your vices
Can be pinned on disguises
Or the light of the night’s bright full moon.

Knots

Lost in endeavours, the splash of the tide
Breaks the stern as they turn, though there’s nowhere to hide
From the waves that they brave as the salty air stings
For the pots caught in knots, for the ropes in the rings

Hooked on their waistlines, and shipped from their ports
Crossed by their stars, retracing their course
For the strays of the surf, the orphans afloat
On coffins so often, the rescuing boat

So call me by name, as I call out for yours
So far, so silent; so far from the shores
The wax and the wane, the calm and the storm
Adrift in a dream, bereft, without form

But no sad-eyed trawler will breach the swell’s crest
Awash in white water, while the crooked crow’s nest
Has long been abandoned as the holds are all full
So the sky is my deck now, the ocean my hull

Haikus

Blankets of whiteness
A three-point turn marks the ground
Leaving heart-shaped tracks

Frozen winter steps
The seasons begin to slip
Even cats falter

Star-fallen branches ‘
Needles decorate the floor
Ornaments are boxed

Slush now lines the roads
Another decade looming
Thus far, still unnamed

A lost lark’s feint song
It is not the birds tweeting
Snowmen melt outside

Fraggleplanks

Clare looks on calmly as the fraggleplanks board
Fearful, they’ll clamber so their shit can be stored
In overhead lockers and under their places
Costumes all crammed into undersized cases

Rucksacks and backpacks and duty-free bags
Bargaintown prices for bargaintown rags
On guard by their luggage, yet ever alert
They move to their marks, every loudspeaker splurt

The arrival of stewards makes them leave where they sat
They form into queues at the drop of a hat
Coffin-ship scrambles for economy fares
Prairie-dog eyes seek convenient chairs

But this plane won’t take off in separate sections
It flies all at once after several inspections
So while they’re searching conveyor belts desperately
She’ll be leaving the airport unburdened and free

The clutter they carry, the seats that they chase.
They covet their neighbours, and long to change place
The emergency exits, the window or aisle
But Clare just brings teabags, and crisps, and a smile.

Limbs

Slowly Friday slips beneath
The gravel which once was concrete
We travel nowhere down this street
As time unravels at our feet

And night comes on without alarm
It takes us in with seasoned charm
The wistful words, the twisted arm
She stays to please, but comes to harm

The orange glows conceal the hours
The hidden hands, the city cowers
Cocooned in cars and lonely towers
Marooned within these walls of ours

And yet, despite her taunts, we dare
To step unchecked into her lair
The fingers tremble in her glare
She does not fear, nor feel, nor care