like a snail on the run I keep on writing
eat you like an apple on the run
all that living on the edge
all madness of that living
sensations of the I will survive
take your eyes to the market
again and again
it is at the close of tidal mourning
slow entrance finds an opening
drawn like a lie on the double
to echoing continuity of old stairs
a knock is just a knock
silence is more than nothing
jag är den krokade masken
ångesten som fyller lugnet
med tillit och falsk vår
it is all no more than a tick tock
in the works of shade and sorrow
the forlorn escaping the whirling
madness at the top of heads
going to work for nothing more
than a pat and a watch
tanks and loss for words
roll over continuity like lead
in days of all is no more
senior reeds tidal days
totality is dormant
ages with wine
***
sands of mission and bells
bells ringing to the end
of the one ignored
feared and waited for
sand war and no heart
beats in the sun
solemnity walking
is a time to remember
we were young then
tempering with days in madness
and a way to see no further
than a river can push anguish
through secondary mud
I am the antidead the antidying
of the see me here
the wind and sky of not
the intermediate
of to be or not
never mind the sea
***
spring
walking in a slant
through today's bright weather
made possible by the one
invisible impossibility
trees sing to
I see no reason to argue
the point on no reason
but night is still night
in a stable of stars
there are cursors guiding you
there are no mores
hanging around with seashells
where the sea has died
in a bowl of pips
thus looped the journey is a centipede
green with a touch of gills
tapping Earth with a living urgency
is a short lived voice in madness
love and a hope given
before autumn finds you naked
and ready to go
Poetry by Bob
Read 912 times
Written on 2015-04-11 at 20:01
Tags Poetry Greatness Madness
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Three more poems
visions of yesterdayeat you like an apple on the run
all that living on the edge
all madness of that living
sensations of the I will survive
take your eyes to the market
again and again
it is at the close of tidal mourning
slow entrance finds an opening
drawn like a lie on the double
to echoing continuity of old stairs
a knock is just a knock
silence is more than nothing
jag är den krokade masken
ångesten som fyller lugnet
med tillit och falsk vår
it is all no more than a tick tock
in the works of shade and sorrow
the forlorn escaping the whirling
madness at the top of heads
going to work for nothing more
than a pat and a watch
tanks and loss for words
roll over continuity like lead
in days of all is no more
senior reeds tidal days
totality is dormant
ages with wine
***
sands of mission and bells
bells ringing to the end
of the one ignored
feared and waited for
sand war and no heart
beats in the sun
solemnity walking
is a time to remember
we were young then
tempering with days in madness
and a way to see no further
than a river can push anguish
through secondary mud
I am the antidead the antidying
of the see me here
the wind and sky of not
the intermediate
of to be or not
never mind the sea
***
spring
walking in a slant
through today's bright weather
made possible by the one
invisible impossibility
trees sing to
I see no reason to argue
the point on no reason
but night is still night
in a stable of stars
there are cursors guiding you
there are no mores
hanging around with seashells
where the sea has died
in a bowl of pips
thus looped the journey is a centipede
green with a touch of gills
tapping Earth with a living urgency
is a short lived voice in madness
love and a hope given
before autumn finds you naked
and ready to go
Poetry by Bob
Read 912 times
Written on 2015-04-11 at 20:01
Tags Poetry Greatness Madness
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text| Texts |
 by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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