like a snail on the run I keep on writing

Three more poems

visions of yesterday
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



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 933 times
Written on 2015-04-11 at 20:01

Tags Poetry  Greatness  Madness 

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