Angels

We cannot fly

Still they send us feathers

To help us stitch

Our wings together

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Thanatos Thoughts

Palm Tree Poetry

On this, malignant aridity of a Sunday night

I entertain the thought

Of my dog’s death

I’ve nursed one before, to his final sip

We gave him water through a syringe

Told him it was okay to leave,

To go to his favourite beach

This is that dog’s own son

Who I’m having palpitating fears hereof

Tis why my love is doubled up

He’s his Dad, reincarnate

Grief will be a noose-tight harness

Hanging above all that is good but my

Feet can’t reach the floor to move on.

My humans are more important and

With the loss of Dad forthcoming,

I hope Mum will laugh again

In broken pieces that will code her grief in

I don’t wanna lose my dog as well

But if I could trade him in

For the man that’s ill

He’d be Friar Kolbe and

Sacrifice himself

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Thanatos Thoughts

On this, malignant aridity of a Sunday night

I entertain the thought

Of my dog’s death

 

I’ve nursed one before, to his final sip

We gave him water through a syringe

Told him it was okay to leave,

To go to his favourite beach

 

This is that dog’s own son

Who I’m having palpitating fears hereof

Tis why my love is doubled up

He’s his Dad, reincarnate

Grief will be a noose-tight harness

Hanging above all that is good but my

Feet can’t reach the floor to move on.

 

My humans are more important and

With the loss of Dad forthcoming,

I hope Mum will laugh again

In broken pieces that will code her grief in

 

I don’t wanna lose my dog as well

But if I could trade him in

For the man that’s ill

He’d lay in Friar Kolbe’s cell

He’d sacrifice himself

Sleeping Bag Blue

For not a Cappuccino

Could I afford

 

Til a Man

Waved wealthy hands like a magic wand

As he commuted home from his job

Both of which I had,

but lost

 

His change rained

Into my last Coffee’s cup

(It was a Mocha with a sprinkling

of cocoa dust)

 

Another man won’t give

‘Cause he thinks I’m buying drugs with it

Coffee is my poison

He wouldn’t believe me if I told him

 

Society’s poison is people’s inability to believe in others

There are empty houses to home us

Feels like nobody listens and while they dispute our crisis in heated rooms

We are out here, freezing cold

We are homeless

There are thousands of us

And I feel quite lonely about it.

 

How are we a developed country?

Most of the people that pass

Won’t look at me

 

He did and his kindness keeps my cup

Half full

For now a Cappuccino

Can I afford

 

The Heals of Dogs

Donnie F1

Before time can do the healing everybody says it will, first you have to feel hurt and she’s a bitch.

Dogs are a spare tyre when a wheel like this burns up around the chicane that came so fast.

A dog is a safety car lap. The bumps in the road that prevent speeding up. The Zebra Crossing, the Lollipop Man or Woman.

Annually, dogs are there to charge you back to the go of green, a bedside lamp when you cannot see. When the red light won’t retreat. He’s the amber that stalls the fear. He is the valeted, feeling of repair.

He fills your lungs with mindful breaths on walks he made you take. He leaves his mark so you don’t get lost. He helps you prepare for the chapter after hurt. He licks old wounds if they open up.

The heart is an automatic home from the moment you are born. But a house is not a home until you’ve whistled him from the cold.

It’s not safe to drive without one, like a seatbelt to its buckle. Whether in reverse or going forward or in a car that just won’t start up, I shotgun the passenger seat, for him to be right next to me.

Loyalty means if you die, he dies hungry at your blood-stilled feet.

Miner of Mindfulness

image.jpegSeldom, it is

That I get the opportunity

To be

 

To be

Under the Soleil Lavant

The Valley of Mudra

Beside the cooling lake that just lost its below-freezing temperature

Amongst the treeless tundra’s, living shroud

There it is, where I’m allowed

a second’s death from growing up

 

Vast with calm am I now

And apple core still,

As Earth’s breeze galoshes in

Around grounded feet

 

I am lost

From all I’ve seen

A buoyant body balancing

Above the shagpile rug,

the beach floor to my drifting wood

 

All of this happens in my house

In a part of town

if you don’t come from

you won’t move ’round,

It’s only open to closing down

 

Except my mind is free

from the proletariat and the bourgeoisie