Sunday, April 22, 2012

TEACH ME TO WRITE AGAIN


The tip of this brush is damp
Stumped and stiff
Like worn-out bristles
Tickling bubbly bacteria over decayed teeth
Instead of flossing the filth
These paintings look dull
The chipping tool's blindly blunt
Only a heathen haunted by the religion
of keeping this white elephant of a paper and shrinking black ink
This beast falters at rocks once smothered
Where beauty carved herself flawless
Apocalypse
Where ran the smiles that germinated
from humus of morose moments?
No red rains, only blood stains,
Over anemic earth's body and brains
Clots choke time's veins
Ink runs low
Speech slurs slow
Leaving a mouth shaped in an 'O'
Oh!
A touch gone lost
Like a lover came home
To a deadbeat sweetheart..
Heartbeat, a slow acapella
No timely tune homologous
Hands carved in ashy stone
Mind, an amnesic patient
Awaiting one bloody muse's kiss

The image in the blank picture is me
Tremulously twiddly
Skin pores sucking in swift cold zephyr
Like dying to catch 'chelensa' over barb-wires,
I perspire in the act of trying to respire
Why do I forget how to be me?
The pendant of glory fading
From a chain of thoughts
Society's mirror, I
Smeared with miles of a mirage, oh my!

Teach me
Teach me what I once knew
Stuck on the highest floor
Thoughts afraid of height
I tell of my storey
On writer's block
Deserted
My story
In shreds and tatters
Stuck in a fighter's tux with a dead sword
A ring through to the lost
Sing blues for a voiceless flop
Cash crop attacked by drought
Needs roots to sprout
Last drop of ink cries
On a burning page

Worm-silk of wanton weariness wound over warty wounds worsening worries, all because I can't write

The font and notepad
Banku and sushi
One is stirred, the other cold

Today I'm Gordon Comstock
Trying to keep the Aspidistra flying..
Engaged at all costs
Married to the careening shadows of a sport
I forget how I should play
To the slow thumping drumbeats of soul
tam-tam-tam-tam...then the fade...
Constipated bard-ly bladder awaiting a flow
Conceptually blockbusting
Role model forgetful of the role
If I should stay
I need to learn my ways

Teach me the art the kings share with paupers

Straighten my brush bristles
Sharpen my chipping tool
Refill my ink with blood of poetic ghosts
Let me paint, carve and write away

Teach me to live

1 comment:

  1. "Worm-silk of wanton weariness wound over warty wounds worsening worries, all because I can't write"

    some wicked alliteration.

    Nice one. Me sef i get some writer's block for here

    ReplyDelete