Born

ideas paper thin

butterfly wing conceptions

iridescent scales of words

the trembling tongue of creation

I am born into each new thought

alone in the labour, vulnerable in the passage from one perception to the next

crying wordlessly

because there are no words to describe the strange animals of my imagination

no descriptors for the sensations that ripple across my mind

I would pull myself into myself

but this body is clumsy and unfamiliar

hands opening and closing like wet wings

the air thick with the scent of the unfamiliar

so that all I can do is collect

one word at a time

like a dream moving in and out

of focus

as strange as if I had suddenly sprouted wings and found that I could fly

Chuck It

Okay, here is my “ugly poem“. Feel free to read into the title:D

When I thought of an ugly poem I guess what I fixated on was sounds that were ugly to me, and some imagery that was kinda gross or unpleasant. There isn’t much to this poem in the way of depth or content. Nice low standards here people. See, you can put any old crap up here! 🙂 And I’ll probably take the advice of the title with this poem:D lol

Chuck It

The word “chuck” cuts

hard as nails

leaves a metallic

taste on the tongue

I hate it

the way the “k”  sound crashes and stomps

on the fluidity

of words

and the “ch” is static

turned up loud

an ocean roaring

a song that clangs dissonance

dark

hard

dropping the poetic ball

stomping on toes

a child throwing a fit

fucking with the rhythm

stupid

sticking to the tongue

the way licorice sticks in your teeth

and you dig

distending your mouth as you try to gouge out the black

gunk

and the strong flavor of the offending words is thick as grease on the roof of your mouth

and there is nothing you can do but wait for it to break down

fade like an echo