That Weird Place Between Dreaming And Waking
Word
Word,
Word is a word,
A word that can be heard,
That's what makes it a word,
Rather than a thought,
A thought can be taught,
But never bought,
People will buy into a thought,
A thought can be caught,
Just something to make you think,
Or see a shrink ,
To talk about the thought,
That you worded to the shrink that you bought,
Who in turn caught the thought ,
... And told you what they think.
..........
Inside of me is something true,
Never to be trapped or maimed by a crew,
In my pilgrimage to freedom off,
Galliano island I swam because an,
Orca whale is what I am.
..........
Between the Palace and the Prison Gate
The crunch of a guards boot on gravel,
Coach door now closed we prepare to travel,
With the hinge of a gate I'm like a bird set free,
Because for a few short lived minutes I'll see what you see,
My soon to be subjects of every creed,
Who would I be, were I to be freed?,
Alas I must think this with a glaze if candour,
To speak it aloud would be testament to slander,
But once to bed back in my palace by night,
Mothers snores are the signal I need to slip out of sight,
And canter towards my Eden in the safety of silence,
Living and pure untainted by violence,
I lay down grounded and somehow informed,
Arising once the magic has been performed,
On my gallant return I misplace my step,
But I'm caught by a guard starting his morning prep,
'Excuse me' I whisper 'I beg your pardon'
'Oh your highness' said he 'you and that Garden!'
..........
Departure pending
Trussed up and bound for sea,
Lay a ship headed towards Scilly,
The gail winds battered and bashed,
Against the harbour the sea curdled and crashed,
Faces braced into the weather,
As it cried and whispered through the heather,
The waves grew in their rhythmic dance,
To take hostage the people of Penzance
..........
A cat from Cheshire
From a mile off I can smell a rat,
So be kind and gracious to this Cheshire Cat,
However if I find you don't amuse,
I can vanish in a moment if I choose,
So please enquire if you dare,
Where others only stop and stare,
Some children laugh and call me vile,
Because of my ginormous smile,
A cunning cat I've caught the mouse,
I strut and I swagger for the world is my house,
And if I'm caught by the queen of hearts trap,
I can always escape through any cat flap,
For I'm alive and most crucially free,
If only more could feel like me,
But alas you must leave and meet your fate,
For I've a feeling you're late for an important date!
..........
Lost in GOOGLE translation
Tongue tied in a knot of linguistics,
Channelling across the sea of statistics,
Time is terminated and sound suspends,
The narrative lost between the bookends,
A smile and a nod, a gesture and a wave,
An artiste in mime will somehow save,
The moment which is coming about,
As the foreigner reaches the checkout!
..........
Lost in a time that's not my own,
Trapped by screens in a new age of stone,
Built of invisible walls between interaction with any meaning in movement, bringing only inaction,
Or a unifying distraction,
It's not that I wish to rewind the time,
Just to exist in a time that's mine,
Perhaps I'm tumbling into that future existence of my imagination,
Where I stand side by learn'ed side in a meaningful congregation.
..........
A poem in the style of the ever loquacious, enlightened and conflicted Ciaran O'Driscoll
Characters of colliding capitalistic curations,
Opportunistic osmosis, orator of oscillations,
Nuance negating natures nebula's naturally,
Fear fabricates farcical facades fanatically,
Loss Lamenting laudable laceration,
Illuminating the incoherence of idiotic indignation,
Corrections conglomerate and cautiously collaborate,
Towards triumphantly teaching to tentatively tolerate.
..........
The crush, the crush is tight,
But you can thrash, gain height,
Kick and spring and swing,
Pram, toys, chaos, new order,
No room for a secret hoarder,
You’re standing plainly complexly as you are,
Presenting your scar star,
You shine with it,
Blind with it,
Sear through shit with it,
They’ll flock like a babe to a milky tit to it,
And they’ll scratch and squabble, skit and scathe,
Before a timely truth in which to bathe.
Word,
Word is a word,
A word that can be heard,
That's what makes it a word,
Rather than a thought,
A thought can be taught,
But never bought,
People will buy into a thought,
A thought can be caught,
Just something to make you think,
Or see a shrink ,
To talk about the thought,
That you worded to the shrink that you bought,
Who in turn caught the thought ,
... And told you what they think.
..........
Inside of me is something true,
Never to be trapped or maimed by a crew,
In my pilgrimage to freedom off,
Galliano island I swam because an,
Orca whale is what I am.
..........
Between the Palace and the Prison Gate
The crunch of a guards boot on gravel,
Coach door now closed we prepare to travel,
With the hinge of a gate I'm like a bird set free,
Because for a few short lived minutes I'll see what you see,
My soon to be subjects of every creed,
Who would I be, were I to be freed?,
Alas I must think this with a glaze if candour,
To speak it aloud would be testament to slander,
But once to bed back in my palace by night,
Mothers snores are the signal I need to slip out of sight,
And canter towards my Eden in the safety of silence,
Living and pure untainted by violence,
I lay down grounded and somehow informed,
Arising once the magic has been performed,
On my gallant return I misplace my step,
But I'm caught by a guard starting his morning prep,
'Excuse me' I whisper 'I beg your pardon'
'Oh your highness' said he 'you and that Garden!'
..........
Departure pending
Trussed up and bound for sea,
Lay a ship headed towards Scilly,
The gail winds battered and bashed,
Against the harbour the sea curdled and crashed,
Faces braced into the weather,
As it cried and whispered through the heather,
The waves grew in their rhythmic dance,
To take hostage the people of Penzance
..........
A cat from Cheshire
From a mile off I can smell a rat,
So be kind and gracious to this Cheshire Cat,
However if I find you don't amuse,
I can vanish in a moment if I choose,
So please enquire if you dare,
Where others only stop and stare,
Some children laugh and call me vile,
Because of my ginormous smile,
A cunning cat I've caught the mouse,
I strut and I swagger for the world is my house,
And if I'm caught by the queen of hearts trap,
I can always escape through any cat flap,
For I'm alive and most crucially free,
If only more could feel like me,
But alas you must leave and meet your fate,
For I've a feeling you're late for an important date!
..........
Lost in GOOGLE translation
Tongue tied in a knot of linguistics,
Channelling across the sea of statistics,
Time is terminated and sound suspends,
The narrative lost between the bookends,
A smile and a nod, a gesture and a wave,
An artiste in mime will somehow save,
The moment which is coming about,
As the foreigner reaches the checkout!
..........
Lost in a time that's not my own,
Trapped by screens in a new age of stone,
Built of invisible walls between interaction with any meaning in movement, bringing only inaction,
Or a unifying distraction,
It's not that I wish to rewind the time,
Just to exist in a time that's mine,
Perhaps I'm tumbling into that future existence of my imagination,
Where I stand side by learn'ed side in a meaningful congregation.
..........
A poem in the style of the ever loquacious, enlightened and conflicted Ciaran O'Driscoll
Characters of colliding capitalistic curations,
Opportunistic osmosis, orator of oscillations,
Nuance negating natures nebula's naturally,
Fear fabricates farcical facades fanatically,
Loss Lamenting laudable laceration,
Illuminating the incoherence of idiotic indignation,
Corrections conglomerate and cautiously collaborate,
Towards triumphantly teaching to tentatively tolerate.
..........
The crush, the crush is tight,
But you can thrash, gain height,
Kick and spring and swing,
Pram, toys, chaos, new order,
No room for a secret hoarder,
You’re standing plainly complexly as you are,
Presenting your scar star,
You shine with it,
Blind with it,
Sear through shit with it,
They’ll flock like a babe to a milky tit to it,
And they’ll scratch and squabble, skit and scathe,
Before a timely truth in which to bathe.