Society on Men

don't you dare shed a tear;
lest they know
you were born of a Mother
or speak love in public
keep such words in silence
or at least confinement.

think thrice,
before serving,
manners can be misconstrued, man
open your arms to liberty,
and lower us all
with your language
we left chivalry with the cavalry
and stories of old,
and poured liquor over the carcasses
of gallant men
whose names are lost
swimming upstream to us.

the victors of new stories told to you
worry not if they told the truth
ubiquitous deceit is the order of the day
men set the order of play
a scene not fit for you child.
take your words elsewhere
aesthetic action matters here
so part from poems
leave your scripts at the door
of all that's normal
and let me show you
who real men are

All of It

this is all of it,
every tear that ever fell
every run of breath
that came with the harrowing
of solitude
or shared melancholy
when embraces
multiplied in meaning
and we wept in the arms
of whoever would be so kind;
fearless sorrow
dripping with salt water
inner left exposed
to anyone
no shame
no shame
love knows no shame;
tonight anyway.

could we be constant
in our out-pour
let them all fall this night
just to touch who they fall for.
fingers tremble with emptiness
the heart unwise
unknown paths of pain
make weak hearts;
and they still beat.
lost,
but find temporal homes
close to kindred souls

this is every aspiration
that we amassed
only for hope's vapour
to collect like a grey afternoon
rain fell
steps glistened in the water
the image absent
between our eyelids
our aching bones lifeless
searching for room
to start again
or a new dream
to pin our passions to

to not know
your own reflection,
be yourself they say
which self to be
is self unitary?
or to know you
more than you ever could
and leave you drained
of so much of yourself

this is every loss
every heart left
to the cold ground
severed in two parts
longing for whatever
may bring wholesome heartbeats
or run back time's coils
and erase yesterdays
to colour tomorrow
in something more void of misery

the distraught inexplicable
plaguing so many
demanding insanity in some
the downtrodden trodden on
the poverty of love
the fingernails that etched horror
into walls that saw too much

may we be harboured whole
from the madness of that pain;
all of it.

Sing About Me, I'm Dying of Thirst

www.soulculture.co.uk

I'm a dying man
in a sea of similar souls
swimming well, resting,
on your buoyancy

promise that you will,
sing, about me

write after loss
it might be therapy
sink with your ink
into my memory

promise that you will,
sing, about me

just in case
as dawn falls up on us
I'm erased
along with
my hearing

promise that you will,
sing, about me


if I leave myself
and turn away
stepping t'ward eternity
with only my own feet

promise that you will,
sing, about me

if my disposition differs
and withers in to another form
if mellow sunsets deform into another dawn,
if you even just,
begin, to doubt me

Just promise that you will,
sing, about me

Promise that you will,
sing, without me.

Travelling

http://www.destination360.com

I'll see you at the airport
to wonder
rather than think
sink into guessing
at the story
of each coloured face
a view of the world
each with their own world view
their destination
beloveds that drop tears
at the thought
of separation

cut suits and rough boots
tread the same path
drone of escalator
meets spare change and bangles
a rowdy few
astounding view
hurry and measured tea sips
as he slips, into elevator shaft

By Mike Richard (vagabondish.com)

and he meets his other half.
those made to work
walk with those who make them
we don't know each other
but we're all in this together

my child like awe
at departures and arrivals
surrounded by scurry
coffee and money
nervousness
pain, pleasure
free of duty
hacking away at
shackles of routines
and rat races
dragging trolleys full
of far less formality
holdalls of sanity
poised to board
and embrace, a new normality

mediacentre.heathrowairport.com

what time's the plane leaving
mothers waiting
lonesome lunches won't do any longer
silverware and perfection mean less
with each plate
cooked by strangers,
who know not her lullabies of old
distance chipped away
at opulence
while solitude's gale
blew romance away

Girl of East

unknown web source

the reds, motifs
striking stare
that cuts divinity
into ungodly horror.

teeth take shawl in between
and bite for respite
from the wicked, harsh
and inhumane confusion

she knows not her power
wrapped up in history
silent in the corner
quietly waging beauty
in homely wartime
imagine her simple voice
deafening beholders to war cries

Girl of East
knows what she shouldn't
fear all too closely
penned in secret calligraphy
in the depths of each eye
bearing witness to chaos
in melancholic beauty
made all the more tragic
knowing she could be so many

Your Sleeves and Mine

The poem to the left 

Roll up my sleeves again
so our palms cross paths
as they did
and when its far enough
take my hand
and walk me into time memorial
far enough;
til my hand grows smaller than yours.

walk me past innocence
and please stay a while,
remember to make me forget
painful reason that we left behind

towards moon river
just round the bend
show me, all my friends
before I knew the differences

before skin knew deformity
born of pain
make it yesterday once more
yeah, those old songs
written before I knew
weighted words, and wrongs
so intimately well

and take me just there
past calculation
that smelt of insanity,
and cold seclusion.
before bold delusion
I hold confusion
in contempt,
leave it in the bushes
of my old back garden
amongst the leaves
and forgotten tennis balls
we couldn't find,
some sunny day.

where and when
we'd watch the races together
I'd support whoever you did.
and don't forget a meal
on our travels
in a time where
I can't even consider paying
and i might be shy,
to tell you all I want through timid lips
though you can share my chips.

blissful, wouldn't you concur?
khala* roll up my sleeves
and take me to where we were





*Khala, the urdu word for maternal aunt

Moments

Moments lost
fleeting fascination
cherished droplets of time
vanished from everywhere
but memory.
Our source too
that great well
of joy, sorrow
ink and courage.
Where lie forsaken tales,
forlorn walks but compassion too
warfare and love made
vultures and dove tails
sculptures and weathering
firmness eroded
by acid tears further
sour ones who tower
and sweet nothings so down to earth
building and destroying
we choose where we come from
even as we come from both.