Hey guys. Thanks to all those who will comment on this poem. I've been totally lax keeping up with my subscriptions - totally coveredin 20 different kinds of college work at the moment. This poem eased my insomnia last night though so thanks again, even for checking it out.

C x

20 Different Kinds of Calm

Outside it's quiet

covered in 20 different

kinds of calm;

birds sleep

as yet there's no

sunshine cause

for their alarm.

The quietest of

these past gone nights;

the rain has pounded

closed my eyes,

the wind has blasted

branches through

all of my dreams.

Nature sleeps

while cars glide

along distant roads

like a moonless tide.

Clockwork measures

the night. The fight

continues between

awake and asleep.

Cloth rumbles,

pen scratches,

My breath whistles

down my nose.

I've never known

a night so still;

covered in 20 different

kinds if calm,

emphasising my energy.

..>..>
..>....

Your Power Bird is a Cardinal

You believe that each day is precious, and you spend your times as best as you can. You see the wonder in small things, and you are often content with what you have. You life an interesting, colorful life - and you bring color to those around you. Confident and expressive, you believe you know how to live a good life. You're living it!

..>
..>....

You Communicate With Your Body

This isn't as bad as it sounds, it just means that you're a "touchy-feely" person. You need a lot of affection in your life. And for you, this means both giving and receiving little touches. Warm hearted, you bond with people easily. In fact, you often feel a little sad when you're not in the company of others. A little moody, you tend to be controlled by your emotions. But a bit hug always comforts you!

....

What Your Soul Really Looks Like

.. You are a wanderer. You constantly long for a new adventure, challenge, or eve a completely different life. You are a grounded person, but you also leave room for imagination and dreams. You feet may be on the ground, but you're head is in the clouds. You believe that people see you for how you are, not how you look. But deep down, you know that's not exactly true. Your near future is in a very different place (both physically and mentally) from where you are right now. For you, falling in love is all about flirting and feeling playful. You couldn't fall in love with someone who took life too seriously.

....

You Are 64% Brutally Honest

.. Most of the time, you tell it like it is. Even if it's hard for people to hear. Sometimes you hold back though, because you never want your honesty to be hurtful.

The Mind on Duty

she hides behind her paperwork

to type away the time

she drowns herself in washing up

to forget that last goodbye

she scrubs away dead follicles

and the wine stain on the floor

while the flax gets drunk on suds

'til she thinks of him no more

she walks from bed to window sill

feet scuffing up the floor

she teases ends of unbrushed hair

and pads towards the door

she swivels on her black desk chair

finger drawing in some dust

she thinks of nothing as her mind

is something she can't trust

for if she lets it rest a while

throughout her jittery day

she finds her concentration

is untrained and so will stray

and that sudden lapse, pause for

breath makes her feel betrayed;

he's many miles from her

yet he'll never go away

I should be howling

Like a wolf with an axe

In it's back

Away from the pack;

Shadow elongated in the

Cold moon light.

I should be shivering

Like a man, naked

On the ice

Skin turning blue

As the wind drives the snow

Deeper into his flesh.

I should be crying

Like a baby left abandoned

On a step;

Helpless and perplexed,

Reaching out for the comfort

Of strong and warming arms.

I should be scared

Like a soldier, hand

Upon a hilt, knowing

He could be killed

If he breaks

From his formation.

I should be bending

Like a flower, isolated

In the suffocating grasses

Of African heat,

Beaten by the sunshine

As it takes away the moisture.

I should be calling

Out your name, suffering

With pain with the thousands

Of miles between us.

I know I will see you again;

So I smile.

Welcome Words

The summer's near. All bags unpacked,

Jobs applied for through out the day,

Groceries purchased, tidied up,

Travelling done, she's moved away.

She rests awhile

Taking in the small lounge;

Its single glazed windows amplify

The driving wind and rain outside.

The room turns her arms to pimple

As the heater struggles

To drive away the damp.

Granite walls darken the room;

She feels as if she's in a field

Surrounded by dilapidated barns,

Home only for wood devouring insects

And tar cover jackdaws.

This building's seasonal,

In summer time it quivers

For holiday makers and in winter

Its sleeps, cold and dormant.

Four years ago it was her home,

And again, now.

Back then it brought pain

As well as happy tears.

A chair holds a memory,

That cracked kitchen tile,

The stain on the bathroom floor,

The fag burn in the couch

Of this non smoking house.

The blistered paint from leaking roof;

A companion on lonely nights.

A rapping clears her thoughts

Like a dog chasing seagulls on the beach.

She opens the door, her eyes still glazed.

Her breathing stops, hand grips the handle

As her absent smile fades into the past.

Her head spins, causing her to catch her breath

And herself before she stumbles on the granite steps.

The rain batters her face, fringe painted,

And as cars pass puddles vigorously wash her steps.

His eyes lock into hers and all she sees

Is a river of blue.

He smiles, his round face falling into dimples,

Freckles bouncing on his cheeks.

He talks;

Words of welcome,

Words of affection,

Words he's said a thousand times

In all of her dreams.

Words she only wished he'd say

Words she only could imagine

Being slurred though intoxication.

Her breaths are short

Her reactions sharp;

She sees her fantasies develop,

Grow and be washed away

By the torrent of the rain.

Her vision blurs and his face,

As the full moon is covered by a cloud,

Becomes obscure.

He moves to enter

Her shelter.

She closes the door.

Dudes...I'm back! Had a wicked time...

Loves ya!

C xxx

Envious

Envy isn't green

It's brown and putrid;

A thick smog

That doesn't cast an

Emerald glow

Over empty space.

It asphyxiates common sense

And cover's all you have

With bright spots

As you cease to breathe,

Focusing on what you

Don't have

And want!

It isn't a quick stab

That is easy to relieve.

It's heavy, dense

And solid to its core

Confounding all sense

Of worth and ability

As its gravity forces you

To the floor;

Part of its grime.

Desire may give us drive

And motivate,

It's your state of mind

That chooses which road

You take.

Salvation..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

I see our pictures.

Relaxing at a festival,

smiling together,

you in your £3 oxfam coat;

we'd neglected the bite of summer's night.

Standing in hooded robes

in shadowed catacombs

looking vacant in a still

from the budget sci-fi show.

New Year 2004, I'm a hippy,

what's changed? You're a gypsy

yet it's in your blood

and we're all a happy family

with my very merry parents.

White face paint, fake blood,

bikini's in the May sunshine,

bright red eye from misplace swipe

of a cat's claw

and far, far, far too many crazy images

from cannabis infested nights.

All these mask your inner plight

of insecure and blackened heart,

your mind a lonely, fiery hole

longing for a place to call home

without mistrust or another floor,

with parents who just may adore

the strange and creative way you think.

You went away, could not stay

and as I went from college,

to uni to do my duty to

my family's expectations

you found your home.

As I still tread an unknown road

not yet warm but not quite cold

you have something, now you can rest

as you hold your baby to your breast.

My shining sister, a lonely lamb

I knew you could, see how you can

be worth something to me, to him

and to your new born baby son.

So while I can't hold you hand

across the miles of the land

or hold you up and help you stand

I'll weep my pride; tears of joy

to your salvation, baby boy.

Play With Me..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Lust

            Love

Obsession    

Passion         

Romance

Marriage

Affairs                        

            Divorce                                  

                        Rejection

They'll all catch you unawares;

Face to face

On a blind date

On the net

Placing a bet

In hospital

In a court

While buying food,

You're not playing the fool

You're playing the game.

We all pay the price

with sacrifice

but why sell you soul

to feel whole yet divided?

What is lust?

A lack of trust,

Affection only shared while I'm on my knees?

Lick, suck,

tease to please

The Instinct

but please don't tell me you don't think of me

when I am gone.

What is love?

Two turtles doves won't ever leave each other

But what do they know of desire;

Desire of another,

for yourself to succeed

and get what you need,

divided

in another game.

It's all the same

And all we can do is play.

Waters Within Me

I am a stagnant pond;

Neglected.

All spawns of life

Hopped, crawled, slithered away

Through the greener grass.

Once there were flowers,

Not weeds.

Now there is only

Dried stalks, slimy decomposing leaves

And empty shells of outgrown homes.

But, ever so occasionally,

There's a ripple;

Hysteric energy breaks free

Releasing malodorous gases,

Revealing the flick of a tale, gleam of an eye

Before all settles again.

I've read collaborations in the past and the person posting the poem gushes about the partner; I've always felt they were over doing it a bit.

Then I realised that you approach someone because you admire their work, much as I did here with Psychosis.

To try to describe his writing is like trying to describe the texture of a thought but I've found him to be perceptive, sharing and incredibly talented and it's been an uplifting, fun and above all inspiring experience working on this poem which was moulded from nothing...

His breath of sour apples
dissolves my nasal hair,
i can almost see the fumes
dancing off him into the air.
His teeth are tar encrusted,
his hair is grey and limp,
he is wearing odd sneakers
that he pulled from rubbish bin.

virulent vagabond
absconded from society
lurking in dark depravity
sucumbed to excess.
his dirty beard to be feared
never quite endeared
now warmed by a rusty hearth
abandoning his self worth

He scrubs at the scabs
Of his verminated home,
It's clearly no wonder
why he lives alone,
but his mind is an engine
that's slick and slippery
While he's hacking a cough
He's despondent but free.

the lines under his eyes
tell a story to be prized
through the ages of lies
they led to such cries
hopeless, forlorn, wretched, dejected
while his thoughts are full
of gloom from the moment
his soul has diminished in this lifes torment

A father of four
with a beautiful wife
was there much more
that he needed from life?
yet the sulphur still haunts him,
soot itching his eyes;
'how can one cigarette
take so many lives?'

the elation taken
from his selfish temptation
they saw in his eyes
an insolent indication
which led to a portent prediction
he broke down their home
his love distant; unknown
and now he wanders all alone

Alone, just another speck
of dust floating in the smoke,
he caressed their smudged bodies;
not one breathed, noone spoke.

making the mistake that burned them all
lifting their spirits into the great hall
the vagrants inner depression
had led to a sin.. and now he feels more pain within

...and from what I can gather that means you have to post up 7 weird/funny/whatever facts about yourself.

Is there anything I can think off that isn't on my profile?

1) I am fuelled by my desires and emotions which means that my focus and passions can change a lot. Writing poems is the only constant about me and the changes can be well tracked by them.

2) Being 'girly' makes me feel uncomfortable.

3) I was bald until the age of two, and then got teased about my hair at school because I never got it cut and it was a bit of a mess. That means I'm a bit obssessive about how my hair looks.

4) I love bright colours, especially rhe spectrum, and also grey.

5) My favourite time of year is May. Not too hot, nice fat rain, no wind. I hate wind, but love breezes that carry the sent of flowers.

6) I have done 5 weeks of work experience for the animation company responsible for Robot Chicken and Moral Orel; doing model set construction and am going back in April for a further 2 weeks.

7) I can't draw and love photographs. I will always look for reality in the background behind the pose.

I tag all those in my top 20! hehe!

C x

..

Dead Duck

Twice weekly I roll four wheels

20miles down the road to educate

and complicate the recess in my skull.

Thursday came and almost blindfold

I turned a corner of the road

and lying, quiet, by the roadside

a brown mallard, quite young, had died.

It's pink and pointy tongue protruding out

to taste the sun dried tarmac or to shout.

One docile wing splayed

as if to wave goodbye the day

I, feeling as cold as the body by the road,

carried on with my commute

and pondered on the brutish loss

of wildlife when crossing cars.

Did this poor duck have a pond

to meet her friends, or a mate,

with reeds in which to have a date?

Is there now somewhere a nest

housing four, maybe five eggs,

waiting either for her return

or for a bony, hungry fox to seize the opportunity;

duckling omelette, free.

Today I travelled from my home

round that bend, down the same road

to find another duck lying there,

tarmac splashed with loose feathers;

twisted head of emerald green,

grey plumage had lost its sheen.

..

I border on obsession

As I long for your reflection

To shine in my closed eyes

You're in my mind too much

Concentrating on your touch

Fingers entwined in mine

As you strum our melody

We breathe in harmony

And throw away the time

But you're lacking that compassion

That is needed now to fashion

Ropes and harnesses to climb

The wall of rain that pours

From my mind as I claw

Away the memory of you