There is cinnamon in the wine,
a carmine swirl, for taste
while mouthing

a song of ambivalence,
played loudly
with decadence, like tripping

over existentialism,
a crash, almost
with some worthy meaning.

Incoherence, with splashes
of colour, turned
to rage, and other
hateful hate

and such paralyzing
griefs.

#poetry #TashPoetry #writing

Watching television
for 600 calories,

above the whir
of a climbing treadmill.

I can’t hear them —
the voices,
the actors miming;

the good guy in the white hat
always unequivocally
distant.

Off the tread now, into a different
stasis —
stretching the tendons,
unable to watch,
belly down, not lip reading,

the tinnitus, not helping
with the shaking, the verbal
memory,

the bruising past, nor
a past of bruises,
undiscerning.

Push up,
It’s time to push up.

#poetry #TashInTheClouds #TashPoetry

Ghosts don't glide, they walk.

See, there's one next to you right now.
Tip to toe,
grounded and ungraved,
disinterested.

Pacing, in temporal remembrance.
Waiting, in the dead weather,
for their feet to leave
the ground,

steeped in forever,
not unlike you.

#poetry #TashPoetry #Tashintheclouds #writing

Blue skies and distemper,
a saturating storm
in the teacup
of God, or worse —

meaning Man,
always on the cusp
of a misnomer,

Sapiens, my arse,
knowing nothing
while breaking it all
the same,

Breaking it all;
all the same.

#poetry #Tashpoetry #TashInTheClouds #writing

Apparently, I have 468 followers.

At least 460 who have taken a vow of silence.

Climbing is an attachment of sorts,
mother, father,
lovers,
a child

to clutch and to adhere to,
abseil and anchored,

until disowned,
until forsworn,

until loss
and then

they're

just
gone.

#poetry #Tashpoetry #writing

'Pissing Down'

Rock walls sway when watered,
cascade into a pleasantness, for
the rainbows, and
the tourists,

the homeless, in the car parks,
waiting for the loos
and a little providence,
par excellence,

something Godly for a prayer's due,
and perhaps a little less rain.

#poetry #TashInTheClouds #Tashpoetry #writing

Tumble out of bed,
as from a drain,

unwholesomely,
an impulsive discharge —
a migration to the next ex-
it.

The heart strays,
restless with gravity,
oddly, a non-Newtonian
punching bag,

while the inviolable head
says don't touch me,
just don't.

No.

The grey skies always match
the threadbare curtains.
#poetry #TashPoetry #writing #TashInTheClouds

A willow vine in the breeze,
winding
as random prose is wont to do,
cluttering a mind's shape.

See, with an askance glance,
a couple's kiss against the green,
the twine of feelings,
tightening.

Feel,
the love sickness,
slow movement and
the change,

the leaves, twisting
into serif knots,

into
bruised fists

and other
fanciful shapes,

then look away.

#poetry #writing #tashpoetry