‘This umbrella tires of holding up the rain’

A beautifully written poem by S.Francis.

sailorpoet

This umbrella tires of holding up the rain
Her water proof nylon grown thin, ribs
Starting to bend to the wind. A tired
Whisper: “let the rain drench you.”
Wind blown sideways, like the sky
Asking for directions, falling
To earth looking for suture to heal
Us: our stars and their stories.

This umbrella tires of holding up the rain.
It beseeches me to close it and look up
At the patterns raindrops make falling
Like a web of stars torn apart,
Looking for a new storyteller
To mix the tonic God pours down on us.
“Wrap your arms around me,” she says,
“Let the story fall on its own.”

Umbrella, I tire of holding back rain.
Open me up and let me catch it.
This mystery falling I can no longer solve,
So choose, instead, to break the patterns
Allowing the water to resolve its story
In rivers tumbling…

View original post 29 more words

Glasnost

Lines materializing not on paper
can actually drag a brainless pencil.

Ants squiggle around your Adidas-shod foot
blind, but never miss their mark in the bite.

A score of 140 for an intelligence test
turns in a score of 40 in an actual exam.

Two consenting people are called out for adultery,
but another two’s love sees truth in pulp and ink.

A stitch in time purportedly saves nine,
but it’s always never enough for the cat’s tenth time.

The man down the street donates his time to charity,
but do you know that he’s got lots of young dirty in his HDD?

If decisions are made with clear-cut divisions,
then where is the division and the decision?

I am what I am,
but am I really what I’m not?

© Zelda Reville


 

Self Doubt And Syphilis

There’s too many people here
too much chips, not enough grit
(grit is something that birds eat)
self doubt and syphilis

You could have it so much better
so prophesied Mother and Teacher
floating dreams of a tangible future – well…could it be…?
self doubt and syphilis

Piss drunk on your own legend
as the summer cried in melancholia
no worries, let it rip – psychoanalysis is your new toy:
self doubt and syphilis

It’s easy to be a cynic
even better becoming an academic
self doubt and syphilis?
shut up son! Time for you to go to work

Does sorting out the files after 12
still make you dream of that Maserati,
or of having your cocktail passed by Letitia?
Sing that chorus now in the hall of nobody!

Facebook, twitter, instagram –
effigies of perfection, or a deflated ego’s instruments?
good or bad, contrarians or mainstreamers –
self-doubt and syphilis, how do I sign up as a keyboard warrior?

© Zelda Reville


Just in case you were wondering – the original title has been lifted from one of Matt Bellamy (singer/guitarist of Muse)’s more cryptic utterings. What the hell does it mean? I don’t know, but it makes for a very good writing prompt…

Poems “Zephyr”, ‘The Great Illusory Bamboozle…” and “Skymning: Interludes” published in The Wire’s Dream

fire-flames
Photo by Joshua Newton

Sorry if I’m a bit late with this one, the books beckoned – but three of my poems, “Zephyr”, “The Great Illusory Bamboozle Of The Polka Dot Shirt” and an old one, “Skymning: Interludes” have finally been published in the 2nd issue of The Wire’s Dream. Head over here to read my work – and of the others too.

I.D.K

Hang them out to dry,
then punish with publication –
hammer their fingers one-by-one
to a giant, diagonal caterpillar

If you don’t allow yourself
to let go – who will?
Auric Pacific, tetris-a-go-go…
My head is starting to hurt

Strange how everything around you
looks much better with a sad song.
I’m the type of apologist they love to hate:
surely you must mean something in this day and age!

Applaud streamlined fish on their victory;
Metaphorus, exacted enemy of the tangential.
Atlas rolled it off a hill as Hades watched,
cackling while they tore that dude’s liver out.

I’m hanging upside down
with Cassandra’s tear-stained face.
Me and you…they’ll never believe…
Pour the intellectuals another beer!
Then, slowly poison their drinks

Too many words is fornication’s
consider-atio-ticus. (what’s even that)
I don’t know…just make it a new word…
Cheer up, boy! It’ll be alright (it’s not)

Shamelessness is your practiced virtue,
modesty the new wicked deity –
So I hear you’re working on a new thinkpiece?
All the same old…(sigh) nothing new

© Zelda Reville