Monday 

Renaissance and romantics,
Rhyme and choreographed antics,
Lust and jewels
Anger, oh but a pair of fools
Friendships and mishaps
Ladies, mediocre chaps

“Do you write often?”

Eyes – a see’r of men
“My passion is in my hand,
My heart is in this land –
But sir come close to my lips
Put your hand on my hips”

Renaissance and romantics
A heart-beat: frantic
Lost in a maze of perplexion –
Sir, you have my affection.

This poem was written on a miserable Monday evening. Despite having a rather productive day and having a laugh with some friends, I walked into my little room in my flat and starting writing this. It’s prove that my mind felt rather congested on that day…

Modern Wolf

We are but an old box of souvenirs
Why don’t you let me sing? Freedom
Like a dusty moth wing
Let your blank eyes stare
Into the mouth of the modern wolf

Bloom flowers into deeds
Smooth lips and voiced greeds
The truth like a blanket of stars
Your touch: so bizarre
Like drips of dopamine
Seeping, absorbing in my skin
Into the mouth of the modern wolf

Sewing needles and tarten scarves
Wrap around shards of the moon
Sharp to the palm of hands
A curse of steady hold, frightening,
Cross the bridge to ardent flow
Into the mouth of the modern wolf
For nothing doth he know

NOTE: this has no real punctuation and is a practice poem where I have gathered different lines of previous poems I have made. I’ve combined them together to see what the outcome would be, after all I have been suffering from a bout of writer’s block. I think I was even a bit drunk when I put this all together, this is the epitome of my drunken mind piecing bits of life together.