When you are not Here [poem]

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When you are not here, it is true:
that nothing else could take your place
that no one else could be your face.
But there are so many other things
which serve as temporary wings
to elevate my vexéd thoughts
and ease the stilted space marked ‘naught’
which hangs before my eager eyes
like an empty well of broken sighs.

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Second Best [sonnet]

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Advice: always settle for second best
Do not imagine you can find your dream
Reconcile yourself to being like the rest
Always compromise, non carpe diem

Cauterise your grand imagination
Rebuke yourself each time you think of She
Know you’ll never find that soul-vibration
Content yourself to be fulfilment-free

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Till I Met You [song lyric]

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Till I met you
I never wanted to fulfil
a woman’s every dream
to want to find solutions to
her every whim and scheme

Till I met you
I never thought that I could be
in someone’s company
and never want to be unhooked
and never to be free

Till I met you
I never talked on telephones
for timeless hours of woo
or till the battery faded out
whichever first came through

Till I met you
I never wished that I could be
forever by a side
I never wished my lover said
“when I become your bride”

Till I met you
I never had orgasmic waves
just looking in some eyes
or barely touching fingertips
(I swear I almost died)

[I will miss those timeless rides
to the moon and back again
Dazed that everything could die
With a dread dash from my pen]

Till I met you
I never thought that time would stand
as still as silent leaves
I never had a Golden Box
upon which hung two keys

Till I met you
I never saw a smile which burned
its way into my soul
while laughingly ensuring that
I never would grow old

Till I met you
I never thought that I would bring
an idyll to an end
but Ice Queen frolic freezer types
I’ll never comprehend


© 2011, Alan Morrison

Wordless Poem [sonnet]

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I have no words. Well that is how it feels.
Yet here are lines of letters on the page
which make themselves the cruel shape of a cage,
imprisoning my heart and my ideals.

I am my own worst enemy. Too true!
But someone has to take the role or else
I can no longer satisfy myself
that I have protected my soul from you.

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Bad Timing [poem]

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where I look
bad timing.
thing I hear

My jet thrust out of sync,
I took some time to think
how to manipulate the clock
back to its pristine state
so that all the angel-dusted
darknesses congregate
around the temporal lobe
without rubato’s rusted
rhythm’s pleated robe.

I hung on to the minute hand
as it clicked its way
around the moonly face.
If only I could make it go
the other way —
time’s steps retraced

When I reached
half-past the hour,
my hands slipped
from the metal ticker
I slid down from
that pompous tower;
the world thought
“He’s the worse for liquor”

That’s what happens when one tries
to bend the messy tracks of time.
For every moment has its place —
a look upon the clock’s stern face.
Ten-past ten, the plainest smirk.
Midnight, please do not disturb.
Half-past three, a gallows laden.
Twenty-past eight, crucified maiden.

Bending time to fit into our needs
demeans us and our giant ego feeds.
And so I wait for synchronicity
to work its signpost magic over me.

© 2011, Alan Morrison

Unready [sonnet]

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I wander slowly from the battle-scene;
no turning back to see the debris fall.
Filled with red light warnings in place of dreams;
I miss your good intentions most of all.

Crossing many ages on a mission —
shadowing angel visions from the past —
a stratospheric mid-air collision
became a question rather than a blast.

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Ragged Crow [poem]

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tree branch fingers
reach out to
the naked sky
with bent witchy
withered woodness;
they poke the wings
of the ragged crow
as slowly he floats
b y
the lake which
feeds the ground
frees the trees
find the dawn
bathes the fingers
in something
for which
there is no
other word

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