eyamsotyred [poem]
eyamsotyred
sotyredofstrugling
struglingtofyndthereel
tofyndsumshellturdlee
sumrelivuns
2maisituayshun
(maibondidgesounfree)
wichecsplaynzwye
evrithyngterndfromm
litetoodarc
wenyungfreshmeewuzbitraid
withowtaneeconshunce
withautevunreelizing
sheewerdooinganeethingrong
hazthewurldreelichaynged
sowmuchthatniytiznaudai
eyamsotyred
tyredofthyngsgoingbump
inntheday
bumpingawaiwithther
wontuninflayshun
andhooammeyeeniwai
toocomplanesezduhvois
inmyehedthinkeyed
rarthuhbeeded
thereyeveseditt
thewurdswichhav
allwaizebeanonmaimind
andinnit
wurdzwoshing
arowndelikemowthwosh
forthebraynethaylthink
eyaminsanebutteyamknot(ted)
insydelykeabaskitov
snaykesandeyamsoverislayked
sotyredsoslaykedeyecarnt
fitethisnomooreforeym
toobattelsoarandbrokt
sochowktinmyesole
nowunnreelikeres
itzorlwunnbiggayme
uvchesstoothemm
eyamaniteandallwaizhavbean
butteyethinkthearisnoplayce
leftforusonthechessbord
coztherooleshaveorlchaynged
owtovallrekognishun
thatizmyestanding
andendgaymepozishun
eyamsotyred
sotyred
ovevreething
© 2011, Alan Morrison
The End of the Tether [sonnet]
I have lost everyone and everything.
Every precious thing — every meaning one.
I watched all those to whom I once did cling
just vanish in the night and they were gone.
Perhaps that’s as it should be in my world
for windowless I orbit distant stars;
long longing for a view I sunless curled
through galaxies and countless grey memoirs.
And then some voice said there is always hope.
I’ve heard those empty words before (I winced)
shaped like a neat and tidy noosely rope
so by that thought I cannot be convinced.
When tether’s end has finally been reached
the heart of all that sings has been impeached.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Framed [new song]
When all the cards are down
And with my feet firm on the ground
I can see the pack was never full.
Missing was the Queen of Hearts
Well it was pinned with feathered darts
To a half-done painting on the wall.
Narcissist [poem]
if he/she/it is a narcissist…
p a u s e…
(can a mere “it” be
a narcissist
for an “it” has no need
to dwell upon itself
for an “it” just isn’t human
so is free from every wretched form
of navel-gazing
ego-blazing
hellfire-razing)
so…
On the First Day of This Year
On the first day of this year, I made a resolution to take shit from no one, never to settle for less than what is the best possible and always to gyrate to the highest ground. That is the first New Year’s Resolution that I’ve actually kept. So I echo it again as the year draws to a close: I will in all circumstances take shit from no one. I will not compromise on getting the best of all possible worlds in all things. I refuse to let others dictate my life for me or to let them mess about with my head with their twisted “logic” and manipulations. I will stand my ground and preserve the sacredness of my space – not on an ego-trip but so that I can be more useful to others in this world where too many try to puff themselves up and destroy the dreams of the brave. If you’ll join me on my journey I will be overjoyed!
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Road Works [poem]
I am lost but strangely calm and unpointed
like liquid mercury on a slopey surface
reflecting the slightness of being and seeing
and reeling and feeling with secondhand
dealing I fill with unrealised urges
I am wound but weirdly free from all harming
like sprigs of lichen on a barkless tree
expecting a dewfall of sighing and highing
while wining and dining on sunaround
shining I feel like a heart amputee
Inklings [sonnet]
I chased you down through barren tracts of time
although your name I no more could recall.
Some strange fragmented memories sublime
were mingled full with passion’s rise and fall.
If there is truth in inklings vaguely known
that parted were we by some tragic fate
while in another world where we had flown
then we must not revisit that estate.
For though we meet on history’s heavy wings
which waft with air so thick with ancient pains
another chance our present meeting brings
so we may now break free from astral chains.
If we to this our hearts can wholly give
then we will soar to heights superlative.
© 2011, Alan Morrison
One Huge We [poem]
Sometimes questions come into my head
for which I have no easy answer and
from which I cannot run (though feet
move fast and life is like a blur of
clouds [sky overcast] they loom like
darkened shrouds of knowledge that
I’d rather never know [although to
dreaded places lately I must ghostly go]).
Can a leopard really change its
well-defined identifying antiquated
intricated spots for unicoated uniformly
single-coloured sully-free non-dots?
Love Should Be [poem/sonnet]
Love
[I mean the full real thing
not some bland and pale
embellishment
with little mutual
relishment or one
wherein there is no heat
or where blood runs
through cold blue veins
or where unequal
treatment reigns
or where somehow
with clanking chains
such fetters mean that
passion wanes or where
there is deceit and guile
so naïve hearts are
crudely wiled away
like wood is whittled
knifely deeply down
to pieces on the floor
so separately they lay
togetherness no more]
Love I say
should
be
1
l
o
n
g
orgasm
of
everything
[by which I mean that there can be no trace
of compromise in any words or deeds;
no turncoat treason acts of ‘about face’ —
its garden sown with flowers (pluck out the weeds).
Full truth transparent is my battlecry
against all dull concession trade-off pacts
with all the forces massed to sell the lie
which from our fervent destiny distracts.
For how can heights which we profess to know
become a less-than-blissful dream fulfilled?
To go to higher peaks will mean to grow
if on our frail foundation we will build.
I will not have my love served up lukewarm:
To ecstasy alone will I conform!
© 2011, Alan Morrison
Gymnasium [poem]
I’m not a gymnasium, she said,
as my body moved with litheness
round her icy rigid form
on that well-sprung soya bed;
her hoity-toity voiceness
making echoes in my head
(And then the bridge
between the wetness
withered down
in shock(ness)
as my brain sent
vibes of mourning to
my sorry little cock).
The Naked Troubadour 