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Literature Text
Winter for the homeless
was the word upon the streets.
In a hundred different moments
we were bruised, but never beat.
Faint and close to pavement,
we were the litter on the roads.
Shot-down, forlorn and hungry,
we took the performance to the show.
I was a while yonder,
bound down by shade and air,
contracting and releasing.
I stole the steps from all the stairs.
A chasm was vibrating,
sending out all sorts of noise.
Paid daily for the transport,
I accepted and enjoyed.
Strapped on, heart-beats were failing.
Jolted quickly to the floor,
wail higher, little solider.
They’ll hear you for years more.
Protrude and open knowingly.
Remember all the chalk.
They will show you what the door looks like
but they won’t tell you what it’s for.
Factually, it was a nightmare,
but in dream it made more sense.
You’ll wake and remember fleetingly,
the chapters, and pretence.
Onslaughts are teachers, and shadily
they’ll creep in, and make their mark.
Choose wisely, and mind the hoaxes.
You will not defeat the dark.
Live, and learn accordingly
as fiction controls your fact.
Onwards, and unbridled.
This is the landscape, you, the map.
was the word upon the streets.
In a hundred different moments
we were bruised, but never beat.
Faint and close to pavement,
we were the litter on the roads.
Shot-down, forlorn and hungry,
we took the performance to the show.
I was a while yonder,
bound down by shade and air,
contracting and releasing.
I stole the steps from all the stairs.
A chasm was vibrating,
sending out all sorts of noise.
Paid daily for the transport,
I accepted and enjoyed.
Strapped on, heart-beats were failing.
Jolted quickly to the floor,
wail higher, little solider.
They’ll hear you for years more.
Protrude and open knowingly.
Remember all the chalk.
They will show you what the door looks like
but they won’t tell you what it’s for.
Factually, it was a nightmare,
but in dream it made more sense.
You’ll wake and remember fleetingly,
the chapters, and pretence.
Onslaughts are teachers, and shadily
they’ll creep in, and make their mark.
Choose wisely, and mind the hoaxes.
You will not defeat the dark.
Live, and learn accordingly
as fiction controls your fact.
Onwards, and unbridled.
This is the landscape, you, the map.
The cogs in my head started moving when I saw this crazy man on the bus staring at the floor.
He might not have been thinking about anything but he looked like he was morose, and deep in thought.
It was inspiring.
All of the inspiration for my writing these days comes from this city, Brisbane, and the goings-on I witness in it.
I am inspired by failure, and people who are going to die alone and anonymous.
I like to write about fictional people who are making their mark on a city I invented purely to write about it. That city is more whymsical and epic than Brisbane is. More gritty and sleazy and glamorous and everyone in it is soaked into it in some way, trying to make their way through and succeed in some small manner.
This poem encapsulates some of those themes and, for those of you who are interested and have been flowing my plight with writing, the themes in this poem will be featured in many more pieces of writing to come (hopefully).
The straight-forward inspiration for this poem was my recent trip to the hospital, my job, feeling cheated by education, feeling trapped by the concept of freedom and how to obtain it, alley-ways and public transport.
Thanks go to Ryan McGinley for the preview image. His photography is regularly featured in Vice magazine. I take no credit for it.
He might not have been thinking about anything but he looked like he was morose, and deep in thought.
It was inspiring.
All of the inspiration for my writing these days comes from this city, Brisbane, and the goings-on I witness in it.
I am inspired by failure, and people who are going to die alone and anonymous.
I like to write about fictional people who are making their mark on a city I invented purely to write about it. That city is more whymsical and epic than Brisbane is. More gritty and sleazy and glamorous and everyone in it is soaked into it in some way, trying to make their way through and succeed in some small manner.
This poem encapsulates some of those themes and, for those of you who are interested and have been flowing my plight with writing, the themes in this poem will be featured in many more pieces of writing to come (hopefully).
The straight-forward inspiration for this poem was my recent trip to the hospital, my job, feeling cheated by education, feeling trapped by the concept of freedom and how to obtain it, alley-ways and public transport.
Thanks go to Ryan McGinley for the preview image. His photography is regularly featured in Vice magazine. I take no credit for it.
© 2007 - 2024 Memphis-Poison
Comments11
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Factually, it was a nightmare,
but in dream it made more sense.
This is nice, but made me sad.
but in dream it made more sense.
This is nice, but made me sad.