Posted tagged ‘Distress’

Wait

February 15, 2016

5737270283_0832b72f50_b

Disregarded,

Reduced

Shut down

Disappointed

Let Go

Unvalued

Invisible

Untouched

Uncared for

Silent

Cold

Confused

Tired

Worn out

Weary

Scared

Uncomfortable

Too used to this madness

Not alone but very alone

Single

Complicated

Did I do all this to myself

With the touch that so many desire

Did I cause myself to stand by the rivers bank

In the midst of the flood

And expect my feet to remain on solid ground

As mud slides from beneath the concreted street

Falling away leaving devastation

Space,

Wait…

I thought space was a blessing,

A high value commodity,

Yet I stand in Space,

Not alone but alone

In awkward silence, smiles and a muddle happiness

Wondering how ‘Wait’ – one word, with so little to it,

Has meant so much.

 

Untitled (Suggestions Welcome)

January 16, 2011

Who wins,

These wars between

Bloodied souls?

Between hating hearts and those,

Of no hatred at all?

ATTACK!

Screamed by whisperers unseen,

Warmongering mongrels.

Sharpened tongues,

Splice hearts and minds,

Asunder,

Lovers brutalized by the invasion,

Feral beasts ravage

Unprotected boundaries,

Connections savaged,

In search of witnessed destruction,

By name: Victory.

For what?

Who wins these wars

Of bloodied souls?

Fought for reasons unclear,

Phantasmal riches,

Momentary insolvency of a sound mind,

Secrets confided betrayed, reduced to

Ammunition,

Misuse, alive to spread as wildfire,

Abuse, born and reborn,

Echoed and repeated…

 

© Simon Bucknor

(A snippet taken from an untitled piece from ‘When Cold Air Rises’ and selected poems) due for release first quarter 2011

Any ideas for a title are welcome – I have about 7 at the minute LOL

 

Before the Rainbow

July 15, 2010

It’s raining,

And I have become one with the grime that splashes

as the filthy sky-juice mixes with the dirt that lays on the streets that I walk

Every day.

The more it rains,

The grimier I become,

The more of me that is taken over by the sky-juice /dirt mix,

The more of me I lose to the streets that I walk

Every day,

The less me I become.

And as it rains,

And the skies spit down in jest,

Lightning shining over and over again,

Glorifying my decay

Like a thorny crown resting on my new lox

Causing blood and sweat to drip from my temple,

As thunder strikes out bringing screams from mouths,

I feel myself eroding,

Becoming less me each day,

Until all I remain to be is that mix…

…,

…,

…,

…The dirt of the streets that I walk every day and the filthy sky-juice that fell and created me as grime

And slowly washed me away

Into sewers and blocked drains.

Unrecognizable now,

It’s raining

And I have become one with the grime that lays on the streets I walk

Every day.

No longer me,

No longer human,

No longer reachable

Not by friend nor foe,

Not by Mrs Love or Mistress Lust

Even Dr Anger must wait at Lucifer’s right hand being stroked and held back,

So forgive me if I don’t answer when you call me by my name,

‘Cos I am no longer here.

© Simon D Bucknor

Deep Thoughts, Too Late

May 24, 2010

The dirt must have been dry at some point,

Or they wouldn’t have been able to dig the grave,

Wouldn’t it have slid right back in?

Rolled like a toppling bus on a sloped hillside,

Delivering it’s passengers to their final destination

With or without pressing their Oyster card against the electronic reader,

Thoughts thunder, reverberating against the lined wood surroundings.

I went with a fight and still I fight now,

I want to wake up.

I only wanted to sleep for one night,

But time passed and arrived at my bedside,

My rage unbridled now my soul is on its way away,

I am alive only with anger, livid with my hands, with all of me,

But above all my gormless heart that refuses silence and peace.

A man sat in pain until he could no longer resist the urge to change his situation. He wanted rest, needed rest, craved rest.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

He took a sleeping pill, it didnt work.

Soon the pill bottle lay empty, but for the cotton wool.

Sleep came, the pain eased, then came the realisation that death had been invited and had arrived.

© Simon Bucknor

Staring Out To Sea

February 25, 2010

I exist on an island,

Standing on the shore staring out to sea.

My gaze yearns to excite,

With the sight of an exit in which my heart’s hopes can believe.

Who can I run to?

Where can I turn?

Who can withstand the heat?

Feels like my attempts cause all bridges to spontaneously burn.

Where can I go,

To get what I need?

How can I fool my tongue,

So it’s unparalleled power it believes?

Where can I be heard?

Where can I be helped?

Who can I really run to?

‘Cos my story I’m desperate to tell.

Whose ears work the best?

Who’s linked their ears to a caring heart?

Where can I go to mend myself?

Can I battle the feeling that it’s too late to start?

I’ve tried so many times,

I reach out but see only my own hand

Who’s going to be there to meet me?

When I step off my insular island

I cannot continue to try and fail,

To speak into ears that don’t show they hear,

To reach out and find that still no one’s there,

Increasingly feeling that no one truly cares.

But I will remain set on my question mark and be led by my eyes,

Their movement I feel within me and without, they’re still searching,

My heart and head redundant, tired, spent

Somewhere there must be a place where my hurt can find the beginning of its end.

When I find that person, when I find that place,

When I find that moment, that feeling, that no pain can chase away,

This Island that I stand on the shore of will be an immediate fading memory,

And I will raise my sails, ride the waves and enjoy the prevailing winds of change.

© Simon Bucknor

Help

February 5, 2010

It is in the quiet times

Of distress and solitude

That I need my solitude eroded

By another, by you

Whose arms are stronger than mine own.

When it is my face that cannot be seen,

Childishly squeezing my eyes tight

So that I am hidden in a youthful ignorance

I need to be discovered,

Rescued, taken to your safe place.

It is in the times of silent surrender

I need my shield and sword

Held high by someone, by another

Whose heart is less damaged,

Less resistant to healing than mine own.

When I am seen only as a shadow,

When I am too far gone,

When I can no longer scream

Nor wave my hands to attract your attention.

When, my words become drowned in tears

And the paint from the walls speckle the blood on my fists,

When my knees are tucked under my chin

My head hung under the weight of my life

When my feet will not bring me to your door

My phone won’t dial itself

My email won’t automatically read my mind

And send out a flare that will bring you running

When I am in these unchartered caves

And the level of the water is rising

And death draws near

I need you.

If you can see me when no one else can,

Hearing my burdens crush my spine

When my lips are unmoving

In these times of silent surrender

I need you

For you are my only help.

If it is too late,

You alone will know.

You won’t see my face,

Nor hear the murmurs of my mouth,

My scent will be a mere memory

I will have needed you,

And my need will have passed you by.

It is in this forever silence

That you will realise

You watched my demise.

© Simon Bucknor

05/02/10