Category: Poetry

Unconscious Incompetence

He tried not to, but he continually changed.
Subtle, as well as gross
with each new understanding.
Beginning new days, ending old nights,
carrying burdens he couldn’t share,
whilst dreaming of sharing it all.
Dreaming of ways to make amends,
to make things happen,
renewed self belief.
Self satisfaction….? Has been for some time.
Tripping over words, he spoke softly for effect.
Wasteful, as well as thoughtful
with each new transaction.
Feeling open to pain that shudders,
shatters souls leaving a bitter trail behind.
Behind pillars holding up his world,
to make things possible
in a being who doubts all he does.
I recall, but can’t remember the nuances.
Choices made, reasons forgotten
in palaces of jade surrounded by grass of deepest green.
Hidden in laughter and tender, loving care
wrapped around his innermost child.
Safe she was, as frightened was he,
such was the paradox.
Time asks all questions.
Experience answers most of them.
Reality proves it’s all meaningless.
Subjectivity renders it personal.
Individuality makes it unique.
Solitude gives us time to ask.
Steve B 04/09
I followed row after row of symmetrical clouds,
tumbling over and below decisions into nothing.
Wearing only that face which felt like it supposed,
a distance unknown for a love/hate embrace.
I lay down beside to listen in between words,
forgetting all else when now looking back.
So soft yet unyielding more sensuous principles,
two dark pools of mystery where someone is real.
I carried those dreams where deserts meet sea,
along then between sundried driftwood markers.
Pointing to nowhere such talent exists,
by Moonlight a reflection elongates through time.
I pursued truth as she jokingly strode beyond knowledge,
into places new to eyes only wanting uncurved familiarity.
Not fearing when neurons dulled to a burnished rust transmit,
rolled up papers ready to be shredded or burnt.
I wanted to find the right idea that echoes across a tragic stage,
before settling in what remains down behind steel shuttered windows.
In each of us there exists a universal counterpoint forever opposed,
refracting our sins whilst justifying reasons to simply follow clouds.
Steve B 03/09

Can You Stand Within?

For a shield, not for me, but for those who seek solace within my boundaries,
albeit briefly. Until they come to realise there are more than just their own feet.
To either shuffle or to walk away,
Head held high, or shoulders bent low to infer knowledge of themselves they assumed
when extolling why. The why now becomes away.
For a shield, not for me, as I am immunised from pressure within my sphere,
albeit briefly. Until we cry out together in the throes of orgasm with a pleasure which trust creates.
From an initiate or vaguely naive,
head wilting, in the afterglow of more than just words spoken or sent electronically
when suggesting love. The love now becomes truth.
For a shield, not for me, for with each day I learn to forget the missives,
albeit briefly. Until I pause to analyse what seemed like real feelings expressed in a smile.
Before reality showed or at least implied,
head swimming, caught up in the believed truth within the blatant but hidden lies
around a darkened finger. The finger now points and laughs.
For a shield, not for me, but for a lesson which life belatedly and overduly forces,
albeit briefly. Until it knows that level of pain is unsustainable without irrepairable damage.
Before emotional sinews tighten then snap,
head twsiting, thrashing uncontrollably as the electrical impulses switch back and forth
between positive and negative. The negative now is normality.
For a shield, not for me, but for the possibility of the past being real yet unreal,
albeit briefly. Until we sit down and realise over a hot coffee and the newspaper the world is so cruel.
Before wondering how we can begin to trust again,
head swelling, filled with questions and contradictions which only serve to justify choices others made
in the moment memory has to live within. The within only pretends to learn.
Steve B 02/09

On A Moonlit Cascade

For those who seek, and shall never find, I offer a few solemn words.
Closing doors, not through choice, but the will of others,
we stand alone now, but should be brothers.
Joined in a common purpose, the souls without cause
or direction. Floating aimlessly, contacting across spaces once occupied
by dreams.
Hopes past care, hidden in the shadows, Moonlit breath rising before us
with each step. Caressing the darkness as if it were brightest morn,
eyes alert for something, anything to grasp onto.
Those who understand this will empathise, understand the sense of emptiness
that wells up as memories run faster than we can. Our screams unheard,
pommels resting gently in the hand, the only real decision.
Take heart in knowing aloneness is not a solitary condition.
Steve B 01/09

Hidden Behind (Loving) Words

Why is my love not enough, why must I back away?
As time takes us forward, the end of another day?
Why is giving not enough, why must i offer more?
A heart splits itself open, I’m broken to the core.
Why can’t we be what you want, why must I alter myself?
As moments pass into background, backdated on a shelf.
Why do you seek when you know, why is my whole just a piece?
When you look and not find, am I seen as just a thief?
Why can’t I give, just for you to accept and take?
Such sacrifice is empty, if concerns you can’t forsake.
Why do I need you, if need’s not in your soul?
Wasted and forgotten, one piece of your empty whole.
Why do I love you, as you said you loved me?
Empty words softly spoken, when you knew ‘we’ couldn’t be.
Why do I sit and wonder, of a future far from real?
Because my heart believed you, when you said you’d help it heal.
Steve B 01/09

Sunrise on a new beginning?

We sit at the fulcrum of new possibilities.
Just another day to the universe, but man decrees this to be a whole new start,
for some. For others, a cross on a calendar revolving around a different starting point.
No matter, it’s a reminder. A chance to reflect, and make good on promises made and then broken.
We hope, we wonder, we dream.
So come on, fulfil just a little potential and when this start ends, and another begins we can reflect once more.
Steve B 01/09
I am poisoned.
Senses weakening, lethargy taking over as my body fights to conserve energy.
Sight dimming, toxicity levels rising with each passing hour,
each passing day that your antidote is so far away.
No one ever told me Cupid dipped his arrows before taking aim,
that such emotion was so powerful, ethereal, but also capable of vast devastation.
I realise now that the hope of you was keeping it in check,
a belief in something bigger than myself which created sufficient antibodies.
Feverish perhaps, but knowing our words would be exchanged, heart fluttering
because I knew you were there. Giving me your time, if only in a virtual fashion.
But it was enough. Just.
I think that is the reason missing you goes beyond mere physicality, emotion, passions or desires.
Why this slow and increasingly painful defeat of my soul makes me doubt myself.
Doubts I have not had for so very long, and under very different circumstance,
the urge, need. Aloneness and solitude biting into me more and more.
Your touch, kiss, love…. A perfect remedy for life’s greatest gift.
Your touch, kiss, love…… Gone. A perfect reminder of life’s greatest agony.
To know I, for a brief moment, was part of something magical.
The pain pales next to that.
…………Time to sleep.
Steve B 12/08

Hearing Fearne’s Silent Cries.

I stood, immobile. Unmoving, completely humbled by what I saw.
A vision in pink, so fragile, so tiny, and thankfully so alive.
She was beautiful, barely five weeks into a life of seemingly constant pain.
Thirty-four days of machines, tubes, syringes.
It was unnervingly quiet, just the alarms before experienced hands silenced them,
reassuring me that it was ‘normal’, if ever intensive care could be described as such.
All I knew was how broken I felt, crushed by this delicate blue eyed face.
Tears, my tears, as she cried. She screamed, wailed, flailed her little arms,
yet there was still no sound.
Her vocal talents were subdued by pipes feeding oxygen, two skin coloured plasters
covering her cheeks, blankets covering the tubes filtering toxins from her blood.
Leaving her, I left a prayer behind.
A promise that if she never gives up, I won’t let her down.
Perhaps it is right that I never become a father.
Steve B 12/08

Fiery Hoops i Gladly Jump Through.

A point.
A line.
A reason?
Drawn in the sand, daring me to cross. Begging me to be a man, a real man.
Not just a correlation of thoughts, seemingly empty promises and ideas which will never be.
Reaching out beyond my means, but well within my dreams and desires,
crying out in pain at the memory of belief in someone, anyone who said they possessed what I want.
Belief that they tied to convince me of, that I in my naivite (sic) ,continue to have faith in.
A dream.
A hope.
A choice?
Who needs to hie behind the words of others, implying their oen aren’t what matters?
Not just a way of communicating, endlessly trying to suggest their frienship is worth forgetting their brilliance,
that love shared can be shrugged off simply because it is inconvenient now time has moved on.
Ironic beyond rational understanding, unless it was merely a ruse. Subterfuge on a scale immense to one,
lesser to the other. Truth which belies experiences of a life conveyed?
A meaning.
A passion.
A pretence?
It is a hard thing to accept, to know that you are not worthy of someone else.
That they truly believe they are deserved of things, ideals perhaps, which you are incapable of.
When the things they claim are now seen as lies…..
When you spell it out, you explain what you want and they pretend that description, that who they are
is a perfect match to the dreams you have. The hopes live and breathe, as you fall in love.
As you open yourself to their heart, needing to share, to know they feel as you do.
A cruelty.
A novelty.
A pastime?
Sitting and being their rock, bleeding for them as their own heart spills open for you to see.
Not judging, never wanting more than the time allows.
Revelling in the contact, the physicality, as they lie their way into the places you felt we hidden for all time.
Tears flowing, knowing it has gone, or should have been kept virtual. A virtual world in whidh there is no pain.
But in which there is no richness, no reality. Happiness coming more from the fantasy than what was real.
Maybe that’s it, have I reached the absolute truth?
A fantasy.
A means.
A rock?
I doubt I will ever be able to laugh again, at least not in a way that echoes my soul.
It ust remain secure, hidden, wrapped in a layer of ‘perhaps, and could be’s’,
a gaol of circumstance, whose walls and chains are more real than the empty words that love shouldn’t have flowed from.
Even if, when you define what reality is, it just exists within my shell, my sinews wrapped around.
My wrists seem inviting, a means to end a pain which should never have been,
a courtesy to the devil, letting him know before i draw steel across skin.
To spite the lies, or to cry out to all those who have never listened before. Who said they would, but didn’t.
Wll they feel any shame, or would they know? No, of course not. ‘We’ never were, so ‘we’ won’t be told.
A charity.
A peasant.
A simpleton?
Perhaps I should just realise my ideal will never match my appeal.
That this world will only give the many to the few,
those who rarely deserve who they have, who know that what they lose will be replaced.
Leaving who is left to fight for scraps which could be all they need,
who seem to want so little, but who then expect so very much.
It would be hilarious, if they didn’t leave heartbreak wherever their shadow fell.
A thought.
A need.
A failure.
Ultimately, it is comes down to a simple fact.
One I’ve come to see as a realt truth, something that cannot be disputed or challenged.
"People are only as honest as their experience allows them to be".
I just wish those who claim to have experienced both good and bad in life realise the beauty in the little things that present themselves.
From what I have seen in those I have shared myself with, it is a hope that is unlikely to come true.
Yet while it is one I still believe can happen, my heart will be a victim.
Of hope, and the ‘honesty’ of those I desperately need to believe in, as they come………
and inevitably choose to go.
It is such an irony when a friend knows me more, than someone who claims to want me…. knows themself….
Steve B 12/08

Tuning the Tones of Grey Noise

We see what we want to see,
not what is there, what actually exists.
What we can touch, and be touched by, if we allowed ourelves to.
Reality is shaded in grey because the fear of
losing the colour outweighs any marvel at experiencing it.
Unless it is the discovery that such colours fall short
of any expectations the promise of seeing them held.
To dance on the border between the two is a dangerous act,
yet some people seem intent on trying.
That invisible barrier, darkness and illumination,
flitting from one into the other.
For the want of something to touch, this world remains in darkness.
Steve B 11/08