The Interview

Tags

Creative writing, Depression, flash, Prose, short stories, writing

     When they had asked me what he had been like, the man with the knife, all I could say was that I couldn’t really say. He had been, to my mind’s eye, nothing more, or less, than average.

     He had stood at average height; not discernibly taller nor shorter than myself. His hair had been worn short, but neither cropped nor shaven, and his eyes, well I could barely remember the colour of my closest friend’s eyes, so that line of questioning drew a blank.

     What of the colour of the man’s skin? I could confidently say that he was white, but boasted a tanned face; or had that been a more olive complexion? It was difficult to say with any degree of certainty.

     Distinguishing features? He had a knife: a response that solicited a look which could have been annoyance but equally disdain. No, there were none that my sapless mind could recall.

     He had been, the man with the knife, nothing more than average. His accessory had been all that made him stand apart. His unremarkableness reminded me only of myself.

     In fact he might as well have been me.

Advertisements

Predisposed to Sadness

Tags

Communication, creative, Depression, inspiration, Philosophy, poems, poetry, Sadness, verse, writing

Dressed in the finery of night

It’s chill embrace

Familiar

Like the comfort of

A threadbare coat

Collar high

An acknowledgement

Of sorts,

Submerged below

A sea of aural melancholy

It’s welcome waves whisper

Only to my ears

Sounds of contemplation

Tiny earthquakes which rumble

A stronger pulse within my veins,

And through the sunlight

The rains comes down

To drum upon my door,

And beyond the purple

Day-bruised clouds

I catch the kiss of light,

To ask if this is happiness

This yearning for the night

The beat perhaps askew

That fills me with delight.

 

Again

Tags

creative, Depression, faith, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Climbed down from the train,

Its belly rumbling still

Like a malnourished child,

Walked the cold concrete

Past blank-faced waiting rooms

And story touting kiosks,

Felt his ascension,

His automated feet,

Lift him from the darkened bowel,

Toward light’s promise

The canopy of glass

Which hung like disease over him,

Eyes undistracted

By neon’s garish glow

Temptation’s hollow promise,

Out into the day;

Sun that sliced the high-rise

Like a dulled uneasy blade,

Tracers on the floor,

An impermanent guide,

Swallowed by shadow’s silence,

Mind stilled to motion,

Following his footsteps

A slave to destination,

Beyond the concrete,

Where houses looked the same,

Dead-eyed and slowly fading,

He made his way again.

 

Retribution

Tags

creative, death, Depression, emotion, loss, pain, poems, poetry, verse, writing

She was smiling when

They cut him down

And laid his ice-heart

On the ground

As like his passions

When they had come

In furies’ rage had taken

Her girl

And now with vengeance’s

Empty eye

She stared into the space

That she

Could never hope to fill

And she was smiling

As she fell.

 

Ghosts

Tags

Communication, creative, Depression, dreams, hope, nostalgia, poems, poetry, verse, writing

They walk with you

In friendship’s shade

Through pastures green

And cloistered streets,

Beneath its veil,

Its velvet cloak,

Ice fingers coil

Around your soul,

They sense each thought

Each virgin breath

And hold each pulse

Within their palm,

With empty eyes

They watch your days

Hold memories

In candle’s flame,

These ghosts you’ve known

For all your life.

Ocean Eyes

Tags

creative, death, Depression, emotion, loss, Love, poems, poetry, verse, writing

I kissed your ocean eyes

The bitter tang upon my tongue

A thousand years of loss

Strewn like shingle

On the shore

Beneath my naked feet

The eggshells cracked

Like hearts and bones

Shards of time-numbed pain

Their scratches faint

Cliffs rose monolithic

Faces lifted, gaunt, taut

Corpse-eye expressions

Lost to gloating

Granite skies

Beach dogs comb then cower

Turn their bleeding ears away

A shrill cry lost

Above our heads

A wilfully chosen curse

And as I turn and face

A ceaseless pounding tide

Assassin’s hands that pull

Erode the things I know

I kiss your ocean eyes.

Your Tears

Tags

creative, death, Depression, emotion, loss, Love, poems, poetry, verse, writing

I hold you in the night,

Your tears

Ink scratches on the pages,

Trapped between the covers

Of what had been

And what might never be,

Your pain,

Glass splinters beneath my naked feet

Which will walk for you

Until their soles are raw

And then shall walk again

Until your heart is healed,

My palms upon your face,

Like a charlatan priest

But with intentions pure,

I’ll soak away your sorrow

And add it to the ocean

Which rocks this listing vessel

But will not let you drown,

And when the waves

Like night’s black angels come

With banshee’s flailing arms

I will hold you still

Your tears, your pain

Are mine.

Peg by Peg

Tags

Communication, creative, Depression, nostalgia, poems, poetry, verse, writing

Peg by peg she hangs the clothes
Beneath a jonquil sky,
Movements measured and precise
A ritual careful, slow,
Fingers work a steady pace
Distracted from all thought,
Her eyes dance lonely in the cloud
She let’s her dreams escape,
And on the breeze they vanish
Like early season blooms,
As slow she turns to face the wall
To lose herself once more.

Heavier Still

Tags

creative, Depression, emotion, poems, poetry, verse, writing

He felt his feet fall
Like sacks of stones
On the steps
Each one weightier now
Than the last,
Fractured fragments of eggshell
Ground through years to dust
Grains now valueless
Beneath his feet
Lost like dreams on the breeze,
Fewer now the footings
In the hidden half-light of
Sight’s flooded memory,
Blinded by his past
Drowning like an aged bug
Heavier still he climbed.

Night Train

Tags

creative, Depression, poems, poetry, verse, writing

The night train came

Like Arctic winter

Drew into the platform

Its presence announced

A rumbling roar

Which stirred the senses of those

Who could not move,

A platform crowded

Shrouded in the silence

Of isolation

Bodies shuffling on automatic

Knowing the journey to come

Yet helpless in their resistance,

Seated now staring with the vacancy

Of untenanted rooms

Rooms closed off to sightless eyes

Tunnel-visioned pulled on

By a darkness

Whose whispered words

Seduced like an absented lover

A promise of redemption,

Rhythms rumble wheels on track

Devil’s chains around my brain

A voice that cries

So pure so clear

Yet smothers reason with unseen hand

And blind like time

The sinking Sun drips blood

Unsure of its return.