From My Twisted Brain

In the early morn

Midst the rising dawn

Like a failed rhyme

Chained I follow time

Creeping along the lawn

And as I slowly fade

The progress nightly made

Slips by my Chrysanthemum

Erased at Apollo's whim

As light infects the glade

Unable to abide

His arrows burn my side

A victim of the day

A safer place to lay

Beneath my Lily to hide

_______________________

Something from my twisted brain - I didn't feel like thinking of a title.

Copyright © 2010 by Layne Cockcroft

All Rights Reserved

I No Longer Stare

I used to sit behind you

You had pretty hair

Still do I suppose

At which I used to stare

There was nothing else to do

But I stare no more

Actually I do...

But not at you.

I stare into space

Space you no longer fill

Empty space filled with

Filled with not you

I stare at the tables and the chairs,

Some people, a window

Yes, a window, I stare out

Not at that soft, silky hair

I don't even notice you anymore

I look out the window

I no longer sit behind you

I sit far away actually

On the other side

At the back

The chairs, the people, the tables

They're what I see

Separating where I used to sit

Behind you, staring at your hair

I no longer stare...

Well, I do

But not at you

Out the window

I can barely see you

Sitting in the front

I sit in my own space

Which I chose

At the back

Away

Alone

I don't even remember you.

I stare away

Alone.

________________________

I have a lot of boring meetings. This one needs a lot of work.

Copyright © 2010 by Layne Cockcroft

All Rights Reserved

In the Silhouette of My Pen

This is my pen

it cost seven yen

made by ten men

who practice the zen

at home in their den

but lacking the ken

of the art of the zen

these seven men

each earn ten yen

each time I then

make use of my pen.

__________________

This was written in the shape of my pen that I traced out over my agenda at a meeting... better than slitting my wrists I think.

Copyright © 2010 by Layne Cockcroft

All Rights Reserved

My My My, Why Why Why?

Do you see as you stand

in the door in my hand

the flickering shadows

presaging the gallows

the which my good knife

with the soul of my wife

is warm in my hand

will send as you stand

in the door with a smile

does it fade 'ere a while

with the sound of your laugh

as you twitch in the bath

why such bewildered eyes

at me stare from your lies?

_____________________

Ask Tom Jones about it.

Copyright © 2010 by Layne Cockcroft

All Rights Reserved