Thursday, January 28, 2010

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