The past made us – it continues to make us
Small Man Syndrome – 23rd August 2025
A builder’s grip
Trading advice
A drunken lip
Unbroken ice
A childish bloke
He’s five foot three
An Irish joke
He’s Me! Me! Me!
An open eye
Telling the tale
A felon spy
Always on sale
The golden ride
A target made
Empty inside
A debt unpaid
A found affair
The truth undressed
A Swiss au pair
Simply impressed
A sailor’s song
Sung out of tune
It’s all gone wrong
A burst balloon
A foreign mind
Alien fakes
Contract unsigned
Golden handshakes
Unsweetened words
The cruellest lies
Unrule of thirds
In silent sighs
An open mouth
An empty wit
He’s all gone south
A dribbled spit
The perished love
From pride or spite
When pushed to shove
Goodbye, goodnight!
Shared with Poets and Storytellers United – small
Loosely based on my old co-worker who suffered somewhat from this syndrome. It was always amusing to watch and he wasn’t as bad as the words above make out. This write was originally inspired by two misheard lines in the Jesus Lizard song ‘Monkey Trick’, which I turned into ‘a childish bloke, an Irish joke’ and so I maintained the 4-syllable lines throughout.
Sadcore – 22nd August 2025
The doomsayers don’t dare deny
The words they doomsaid yesterday
Because doom is in endless supply
There’s always more doom on its way
Every morning, your world collapsing
It’s never been this bad before
Wishing this time faster passing
Anxious to close your eyes once more
For you, are things really that bad?
In comfort you eat, sleep and shit
Wanting sympathy to be sad
But proudly claiming to do your bit
Everyone sees that you ‘really care’
Because we all read your posts
Arms thrown up in fake despair
Your empathy wrapped in boasts
Knowing that it’s all so useless
The doom and gloom grows badder
Making all your efforts fruitless
Your sadcore tomorrow sadder
Set Free – 21st August 2025
Lies are the words that I use
when you look up hopefully.
Why is it seriously funny
that the truth will set you free?
All of the things that we feel
are a trick, a fantasy.
In the deafening silence,
we could just learn to be.
Lies are the light and the hope
in your eyes as they shine on me.
Within this blinding darkness,
it’s the truth I foresee.
Tie up my hands with your chains,
they are bound to set me free.
It’s all so clearly misunderstood
that the truth will set you free.
Written (after the fact) for the GloPoWriMo Day 11 prompt:
write a poem that incorporates song lyrics – ideally, incorporating them as opposing phrases or refrains.
Song lyrics are italicised, taken from All Lies by Nomeansno
Don’t Presume, Dr Livingstone – 20th August 2025
His words were offered forth as proof
At least not seen as a complete pack of lies
Yet they were also far away from the truth
Leading good men towards their demise
Could those mountains be moved by faith?
Will these altruistic passions endure?
A Primitive paradise, perfectly safe?
The natural harvest of wealth would allure
A buffet of game that may freely roam
All of this awaits the white man to garner
Let the ladies-in-waiting tend to the home
Away from the business of the slaving farmer
Left unsaid the dangers of wild rivers
The seas and mountains of slog beyond
This idyll taken from its caregivers
As famine and war broke their bond
The altruistic found adventure not so easy
Their convictions soon without power
The hero’s book thrown to the Zambezi
Its once fragrant words turned sour
This write is inspired and slightly paraphrased from ‘The accursed lies of David Livingstone’, by Owen Chadwick, which I found in the book ‘The Penguin Book of Lies’.
The phrase “Doctor Livingstone, I presume?” is one of the most famous quotes in exploration history. It was uttered by journalist and explorer Henry Morton Stanley upon finding Dr. David Livingstone in Ujiji, near Lake Tanganyika, in present-day Tanzania, on November 10, 1871.
You Remain – 19th August 2025
Remembering…
…Your head at my chest,
my jokes you’d like the best,
your sweetish natural odour,
the curve from neck to shoulder,
…Of all the photos I kept,
in all the positions we slept,
your rogue vampire fang,
the nights we’d laugh and hang,
…Little fights that we’d create,
the days we’d take a break,
it’s been so long I can’t explain
why you still remain…
After all, I said goodbye,
the one that made you cry,
you never spoke to me again,
…yet somehow you still remain.
Impossible Right Turn – 18th August 2025
Just as I expected, it was I,
overreactions and suspicions drew
up and over all of this,
regarding the realised conclusion,
now, there is nothing new about
energy for it’s own sake, my
young imagination is my own headache.
In the undergrowth, stirring, sometimes
monsters reveal themselves, to be I,
preferring not to bother to think
over the past again, or about you;
somedays I feel better,
somedays I feel the urge to get
it done and dusted, to make it ready
before those I once trusted start to
listen more carefully, finding it to be,
eventually and irrevocably disappointed.
Written for the prompt: write an Acrostic and Golden Shovel combined, found at Chimeric Poetry Scavenger Hunt. The golden shovel lines are taken from the Circus Lupus song ‘Right Turn Clyde’ from the album Solid Brass.
Before I Write A Poem – 17th August 2025
Before I write a poem
the world must be on fire.
Before the words flow
I must inhale its smoky snakes.
Before the sword is even poised
I must cough up a bloody lung
into my open palms.
Before the altar, kneeling
I listen and wait
until a message bursts forth,
blooding my ear.
Born into a little life,
a sweet story
or broken bones.
The congregation’s eyes narrow
as I scratch out a sermon,
an epiphany.
…
Really?
That’s it?
All of this?
Inspired and the format recycled from Before The Poem by Lisa Jensen
Énouement – 16th August 2025
The past is a room seen from outside,
with a one-way door, immovable;
I tried to whisper across the divide
but my truths then were not provable.
I watched the days wearing thin,
exchanged for worries worn on my brow;
Choosing to let so little light in
until knowing the things I know now.
My story, at last, has been laid flat
by the wisdom I’ve accumulated;
of discovery I was always where I was at
and feeling so frustrated.
All along I held the design,
as flawed as it may have been;
All the sorrows are still mine
now I’ve seen all the things I’ve seen.
Written for the W3 weekly prompt #172 using the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows
Énouement n.
the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, finally learning the answers to how things turned out but being unable to tell your past self.
French énouer, to pluck defective bits from a stretch of cloth + dénouement, the final part of a story, in which all the threads of the plot are drawn together and everything is explained. Pronounced “ey-noo-mahn.”
Laurels – 15th August 2025
Run from your comforts
Pleasure is a charade
Reputation destroyed
Now’s the time to upgrade
Be no more prudent
Live where you are afraid
Don’t rest on your laurels
You must yourself persuade
A Breccbairdne inspired by a Rumi quote.
The breccbairdne is an Irish quatrain form.
– Quatrain (or four-line stanza) form
– Five syllables in the first line; six syllables in the other three lines
– Each line ends with a two-syllable word
– Lines two and four rhyme
– All end words consonate
1994ever 