GUEST POST // Memories from the dead by Richard Green

On these damp and grey November days I think
Of things that should have happened but never did.
Of conversations that were never spoken
Afraid to raise the memories from the dead.

Of the questions that were formed but never asked.
Of the the horrors that were felt but never breathed.
Of carefully made plans that never began.
Of the dreams discarded like old newspapers.

I never finished that book, that course that day.
I never figured out what I was feeling.
I never found all the words I tried to speak.
I never look back, never ever look back.

I should’ve told her how he was hurting me.
I should’ve screamed and kicked and made him stop it.
I should’ve bit down hard when I had the chance.
I should have cut his throat as he slept at night.

I could’ve been anything I wanted to.
I could’ve worked harder, been more compliant.
I could’ve been less terrified of success.
I could’ve done better, could’ve done much better.

I never developed a strong sense of self.
I never knew who I was supposed to be.
I never learned to trust my intuition.
I never really understood my feelings.

I learned to switch off and disassociate.
I learned that alcohol kept the pain at bay.
I learned that I was damaged, unloveable.
I earned not to trust people, they would hurt me.

All the wasted time of wishing I was dead
All the years never truly daring to live.
All the hurt I’ve done to others in my rage.
All this time I’ve let you walk around unharmed.

Now here I am still broken but not giving up.
Now I know my childhood was stolen from me.
Now I can survey the damage done to me.
Now I’m going to take the final fight to
you.

On these damp and grey November days I know
The things that should have never happened, but did.
Of the revelations that were never heard
It’s time to raise the memories from the dead.

 

by RICHARD GREEN
© All rights reserved 2019

pariah hymne

here we go again
peering over the edge of time
vultures dancing in the air
above the slain ones in the grime
we’d trodden with the angels
but then they’d gone and left us behind
absconding on hoverboards
no mortal could keep pace with their kind

“don’t trust the bastards!”
so say we all, “beware them all!”
celestial traffic, superlunary scrawl
stay hungry, stay foolish
all barefoot and tall at the mafficking mall
“we’ll jive! we’ll survive!” so say we all!

so, we raise our hands
in the sign of the devil’s antlers
we hope he’ll give us a lift
us ethereal gallivanters
instead, we get struck down
by the balls of his carronade banter
but we’re used to being ditched
crumpled, we embrace a new mantra

“don’t trust the bastards!”
so say we all, “beware them all!”
celestial traffic, superlunary scrawl
stay hungry, stay foolish
all barefoot and tall at the mafficking mall
“we’ll jive! we’ll survive!” so say we all!

here goes time again
peering over the edge of us
worms lancing through the grime
‘neath the spent casings and arquebus
leaving angels and demons behind
we sink bayonets with gravitas
into the ground, say with resolve
“we’ll abide in this temporal annulus”

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2019

the strand (lost paradise lament)

seraph, a man in a grain of sand
how far you have fallen
all trace of you got swept beneath
the sea of time, your alleged crime

you tried to pay your respects
to the last breath, but lies still lie and
fidelity has long left the stage
he’s gone, never to pass this way again

you bear the echo of all that was
with the weight of a dead crown
are these the days of clarity
in the sea of time, a bitter wine

lilies grow amongst the skulls now
the aftermath of your unseen war
have you not seen through the tears
you, the unreconstructed man

silence, and dark tranquillity
morning star, you blanch at the dawn
parlay at the speed of trust’s decay
this sea of time, the mere sublime

grief has frozen you to the shoreline
the pain of you reaches into a lie
verging on hope, though god knows why
a quiet smoke seeking ascension’s sigh

who will come for you now
who will comfort you, bury you

 

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018

hushabye (black & blue)

every man a cocksure monster
every tongue a flattering lie
so let my absence fill your room

now that i am required to leave
will you speak inside my fizzy head
one last time
set the record straight
and i’ll turn my eyes to the skyline
say, “that’s the door”

every cock a father figure
every dalliance is the one
so let my absence fill your heart

now that i’m being made to leave
will you smack alive my 8-ball head
one last time
let my answer be no
and i’ll turn my eyes to the skyline
say, “that’s the door”

every oke a cocksucking ogre
every tryst yet another nail
so let my absence fill your coffin

hushabye radge, i see a door
you’ll not grieve me any more

 

by TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018