The night’s air is audibly cold
Dust and light whorls, unseen
Imagined icicles pierce through
A blizzardous, bilious cry.

Dust and light whorls, unseen
Highlights of imperfection
A blizzardous, bilious cry
Then a rush of echoing space.

Highlighted imperfections
The dullness lies muffled and strained
No rush of echoing space
Just muted, frozen and raw.

The dullness lies muffled and strained
A thick rug, a peeled wall
Just muted, frozen and raw
Unearthing all the wrong words.

A thick rug, a peeled wall
Remember, there’s always been life
Unearthing all the wrong words
Understanding every shuffle and start.

Remember, there’s always been life
The night’s air, audibly cold
Understand every shuffle and start
Imagine icicles piercing through.

Based on a task set for The 820s – read some much better versions of this exercise here!

Drawn from your bed mid-dream
you are vaporous like the bulbous clouds
the hill-like bulges that are cloud-like hills.

You are the man in the background
of Chagall’s Green Violinist
contorted but happy and with no thoughts today.

There is colour in the breeze
a tune in every brush stroke
every movement filled with expectation.

Your levity defies gravity and gravity
cannot force you still. So you rise still higher.
Your naïve wings of puppet strings.

Stay out of reach.
Be weird, be light.

Happy Birthday, Tuesday Poem!
Watch as the communal birthday poem evolves!