There is a cat made of light
On my window
watch them sun glow
sometimes they wake me up in the morning
There’s sometimes a cat made of shadow
it hides from the rain
and my worrying mind’s brain
There is a cat made of stars
blinking and meowing
purring and scratching
latching onto the window with its claws
There is a white cat it’ll find me death
it’s name it’s Azrael
and when it’s on my shoulder
I will walk into the life beyond skin
and never get any older.
My iOS
is analytical
my circular thinking sometimes is an ellipses
my blacklight is the moon
I sometimes feel a sense of doom
pessimistic gloom
whether I am apple, android or Linux driving this computers machine
I laugh until I scream
My search bar is Firefox
not Google
It’s has an interesting internet history
why is a mystery!
special interests
religion
Science
and philosophy
A cacophony of voices
and anxiety about choices
My App Store has flaws
is yet to be developed
my operating system
has ghost code
I sometimes have to try to avoid goblin mode
I find social stuff hard
Autism spectrum disorder
It’s hard to understand
even with AI
I know I am wired differently
I just don’t know why?
whispers of poems in every generation
long forgotten
bodies may decay and become rotten
But the words hang in the cold fresh autumnal air.
The undead poet from their grave may save
humanity still
it’s a battle of wills
selling poetry at bookshop tills.
softness and grace left in memories of one’s who knew them the most
although it’s his words live on like ghosts
a gnarled wizard staff
summons the poets craft
summoning words and stanzas
and questions rhymes and answers
Pulling them from sleepy faded ink
to relive times and make us think…
If poets continue to circulate their work after death what does an undead poet look and sound like?
It’s all in your head
the schizophrenia
the uncertainty
behind the curtains of your mind
to be special,
to be magic is to be tragic
to be alone
than one of your drones
is your superhero ability or curse
left in the storm of denial
we are all crazy here
with broken smiles
token, broken people
who believe in science and logic
So pluck your theories from the air
and prove you care
you make the meaning
even if your dreaming
It’s all in your head
so drive yourself mad
and stand alone
even the devils throne
is not comfortable but it’s home
You play hero I will play villain
though shades of grey exist and the truth not always willing
to rear it’s ugly head
filled with the expectation of being cancelled
and being heard
or Amber Heard
is different from being adept
or Johnny Depp.
we are divided down many lines and labels
and what we are being told merely a fable
when we can’t take it with a pinch of salt
and we halt
and can’t show a sign of empathy
How did life and judgement get so unjust
and all cards we hold are bust
because we no longer care just lust over celebrities
while our empathy is eroded and no treaty
or thought police AI can save us
from not understanding the people we see before us.
Cut off my sellotaped glasses
staring at asses
of girls I can’t have or marry
carry the child I am into the sham
bury all I am
did I give a damn.
yes yes yes I did…
amid tragic transformation
and a pure imagination
spoilt only by being a man
who cannot understand
the state of this world
So throw my body to the flames
a heart who can’t be tamed
full of tearful shame
and guilt ridden blame
I am the anger inside a coke bottle
shaken with mentos falling inside
afterwards fizzy fallout
I will be spent and full of doubt.
Drifting from day dream dramas
Karma an unhinged beast
feasting on imagination
His righteous indignation
blushing red against his skin
but chained against his respectable aura
he didn’t want to grow up
He’d rather blow up
like a bomb
Songs gather enemies embolden
the golden days are over
fairies watch dying in the distance
His shadow takes over leading him on
Peter Pan as a man
He’s forgotten to dream
to feed the crocodile of time
these are the days that loose their shine
corporate suits kill
never land roots lost
We all grow up he’ll never settle down
lost in psychosis
waiting for cleansing osmosis
telling tales no one believes…