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Mind and soul-
the two hosts wait always
to welcome their body-
ashamed, confused and hesitated
for collocating its bare head with their own hats
but the careful body
keeps examining by turn
head to tail of a central point
appearing between the two hosts
wherein
its simple knowledge
turns into complex wisdom
to make everything quite naked
and pride and contumacy
meet with the lost shamefulness
in the illumination of a fuse bulb
hanging so far in its dark room
making even its handicapped eyes
a scanning machine
to judge the two enthusiastic hosts-
the mind
who hangs around
carrying a lazy cat on his lap
and the soul
who waits with a malnourished human baby
on his safe lap of comfort with great care.

The large print is starting to curl,
I’ve been putting it off all week.
The happy couple; bodies turned
towards each other, faces forward.

They picked out a mahoghany frame,
its not with current trends, a classic
that will age with them, keep their story
within one tenderly hung rectangle.

We used to smile like that. Now I know
where the planed wood joints meet
how the miter saw cuts. Portraits
don’t separate cleanly, they splinter

water marks tear through all the craft
of my once careful hands.

Ugh

Gone inside
Venturing out at dusk
When it’s safe
No autographs please
I’m only going out to buy eggs
Organic if you must know

The halo
is too hot

The sun
is burning righteous

The world
is on the edge

Lemmings
are marching strong

The TV
is spewing nonsense

The vibration
is out of tune

True believers
are in a frenzy

A collapse
is on the way

The sky
is filled with dark clouds

The rain
is acid laced

The minds
are calcified and stunted

The future
is sagging low

The New Age
is a pipe dream

The mirror
is full of cracks

The illusion
is staring back

Reflections
never lie

More at http://17numa.wordpress.com/.

It was hidden
in some foliage
at the left hand side
of their escape tunnel.
It had so far
been kept
unemployed.
Yet,
Like an unfired gun.
A tucked away £10 note.
A rarely spoken to
long distance friend.
The three 9’s
at the end
of a telephone line.
The best thing
about a
‘Shrew Canoe’
is simply
knowing
that it is there.

More at http://paultristram.blogspot.co.uk/.

Start at the same point every morning
and end at the same point each night

The same dreams propel the motion
through each action when I wake

Looking to fill the same empty spaces
while trying to find a higher truth

Seeking the perfect woman to help me
make the most of what time I have left

A poem for breakfast, a poem for lunch,
a poem for snacks, a poem for dinner

There is nothing new under the sun
yet I keep trying to disprove the theory

More at http://17numa.wordpress.com/.