You Think I'm Weak
For those of you who think I'm weak
For my passivity and lack of violence;
When cheeks are turned for another slap,
Cruel remarks not responded to, absorbed.
Those who think I am a man of straw
When I flex in the wind,
Please recall fine steel bends,
But does not break.
Can be a rapier for truth and justice.
For those of you who think I'm weak
Be aware however I will draw a line
And stand like an immovable rock.
Not allow the bully to prevail,
Nor will I not allow evil to endure.
Will not passively stand by.
To those of you who think I'm weak,
I say, my weakness is my strength.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Your Tragedy
The archness in your eyes
It belies your tragedy
The loss of self, a deadness.
For your soul has bled out
And within is dry dust,
A desiccate withered spirit.
For the games been played
And you have cruelly lost.
Crippled you limp onwards
Towards the light of travail
Seeking the inconsistencies.
To gnaw the cracks, taste defeat.
There is dread in the coming night
For there is no shelter from the storm
And you are desolate, ruined.
The rain will dissolve you,
And gone, you leave behind no reminder
No memory that you once existed;
Expunged, defunct, washed away,
That is your tragedy.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Seasons Turn
He lived summer internally.
It fed and warmed him
On the cold gray days of winter.
He turned to green the trees
That stood denuded of leaves.
Imagined the gardens bare earth
Filled with Floras beauty.
The bright paint of nature
To touch leaf and flower.
In his minds eye flighty butterflies
Spread out their jewelled wings;
Uninhibited to catch of suns warmth.
He envisaged the drowsy drone of bees
Taking pollen to deposit in their hive.
Recalled to memory the birds
Whose symphony woke him at dawn.
This sustained him as he waited
For the first finger of warmth.
And springs cavalry arrived.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Egoist
I am not here to shore up your bones,
Massage your ego or give you loans.
Not here to serve you, make you feel good
I do have some feelings I'm not made of wood.
You expect silence and no complaint,
Whilst your behavior would try a saint.
Your far too demanding your standards too high,
And all to often you make weaker men cry.
So farewell to you and our your stupid fights
No more of the bad moods or sleepless nights.
Enough of your leering enough of your lust,
I won't let you force me into the dust.
So I'll leave for now and I don't wish you well
And all I can say is I'll see you to hell.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Am Gone (Stream II)
Your elliptical argument
That spins mathematical in the air,
Air vent, air wear,
So much hot air.
Vented through the vent,
Out into the atmosphere.
Adds to global warming
as you warm to your argument;
Which now becomes round,
doing the rounds.
Sounds of round vowels,
Making me howl
Like a howling dog.
Howling in the hurricane
of your torrent.
Like a Waterfall,
The water falls,
And I fall and I,
I am turned to stone,
Stoned by your medusa gaze.
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Brookes
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Wear my Skin
You want to know how it feels
Being hollowed out
Apple cored, centre lost?
You want to know how it feels
Leaking salt water
Filling oceans with tears?
You want to know how it feels
To hear your heart break
And catch the pieces in your hand?
You want to know how it feels
To have your soul rent;
Half in a grave, half out?
You want to know how it feels
To lose your gentle lover;
Your own sweet man?
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Brookes
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Over and Out
Its over.
No longer able to overawe
You try overbearing,
But I am no longer overborne.
Overselling yourself
Your overinflated ego
Overstates your case.
Overlain with sentiment
An overture of love,
Or what passes for love,
In your overlarge imagination.
You try to overpower.
Overrule my heart,
Overestimate my feelings.
So now long overdue
At last I overcome,
Am over you.
Now you overstay your welcome,
Overextend your stay.
A hangover,
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Brookes
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Words Are Cheap
Words are cheap.
Can cheapen and demean.
Meaningless they flow
Flow as cheap wine
And as sour,
They have bitter taste,
Bitter as gall,
And as galling.
Spat out rat a tat tat
They fall from rancid mouths,
dropp on to barren soil.
Ah words they can slide slowly with care,
Red and fleshy from honeyed lips.
The serpent tongued temptress
Who drips poison in the ear.
Words shouted from the chorus
The strident clamour of the crowed.
The swelling cheer that vibrates the bone.
The chatter of those who fear silence
Who fill the passing hour with endless words.
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Brookes
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Gossip (Stream XVIII)
She squirreled away her gossip
Like round brown nuts
To be savoured later
To be pulled over
And inspected
With those aged friends
With nothing better to do
And too much time on wrinkled hands,
Clawed and arthritic.
Hands that have seen hard work,
Hard times.
That held children
Or caressed husbands long gone.
Heads bent close
Their hair monuments to the coiffure's art
Shades of pink and purple
Colour rinsed.
Rinsed out.
Heads nodding
They savour each tidbit
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Brookes
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Plaintive Night
The evening lay hot and sticky.
I lay wakeful, sleepless and fretful
Drowning in the sultry heat.
The sounds of eventide drifted in
To ooze across my open window.
As I listened with attentive ear,
Each errant sound was carried to my bed
By the winds gentle proposition.
She gently trembled silken curtains to rustle.
A disembodied voice in the plaintive night,
To bring the pungent scents of the frangipan.
The chitterings of playful cicadas
In deep dark velvet midnight.
Far off a murmured accompaniment
Brought soft and low across the turgid air.
The gently whispering sound of the sea.
P H Brookes Copyright 2012
poem by Paul Brookes
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