1. Escape the trap

    Stop being so realistic,
    it’s making us sick.
    Like we can’t do
    all the things that we think.
    But then you tell us
    that the world is changing,
    that we’re global at heart;
    when at the same time
    you’re telling us to smother the spark.
    As if a nice idea
    was a dangerous thing,
    we’ve all made mistakes
    and many make them again.
    But if we don’t dream
    we don’t stream,
    we just buffer;
    which we all hate
    so let’s think free,
    believe, and discover.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  2. Autumn dragons

    It’s cold now the chill’s here,
    greys mixed in dark blues;
    crisp air cuts at raw throats,
    lends itself to exhalation
    when the time comes.

    And when the time comes,
    oh, when the time comes;
    it appears like a cloud
    made of fine mist,
    your soul’s smoke.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  3. To not be or not to not be

    Don’t need to be what not you are
    to know what not you aren’t
    or be what you were.

    Don’t need to be what else they ain’t
    or be not quite what they weren’t
    if they were or not.

    Don’t need to be what it is you’re not
    to be not known for nothing
    is most meaningless.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  4. Losing’s wasted hours

    Ran a bath
    but let it cold.
    No energy
    to sit in stillness
    I’d rather
    pour my soul
    out to
    I don’t know.

    I’m abbreviated,
    I’m not inebriated.
    I’m alleviated.
    You won’t ever
    cut me down.

    Ironed out
    at last my dream;
    saw it whither
    in the steam,
    Passing by
    my face
    as air.
    It’s over
    now I’m done.

    All that hope
    that’s left unsung.
    Hours pass
    but nothing’s won.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  5. Cold coming on

    Twist me
    spin the juices
    from the skin
    let the bitterness
    to glasses
    full of ice-cold shandy
    which abbreviate
    my downfall
    surely as if they
    were commas
    dropped in Everglades
    for the alligators
    to polish off

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  6. Flowers, roses they say

    Was it ever worth it?
    Your biological indulgence
    and your pride.

    Some goal, they reinforced
    with a world of expectation
    and an attitude of delirium.

    But it’s not even the point,
    and it’s not even the thing you need.
    It’s not the thing you crave the most.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  7. It’s all relative, I know

    Just as the melody destroys you
    so will the Earth
    fold itself upon you
    and tears will become glue.

    Trusted my face to turn me into the sunshine,
    but I should have turned instead with your shadow
    as a proxy
    for my own ideal of truth.

    This is some fifth dimension,
    some primordial expression
    of the only the hope I have.

    As trust blinds mortals with indecision
    so words surround me and cloud my vision.
    But it’s no starred story,
    it’s a long drag.
    It’s a killing field of emotion.

    Well it does not mean a thing,
    as all we are whining, whining
    and privileged.
    Under the sun we cry,
    but we would cry anyway.
    Wherever we were.

    Surround me
    with your blank expression
    I need your face
    in my direct vision.

    And I can’t breathe,
    and I can’t step closer
    to reality
    before I have that sight in my eyes.

    Waiting on the end game,
    as time ticks by.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  8. Parted ways

    Back where that kiss came down
    shocks of thunder
    smacked me to the ground.
    Like your lips concealed
    a neutron bomb
    got numbed so bad
    I could not even feel it.

    Now it’s gone and faded
    just a second
    like my memory had made it
    into an act so major
    for you was minor;
    an inconvenience,
    a slightly mistimed error.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  9. Perpetual re-entry

    I know exactly how bad this is going to be. As you inspired something, like another inspired me. Though we’re simply on the cusp of lost and not yet fallen through, to the world of all dropped graces where the fish float upside too. You were mourning for yourself again before you even died, you were turning into dust again before you dried your eyes. And the touch that brought you back to life was sparked by accident, you can’t read inside the minds of those whose presence you reject. As a lifetime of your self-deceit has not revealed by now, you can put things in an envelope but it doesn’t make them vows. And just because you think yourself be good as good can be, let me tell you from experience, it’s not in thought but just in deed. And the deeds you do be not that great though sometimes not so bad, and in certain times be terrible so does that make you sad? Well it ought to but it isn’t that, it’s the chipping at your soul. As you know you’re not that great deep down and through the mask it shows. Your confidence, your lack of poise, your physical misuse, are a symptom of a mindset that is not yet breaking through. To win’s a verb, the prize a noun and spirit noun as well. Beats me to find an adjective, lying spiritlike in hell.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014

  10. "You’re so naive!" they cry, as hammers fall a thousand times, I caught you in the larder with a malt slice lashed in jam

    How I wish that we did not
    have to qualify
    every little thing we do
    with words and explanations.

    How I wish that we could just
    simply signpost
    every simple little feeling
    without judgement coming down.

    Copyright Mark Manchester 2014