Boomerang

•January 31, 2015 • Leave a Comment

 

This Christmas night, how still we are

Lain in sand, orphaned, loved and landed

As she, amongst the waves, beckons

With a raised hand; the tempting sea

 

We sing like there is nothing better to do

Except dance; and vice versa

Somewhere around the second verse

We were hooked, on loop, unable

To stop the music

 

We put on these things, finery

Of a fashion, reality woven like tartan

Our fabric tears a little and

Bears more, and wears

 

We talk so long into the morning

That now, even the night is yawning

So off with us all, we fly, away

And one may wish, and one may stay

But really, who was ever here anyway?

 

We dance that dance, sing that song

And in these things we may belong

 

January 2015 Derek Wilson

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I believe in dog

•January 30, 2015 • Leave a Comment

 

Twinkle, twinkle, it’s hard to imagine

A life from now on without this pageant

Sparkle, sparkle, it’s hard to believe

That life goes on without this meme

 

Chuckle, chuckle, my years on earth

Have never been so weighted with mirth

Laughter and tears drawn from the same well

We clowns cry of heaven while juggling hell

 

January 2015 Derek Wilson

Bluebell With A Broken Heart. The Sequel.

•January 3, 2015 • 2 Comments

 
All my friends have broken apart
I wrote them into neat poems and verse
Imbued them with sparkle, tried to lift the curse
But their passion just floundered and the pain got worse
And the misunderstanding, the reasoning too
All my friends have nothing to do
With what it seems they’re going through
They are all algorithms, all computations
Mathematical theoretications
Abstracts of skin and the blood they are shedding
A précis of love and the mores they’re wedding
Superglued down to a few circuit boards
They are bored, but hairy, hungry and tired
Defying the digital with their unfocused eyes
All my friends have new ways to die

 
Now they know the words, sometimes sing along
But none of my friends want to be in my songs
They’re all about heartbreak, suffering and truth
All my friends want nothing to do with me
No time to spare, no time to wait
No time to sing sea shanties into the night
The ether, the ever, the over and over
The counterpoint cascades
The carefully constructed charade
The parade of characters
And the cast, the extras, the chorus, the choir
All my friends slowly slip away
With nothing to speak about
Nothing to say, no requirements
None of my friends want to live my curse
Yet they happily wave as the hearse pulls away
Hoping they never get to see me this way

 
All my friends
Know who they are
They scratch the itch
And ignore the scar

 
January 2015 Derek Wilson

 
A response, of sorts, to this from 2008:

http://delboywilson.com/2009/04/04/bluebell-with-a-broken-heart/

Better The Angel You Know

•December 17, 2014 • Leave a Comment
The devil on my shoulder
Whispers softly, “walk this way…”
Then she’s off, flies away
But she sways, I may stray
So do I follow or do I stay?
Is she the yea or the nay?
What is she trying to say?
And why would she tempt me like this?
With promises, theft, a giggle, a kiss
A brush of freedom, a hint of bliss
Then a lie, a fist, a head shaken thus
Derision, distrust, delusion
I’ll walk in a straight line to prove I am right
I’ll walk a crooked mile to prove that the only thing new
Is the numbers that move on the squares of paper
That present us with the present and correct date
I’ll wait and wait and I’ll stay up late
I’ll sing little tunes while dancing in rooms
Too small for my moves
But at least I dance
At least I sing melody and romance
And kind of obsess on themes
Of temptation and roads to redemption
And stitch together wings out of
Old denim, guitar strings and things
And flap them against those
Lofty ideals, that wise men
Idolise and lesser men lionise
At least, when I fall
I’ll know it wasn’t all in vain
That deserting little angel
Can be heard to take up my refrain
And off she hums into the rain
To find a new shoulder
“Follow me, walk this way”.
So much to do, so little to say

December 2014 Derek Wilson

Sputnik 1

•December 8, 2014 • Leave a Comment
Catch a falling heart and put it in a rocket
Shoot it into outer space
Clutch a broken heart and put it in your pocket
Save it from the human race
 –
December 2014 (thieved by) Derek Wilson

Like that time we ran away

•December 7, 2014 • Leave a Comment
Or like that time we met in the east, then the west
We were both a little disaffected
Disoriented and somewhat different too
You turned to me and looked at me and said to me
You were meant for me
And I said to you that I was never meant for you
You turned towards me, looked at me and said again
You were meant for me
And I said, I said that I was never meant for you
But what’s a girl supposed to do?
What’s a girl supposed to do?
Like that time we walked in the freezing cold
Through metres of snow up the side of a volcano
And wanted to throw ourselves over the rim
But the snow was too deep and the wind was too cold
The trails were all closed and our batteries were dying
You didn’t have sunglasses on and my boots were wearing thin
You weren’t wearing any shades and my boots had holes in them
Like that time the sun set over Harajuku
We were in the garden above the city
And it was freezing there too
Seemed like all the world was frozen
Except your tears that never stopped flowing
And I was slipping on the ice they were forming
Falling over the railing down to the streets
Where I became a curiosity
People came to stare at me
They covered my body in bright fluoro green
A goth placed a black kiss upon my lips
Made the sign of the cross and then disappeared
December 2014 Derek Wilson

A night at The Provista Hotel

•December 2, 2014 • Leave a Comment

Did I ever tell you about that time
She fell briefly in love with that guy at work
Who was never going to let her be
Anything more than anything
And, he couldn’t speak her language?

So, now she’s standing outside that hotel
With a beer in one hand
Taking a photo with the other eye
Wondering why
What is she doing here?
She looks up at her old room
As if the ache in her hopes to see
Her years-ago self looking down

She shouts up a couple of questions
After getting over the initial shock…
But what she really wants to ask is
“What the hell were you thinking back then?”
But who can remember?
Who can ever remember?

She retraces old steps, back under a bridge
Past an old iron-and-brick fence
Surrounding fir trees
Aged concrete, all so familiar
How many times did she do this?
And why is it so important to do again now?

It is as if somehow
There was so much noise back then
That she couldn’t see.
But the question is.
And when years-ago asks her,
Who is she?

December 2014 Derek Wilson