Poison

•March 10, 2016 • Leave a Comment

King Street
 Thursday night
It’s early
 A girl walks by
She smells like…
 times gone by
You panic
Then play on
Whifts become drafts
 and scents of songs
Five thousands steps
 and then plus some
Flinders Street
 Still Thursday night
  but a little more
The people past
 walking through doors
…Out the same way
What to do tonight?
But restitch names
 to faces and name
  your poison

March 2016 Derek Wilson

Sound waves

•April 9, 2015 • Leave a Comment

I write your name in the air
With my hands
To occupy them
Because they are not occupied
By you, right now
And are restless

I whisper you name in the night
To the moon
With my lips
Because they are not upon
Your own, right now
And are naked

I read your name on the screen
With my eyes
To rest them
Because they are tired of not
Seeing you, right now
And are seeking

I hear your name play along
To these songs
With my ears
Because they are not near you
But listening, right now
And hear music

April 2015 Derek Wilson

Beggars

•March 16, 2015 • Leave a Comment

She hangs her head, tears spill down
Curious, weird, not hitting the ground
But caught by the air and flown away
It’s windy today, a little too cold
She shivers
If only it were only
The weather
The comfort I offer is also cold it seems
Shivering wet from its own tears

“You know how when you’re trying to avoid something?
Telling yourself ‘I must steer clear of that’ –
It ends up kind of making you do it”
Says the barber, scissors snapping in the air.

I walk out down Bond St.
The business end of the
Monopoly board
Trying to buy a hotel
Should have tucked my empty pockets in
They saw me coming
And were snickering

If I had a million dollars
For every one of those tears…
If I I knew how to drive
Or at least, how to steer
“Can you spare a dollar, mister?”
Sorry mate, not today
A blanket, a bottle
If I knew how to trust
If I knew how to beg
Or at least, how to busk…

March 2015 Derek Wilson

Fare Well

•March 9, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Ah, here we are again
Concrete, linoleum
And bad black coffee

Sunglasses, boarding pass
Time travelling too fast
Broken landing gear

Scanning the terminal
Waiting for time will tell
Escher, Picasso

Slipping too easily
Swung like a chimpanzee
Singing in slow-mo

It rains through the window
Shatter, ka-ching, bellow
And breakfast with beer

Nothing to see at all
Launching, the fling, the fall
Nothing to see here

In depth like an ocean
What could we do but sing
Just like believers

Nothing is terminal
That doesn’t end it all
See how we’re waving?

March 2015 Derek Wilson

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

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/