I wake
and the world
has not changed
since last I looked
The world wakes
looks at me and says
What are you still doing there
waiting for the world to change?
(D. James)
Archive for the ‘breakfast poems’ Category
is it me or what?
In art, breakfast poems, d. james, literature, poem, poetry, writing on 12 December 2008 at 8:03 pmWhat I remember
In art, bad poetry, breakfast poems, literature, overweight champions, poem, poetry, seb, writing on 7 April 2008 at 4:55 pmWhat I remember
are images
The words are gone
and live a life of their own
They never call me nor write
but the images
are still with me
and sometimes
I do wish
they would pay rent
EL SEBBO
Mirror, mirror
In art, bad haiku, bad sex and bad breath, birthday poems, breakfast poems, literature, overweight champions, poem, poetry, seb, snuff poems, tarot poems, the queen of england, writing on 8 March 2008 at 3:54 pmEros is sore
EL SEBBO
Delicate
In art, bad haiku, bad poetry, bad sex and bad breath, birthday poems, breakfast poems, literature, overweight champions, poem, poetry, seb, snuff poems, tarot poems, the queen of england on 5 March 2008 at 6:51 amDelicate
isn’t my name
and yet I am moved
by the imbecile
gently led by his father
down the street
while screaming songs
at the top of his head
I am moved
by a white cloud
standing still
over the city
like a gentle threat
I am moved
by your breath
gently lifting the sheets
deep in the night
when I can’t sleep
Yes delicate things
move me deeply
and confirm
the rage hidden
at the core of my words
The rage of impotence,
hope and rebellion
- but not despair
Despair, you see,
is too delicate
for me
EL SEBBO
There’s no place like home
In art, bad haiku, bad poetry, birthday poems, breakfast poems, literature, overweight champions, poem, poetry, seb, snuff poems, tarot poems on 1 March 2008 at 9:59 ambut we sure wish there was
EL SEBBO
cereal killer
In art, breakfast poems, d. james, literature, overweight champions, poem, poetry, writing on 27 February 2008 at 6:28 amI shot
the box
of Rice Krispies
stabbed the
Fruit Loops
and strangled
with bare hands
the Raisin Bran
Now
there’s nothing left
for tomorrow’s breakfast
(D. James)
