Saturday, 23 December 2017

3. Emptier Kids, a poem by Adam Common

3. Your room seemed to hollow then;
Walls further apart that before,
The corners darker,
And much more of a home.

We watched films, while
I watched you thin

And we were emptier kids, pale and shallow,
Waiting time away, because
Just because. What else was there?
What useful time remained?

And man, didn’t you show me
How precious time could be?

Wednesday, 20 December 2017

Triversen #1, a poem by Adam Common

You choleric breath offends me;
Twists once happier guts
Around its vicious screws.

Your relentless mard-arsed stare
Burns only at the walls,
And creeps heat through the edges.

Fidgeting work hewn fingers
Plays tiny little moves
In a pointless, losing game.

Daylight quickly fails.
Sentiment follows the sun,
Vanishing beyond the horizon.

Four in the morning sprints close.
Bundled quilt between us.
I sense your eyes still open.

Nothing good comes of silence.
Our apologies rankle and itch,
Bothering our stubborn bones.

Exhaustion leads to sleep.
Dreams of a phantom always;
A promise meant to keep.

Morning light repairs all wounds.
The bitter engine out of gas, so
We're back to smiles and kisses.

We heal strong, once our vexing love
Has blown an angry load
That turns waning days to ash.


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Saturday, 2 December 2017

Tattered King on a Brick Road, a poem by Adam Common, poet

Well worn, the bricks aren't solid colour,
Their standard terracotta insides show,
Hinting at many dark, obsessive hours
Spent painting yellow the miles long road.

Who laid out your chaotic cobblestones,
Your impossible looking layout,
Bending thoughts away from a need to rest,
Casting the surrounding beauty in doubt.

After all, there is nothing but this road,
This winding way through hills and growling woods,
Whose path must not be left; Can not be left,
'Til an end that must be reached for ill or good.

In the distance, I see the tower
And all that lies between us on the way.
I see the man; the tattered, bandaged man,
With his paper crown and skin stained grey.

I see the puddles of rusty rain,
Set to stain these worn white shoes ruby red.
I see him crouched, brush in hand, stroking the bricks
'Til he would deem every yellowed stone repaired.

Wednesday, 29 November 2017

1. Wilder Kids & 2. Quieter Kids, a poem by Adam Common, poet

1. You’d lift your skirt to your knees
To make the climbing easier.
Your hands were rough,
And your face all smudged up;

Grass in your stupid hair,
And in my stupid hair.

We were wilder kids, dumb ‘n dopey,
Smarter than the smart, because
Just because. And we could run,
And fight, fly, and fail, and fall.

And man, didn’t you show me
How to fall the hardest.

***

2. The crash and wallop turned ache,
The longer kind of unhappy days.
Your skin was cool
And your face all washed out.

Tired, you slept days away,
I waited days away

And we were quieter kids, sad and sorry,
Drifting ignorant, because
Just because. What did we know?
What hope could hope provide?

And man didn’t you show me
How hopeless I could be?

Saturday, 25 November 2017

Down by the river, a poem by Adam Common, poet

On a flat-broke day in Spring,
I skipped sideways down the hillock
To search through the busted back of
A burnt-out stolen Volkswagen,
Once dumped unceremoniously
Down by the river, next to the tree.
I found a wet, old raz-mag,
And a bag with the bones of a dog in it,
Which made me quite upset,
I sold both to some other kids,
And bought myself a "Caramac,"
Which I'd never tried before
And tasted so sickly and vile
That when the company went away,
I celebrated with a Dairy Milk.
Year on year it sank deeper,
Collecting rain, and new tossed treasures
In its spacious, family-sized boot.
Like a time capsule it filled, until
I skipped sideways down the hillock
And found a hole, partly filled
With gravel and river water,
And giant tire tracks leading away
To a place I couldn't follow.