Poet Authority Poem Terminal

A man, blind, wakes from slumber.
Night's alcohol still wreaks havoc.
He fumbles for the bedroom door.
A right turn would carry him towards his bathroom.
Ground disappears from beneath him.
At this moment he recalls meeting a woman.
The base of two flights of stairs now house his smashed up innards.

The pirate always felt undermined by his parrot.
When he issued orders his companion would often remark snidely.
Being unsure if the parrot meant what it said really affected his confidence.

She struggles for focus,
But things become clearer,
As she puts on her glasses.

Tight suits and leather boots
Between four posts bound with rope
Where muscular men
Like to grapple and grope

Chests shaved
Immaculately cleaned
Nice and smooth
For a most vibrant gleam

Glistening with oil
He flexes and broods
An audience swoons
They get in the mood

The harshest blows
Leading with fists
They love it all
Sadists and Masochists

Screams of agony
Loud pained cries
He's in deep submission
Between bulging thighs

Ten minutes are up
Everyone's spent
The audience bored
How little it meant

They finish at last
He submits to the boss
A now ailing man
Contemplates his loss

The deepest ocean
Is the soul
That catches the tears
We cry

A man sleeps.
He is disturbed
By fresh morning sun.
His eyes ball the news
And he sighs.

Light's light
Lights the way.
Light's light
Blinds us.

The king was a terrible ruler.
His posture was atrocious.
People wished he would stand up straighter.

A purposeful march is interrupted as the bag for life gives way.
Betrayed, the walker collapses to their knees.
"What kind of life was that?" they weep, observing the spillage.

The clouds
Are in
The Sky
It rains

Hello there my lover
I think you'd make a nice mother
If the kids pop out
I have no doubt
You'd raise them to love one another

A poet's silhouette emerges in the sunset,
Leans back, dreaming.
Draws a small notepad and pen,
Then cannot recall what it was thinking.

Donald Trump tries to look compassionate.
He kills some children,
Gurns and departs for golf.

He had deep and complex musings.
Described them all with poetry.
Everyone was well impressed with it.

Striding through San Francisco marvelling at his latest destination.
His gait is interrupted as he slips on a human turd,
Then trips over a homeless man,
And falls into a pile of needles.
Disappointed with finishing a week's worth of plans in 20 seconds.
He heads to the Golden Gate Bridge to end it all.

What is space?
Is it the hole in the box
Or the gap in your sock drawer
Or the stuff that surrounds a planet

He knew how to make a sausage roll.
He pushed it down a hill.
Still hungry, he wondered where he went wrong.

As she entered the darkness her imagination raced.
The switch was flipped and light filled the room.
There was nothing worth seeing anyway.

Standing naked dread enshrouds me.
Powerless to appreciate the remnants of my shower.
I realise on this cold winter morn
My towel lie forgotten in a frosty room.
Help I cry, help, and help once more.
Nobody replies for I am alone.

An old man searches for his walking stick.
Unable to find it
He chooses to run instead.
His legs buckle and he breaks both hips.

Spider-Man ran straight into a glass door.

The heroic knight rode fearlessly into battle.
He fought a mighty dragon.
The dragon ate him.

Damp on a bench in Japan,

The poet and his partner sit atop a hill in the Lake District.
Looking to the sky she points out a bird.
"Two birds" he says, spotting another in the distance.
"Yes, two birds."
They hold hands, clammy due to the effort exerted so far and continue on.
Thoughts drift towards man's inhumanity to man.
Neither mention it.