Paul Brookes Poems

The silver spoon in your mouth was spat out, but the taste remained
but then you were always good at pretending, an under cover guy.
chameleon from thence to now wearing perfect disguises.
...

time liquid drips like bright pearl tears making hard rock weep.
fluxing elastic ever exponential moments, minutes, months, years
like eternities breathing outward its soft rhythm is our daily round.
...

they burned books in the square
words winging heaven wards,
angels tears dried in the heat
scalding in the rage from below.
...

no one is interested in your old war, she said,
no one wants to know the millions dead.
we want to move on, move on into a new reality
and poppy petals floated on the wind
...

Editing life like reels of film
subjective steamlining sessions
expurgaters, leaving snippets on the floor,
sweeping them to the corners of memory.
...

moon lit mausoleums mute, grave thoughts on grave thoughts,
graven names multitudinousmagnum opuses written large in Gothic script.

gravel crunched paths weave between angel wings and dying wreaths
...

find a windmill to tilt
a windmill for tilting
windmill tilting sky high boom
a pilgrim to amusement
...

passing..... a little euphemism for death,
mild or indirect words, we skirt the truth,
dead is dead but that's not you.
...