This is another old poem:

Puppet Dancing

Vision 1

Little puppet on a string
Poor dancing weeping thing
Dance but do you want to?
Puppet master makes you

A puppet drops and lands
Free of controlling hands
Moving on his own now
Puppet can choose to bow

Puppet laughs smiles and dances
Giving us coy little glances
Puppet stops dead and screams
Freedom occurs in dreams

Little screaming mannikin
Regrets all that he’s been
What a fear filled little thing
Is a puppet on a string

Wooden toy dancing here
What is it that you fear?
Solemn face and dead eyes
Dying little lord of lies

Vision 2

A puppet cannot cry
No puppet you or I
Puppet is a little toy
Puppet can feel no joy

If a puppet’s string should break
Will that puppet then awake?
And when a puppet string is mended
A puppet’s freedom then is ended

Vision 3

Puppet dancing on a string
Poor little dancing weeping thing
Puppet dancing all alone
Magic life that’s all its own

Puppet dancing on a string
Poor helpless hopeless little thing
It knows it’s got a master
Its tears are falling faster.

© bardofupton 2018

Another old poem:

was it you I spoke to last night?
after the sun was gone, vanished
into/over the horizon and the stars shone
twinkle twinkle through the dark
someone came through the surf towards
me as I lay whispering your name in the sand
someone touched me and held me, kissed me and stroked me
as I cried over/for you
someone comforted me there on the beach
murmuring sounds of warmth into my neck
giving me strength and solace
I clung, wept, whispered my fears, hopes, desires
someone talked me through the night
holding me down to that place/time
someone vanished before dawn, slipping
from my grasp, running with the waves in/to
the dark, leaving me to the sunrise
and melancholy birds and I need to know
who held me, caressed me with strong hands,
wiped away my tears, all that long long night and…
was it you I spoke to last night?

© bardofupton 2018

Another old poem:

you talk about tragedy in cold edged words
time erodes feeling and erases pain
quietly infusing history into agony
pacing silently up and down to talk of death
you remove the horror with spidersilk words
and remake the past with a theory
screams lie dead behind your voice
rustling paper covers torment
with dry cough
with dry words
and the soft voice’s murmur of disaster
silence stuns us as we sit
hear your voice unfolding violence
blood is bleached in black and white
but pain can still tear us
you talk about history with knife edged words
that slash and draw no blood
a judgement passed on
a lesson taught
about the voiceless dead
whose story you wrap in loaded words
a stone cast against the State.

© bardofupton 2018

Another old poem:

The forest is burning
Fire on water
Flame on ice
Cold heat
Wet flame
The forest is burning
The birds are in flight
Fear and freedom
And severed ties
The forest is burning
And nothing is changing
And everything burns
In the reflected fire
The fire within
That echoes the fire without.

© bardofupton 2018

This one was written about 4 years ago:

if i had known it was
the last time
would i have still been angry
or would i have made the effort
to say 
i loved you?

if
	i
		had
k
 n
   o
     w
        n
would it have been different?

if i had known
would you be here still
or would i lose you anyway?

if i had known
would you 
would you
would you?

if i had known
i
	would
		have 
			said 
				something
wouldn't i?

© bardofupton 2018