Poem – “No Concentration”

No Concentration

You strive to stay mellow, stay chill
A will all-important, an impossible achievement
When a cacophony’s always storming your way
No concentration, no focus, no cerebral strength
An antithesis of thought, you can’t breathe
Your brothers are so afraid of silence, its phantoms,
That their cowardice might be the end of you

Copyright ©2019 S. M. Shuford
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Poem – “A Rabid Distressor”

A Rabid Distressor

He shivers through the fog of night
A rage-mad animal on the prowl
He is not a man nor his phantom,
Only a rabid distressor bearing gifts
Which are little more than arsenic
Concealed in the globe of a night terror

Copyright ©2019 S. M. Shuford
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Poem – “Upstairs”

Upstairs

Look alive, here they come creeping
Can you hear their parade of legs come skulking
Open your heart for the final hour of prayer
Here they come, better watch your little spine
Here they come stalking down the stairs with
Baskets full of heads, lullabies in reverse time
Look alive, look alive,
Playing dead in shallow corners
Here they come again tonight

Copyright ©2019 S. M. Shuford
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Poem – “Anxious, Anxious”

Anxious, Anxious

Trying to entrance myself into believing
That it isn’t a major ordeal at all,
That there’s no needle-teeth lurking beneath
Everything I try to hold in reverence
And it’s not true that it means nothing at all
But it’s a pit of vipers under its skin

Anxious, anxious
I don’t know what’s lying
But I know you mean harm
Underneath your surface
Anxious, anxious
What it is, it never is
All a pit of snakes in waiting

Copyright ©2019 S. M. Shuford
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Poem – “Suspicion”

Suspicion

Shadow against the window,
Shadow framed within the screen
Shadow at the door’s edge
Shadow stalking in a dream

Who are you, I never ask
Who am I to be your vision,
Who are you to be the hunter
Who am I to sense suspicion

Copyright ©2019 S. M. Shuford
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Poem – “Last Dreamtime”

Last Dreamtime

Sap of blood spun from your branches,
Mother of the vanishing dreamers,
Take me far from here where I shall suffer forever
Mother of the fluid blossom, take me home
I know there are no sacred houses in your hour
And I will be safe from the human judgment
Mother of delusion, there is no organic pain with you
Never more shall I feel my intestine, slowly dying
Struggling to be free from a body of anxiety

©S. M. Shuford 2018
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