Dark Lady Poetry - Paul Grimsley




Paul Grimsley






i paralysed myself intentionally
this cat and mouse game extended
pushed to lengths of infinity chess board
we compartmentalise into a division of eyes
of i, and different perspectives
funhouse mirror directives that work us divergent
broken apart where the decision forks the road
for one room a mask; for the other a shadow

and later, when the script demands consolidation
i am picking shards with careful fingers
and laying them aside in tiny piles
like needle sharp smiles scattered
poking around and pushing for the gestalt
while the broken calculator gives back wrong answers
i cannot collect myself, together
pulled and pushed and left like tide borne debris

they watch from the outside
throwing voices into this echo farm
trying to pull narcissus from the snail shell
extricate from the downward spiral
but the winding staircase collapses
looking at myself ahead, behind
my travelingunraveling mind
sat amongst the fragments laughing loosely





Empty Phrasing



poets and prophets of nothing
all your dog end days and ramblings
stubbed out in the ashtray smoking
debris in the beer floating
it collects in the veins, that crap
works to change the inner workings
rust in an over wound clock
that ticks as a bomb until disintegration

our words scrawled on the wax tablet
our thoughts erased on the cold morning
philosophies dredged from the beer mug
vagaries gathered from the shaman's drug
all our vision quests are on an in the maze centre
all these failed attempts to cut the umbilical
inertia push from the centrifugal impetus of
mother spinning like a lynchpin in your world

Freud would be proud of your denial
all the chauvinists stood on trial
with their crocodile tears standing stagnant
anything real in them left dormant
they might make a stab at real some day
with their flaccid pricks in their hands
surrounded by empty bottles
taking a piss test because of some low rent whore



Voices Breaking 


some voices are lost in the passage of time
others shatter in brittle instants
the fragile beauty tested, stressed
pushed to the limits of a straining note
that no one can hold
it is the resonant frequency of dissemble

we waited to hear what was left to say
but the half formed alphabet soup
is a gobbledygook of nothing
an incoherent suffering leaking out
to stain the other pages
to provide an unwanted footnote




Made in the UK, remade in the USA (with better technology), the writing machine that is Paul Grimsley, rolled off the assembly lines with reinforced titanium fingertips in order to facilitate the prolific output for which he is noted.

He currently has twenty poetry books published and two collections of short stories, all available from