Tag: Poetry

Many Things Are Disgusting

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

Many things are disgusting
but a rotting corpse is not one
trust me it’s just as pretty and serene
as wild flowers or the sun

Nothing like the tragedy of birth
or the trauma of life
the need to fit labels
navigate mourning and strife

Many things are disgusting
but not a smiling skull looking up to the sky
it’s realised its one with all the stars and all the entities
no longer caught in the existential trap of asking ‘why?’

Many things are disgusting
like the gentlemen in Giorgio Armani suits and Ted Baker shirts
pissed at 3am in Subway, hurling misogynistic and islamophobic abuse
at the girl behind the counter, peering up her skirt

She would be mad but she’s okay
she woke up this morning after a dream of a dear, dead friend
she woke up this morning and realised she’s God
‘so are these tossers’ she thinks
just less awake and less aware

A Place Where He Speaks

~ Yanagi Studios

By Thomas Caterer

How quickly the days became months and then years
My continued crisis a vile tribute to my base fears
In the immediacy of your premature death
I was confined by piteous concerns of ego
In my dull stomach a regret stirred, numbed by tears

In the final few months as we watched you decay, I played the mother
Preparing your meals, only for them to be abandoned, one after another
You shared the tales of your trips, speaking to gods in a sea of colour and light
An innate need to dispel fright, to accept death, you’d lost a friend too
We discussed the mutual fear in the dead of night, of the dark that will smother

I can only hope you found peace after your last breath
I wish that we could hug now and talk of death
As we did in dreary, rain-sodden nights in feckless England
I know we were both troubled by the silence of God
I hope you found a place where he speaks…

Nothing Remains

~ Yanagi Studios

By Ernest M. Judd

I looked upon a formidable ruin on a hill, a landmark in the sky.

The power resonates all around.

The lords who fought over this land and built its walls no longer here or known.

On top of the hill what a mighty sight.

Sea and islands all around.

Of the castle fortress nothing remains but one small tower, bleach white in the blaring sun.

The power has dwindled, people gather not to see the power of the lords, but the beauty of the trees and mountains.

Of the castle fortress nothing remains.

From that spot on the hill history is imagined.

Powerful lords still cry out look at this mighty fortress, my enemies know not to anger me, my friends know my worth, beware of me.

But of the castle fortress nothing remains.