Scuttle

At night the insects scuttle about. 

-Job

Poem: Drunken Bicycle

This poem is true, more or less…

Drunken Bicycle

As I fell out upon the street
The crescent moon I caught asleep
A whiskey mood controlled my feet
As I shuffled home to its broken beat
The roads and paths seemed to spin
I wondered would I get home again
Trees and bushes seemed to speak
Dark visions to haunt my sleep
Headlamps on the cars they shone
An omen of oblivion
Till I came to my neighbour’s door
And stole his bike to take me home
I cycled out and I cycled in
The road kept up its evil spin
Then up ahead a saw the sign
My sweet village of Palatine
The village fell in a steep incline
I said a prayer and cursed the time
And made my way down the hill
Falling fast and wobbling still
But one thing that I failed to see
A sixty sign in front of me
Next thing I’m laid out
Stars above with the ditch about
And the first thing that occurs to me
Is have I lost my property?
With no thought for the bike or me
Broken bones or injury
I crawled out of the ditch that night
And pushed the bike with all my might
It wasn’t as it used to be
The wheel was bent into a C
I fell to sleep and thanked my luck
Till next morning when I woke up
I had to walk the bike to town
And explain to my friend what I’d
He took it hard and that is sure
He’s not a friend to me anymore
And I’ve decided from now on
I won’t cycle drunk in the dark alone.

J.O’Brien

A New Year, a new poem

This poem was my attempt to work with rhyme. It tells a story of the prideful night and the peaceful sun.
Here’s to a prosperous new year of writing in 2014.

The Night’s Pride

On this day as any day
the sun rose,
and later closed,
it’s heavy eye
and breathed a sigh.

And so it was
that night rose,
black as crows in heavy rain.

He mocked the moon,
and mocked the tide,
but held the stars
as his pride.

And laughed at men
who gazed in awe,
at what he alone
could call his own.

J.O’Brien