The Mechanics Of Being Human, Poetry & Prose By Paul Warren
Basics
Let's keep it simple,
the elation of over acceleration
is a constant buzz
don't over boil it,
don't threat on what could've been,
the obscene is beautiful
depending on the way you look at it,
the devils toys magnify lust
for all the wrong reasons,
complication
is the unravelling of the obvious
a post dream trip
navigate it,
beyond the system,
watch as
the basics unravel
The Hunting Lodge
seven deer heads hanging from the wall,
a carcass makes the hunter feel real
compelled to elevate himself
to uncompromising positioning
slaughtering beings
with no full-frontal cortex
you can't expect a fight back,
the gun tells the tale of the man,
he's a weak fuck,
he ain't living off the land,
his desire for blood holds
no baring to survival,
he hunts a defenceless rival
Nothing New
I fire bullets into you
these injuries don’t
signify the pain
we’ve been through,
we can drag the bones
we’ve become on the stage
until we’re numb,
ignoring the fact
we ain’t part of the scene
we’re just a has been
holding on to a dream,
you died years ago,
you can’t let go,
I think it’s best you do
you’re nothing new,
the mirror ain’t
so kind to you,
you’ve got no bite left
or credibility
you ain’t no legend
or living infamy,
you don’t bow down
to some sexless deity
or hoodwink your followers
Outer Space
a modification is taking place,
the outer space appears shrunken,
my catalyst is disfunction
a lingering desire to eject
what do you expect?
there’s only so long
you can hold the reins
before you let go again,
the life you’re presented with
can fit neatly on a microchip
there’s no substance
your life is shit,
scarred with the spoils of debt,
you’re born alone
you die alone,
your life ain’t worth it,
packaged and produced,
you try and make it fit,
living in the aftermath of a fart,
you’re being laughed at
by the members of the club
that you ain’t in,
you’re the dumb fuck
trying to make a living
trying to mould a sibling
trying to find meaning
Tiny Tales ‘Origami’
we made paper boats
wrote tiny tales
set them to sail downstream,
with hope they’d reach the sea,
stories of you and me
were etched upon the stern,
anxious
they might get lost in the night
we wrote and put to flight
tiny tales scribbled on paper planes,
to help remind us again
of the words we so often forgot
prior to setting sail on
our paper yacht,
we plotted our route
through compass,
it was too late to second guess
I didn’t want our paper plane
folding into a paper mess,
deep feelings are so perplexing,
misguiding – disaffecting,
our paper hearts had fallen apart
despite how resolute,
we fell fast back down to earth
on tiny paper parachutes,
anxious,
we’d get lost in the night
we refused to take another flight
I was hoping my origami
would guide me gracefully
through all the feelings that
have since escaped me
Countless Transactions
the downturn ain't so cheap,
I'm waiting for peak performance,
a formidable example of endurance
I just need to suss the odds
to give me some assurance,
4 legged forerunners
cantering for their lives,
only the fastest survives,
there sits the betting man
waging his weekly earnings
on the idea of deserving
something for minimal effort
all assumptions are pinned
on a loosely based hunch,
hoping too financially
elevate the credit crunch
call me later
“I’m enjoying a liquid lunch”
drinking the profits
betting on a bunch
of pissed up
kneejerk reactions
made easy through
countless
transactions
Bullshit
bitten by the largest gobshite,
it's a baseline attack,
no chance to bite back,
dualing banjos
won’t cut me some slack
perpetually inflicted
by those addicted to bullshit
Terrors
we’re never really lost for words
rarely spoken and never heard
those days gone and never forgotten
broken from the path you’ve trodden
a central point, a resting place
a lifelong forfeit, the times we waste
with age comes wisdom,
a bitterness personified,
the broken spirit of the sodomised
time will never conquer fear
it’s just a sheen that rots the veneer
tragic tales have shrunken
the ferocity of the fight
a cinematic warfare
keeping us awake at night
An Auctioning Of Lives
bombs keep falling
an auctioneer keeps calling,
highest numbers win
“check the price of the champaign
they’re swigging”
the filthy rich like to play
their part
bidding
on some fine art,
clapping
after some benign speech
about self-serving
charitable
aid relief,
it’s easy to be virtuous
when living in a park lane
penthouse,
and
all these lectures
about displacement
obliterating history
through defacement
a narrative controlled by greed
there ain’t no standing ovation
when you leave,
no delayed punishment
or reprieve
Impossible
The impossible is hard to touch,
I love the concept of impossibility so much,
trying to achieve the unachievable,
wanting to sell the unredeemable,
can you imagine painting the unfathomable
for the human eye to see,
the impossible never rests inside of me,
it's a precision demonstration of consistency
