January 2012
1 post
Strings.
A twinkle on a guitar
Like strumming on a star.
My giant.
Talks like he has the whole universe
In his hands.
I don’t understand,
I say it’s perverse
To allow yourself that much power.
I cower at the thought.
Swallow and blink
And think.
Perhaps such an ambitious vein
Is not for me. It’s insane to see
A lion with a mouse,
Together, playing house,
Like one won’t eat the other,
Like the other...
December 2011
1 post
T.S Eliot, The Waste Land.
Analysing T.S Eliot’s poem, The Waste Land, turned to regurgitating his clever words into a poem of my own. He’s busy taking ideas from Greek mythology and Shakespeare so I saw no harm. And besides, what better way to procrastinate? A friend of the dead land My heart was thriving on memory And desire. But I… Had grown forgetful. Regretful. Had I failed? I wailed in the silence...
October 2011
2 posts
Proper English Cider
Pee the colour of green tea you and me baby, this is forever.
Stumble, fall, giggle, dignity - you and me baby, let’s fight,
Because right now is nothing to do with ten minutes away.
On the street in bare feet you’re sweet saying, darling,
“You’re drunk.
Let’s just go home.”
And I push you I shove you I kiss you and I
Stumble, fall, giggle, dignity - you and me baby let’s fight,
...
Granddad.
I just can’t write anything
That sounds like you.
I can’t say anything
That rings honest and true,
Other than,
“We all loved you”
- But the tense is all wrong.
It’s like the words of a song
Sung to a beat that is long
Since gone.
My darling Granddad.
Whose voice I play in my head for the joy
That I still hear it.
Whose kiss I remember on my cheek and smile
Because I still feel it.
Whose...
September 2011
2 posts
Dusk.
Light Blue.
It’s a cleansing thought
To know that I fought -
Blue.
With all that I’ve been taught
To keep what I sought –
Navy.
And I ought
Never to have lost so I pulled taut –
Ink.
The strings of the sort
Of love I didn’t expect to be brought –
Black.
To nought.
I sat for a while at the desk in my new bedroom and thought a thousand things, all the while the sky got darker and darker and...
Silence the Silence.
The first line is inspired by the sound of keys clinking back onto their hook in the kitchen, heard from my seat of solitude on the sofa. The rest is up to you.
A clinking of keys
Eases the noise in my ears.
Distracted by the light
In your homecoming,
I miss my cue.
I kiss you, I hold you, I cry at your side
In my mind a million times –
“Baby, where’s the love?
Dreaming again – sweet...
July 2011
6 posts
Welcome mat.
Flowers on my doorstep
Crying and screaming don’t stop
Feeling the way I do
About you.
Happy heart;
Always at the start when being apart
Is the suppression of a work of art.
So I stifle my complacency,
Match your eccentricity
And lift these petals from the welcome mat
Loving that
Not a single one falls to our feet.
Fresh. Clean. New.
I close the door.
Pause.
What are the words we say in the hours spent
Not zipped to each other’s sides?
I maintain my own inconsequential thoughts.
A person born into a world
Must remain a person of that world.
If I become you
And you become I
There is indefinable blurring
Between a knee and an eye.
But what if I miss you?
I eat my apple. I drink my water.
I sleep I smile I dream for a while.
Closed eyelids
Enhance...
Lost.
We get better every day;
Better at getting worse.
We jest and we joke,
We speculate and poke
At everyone’s insecurities it’s true:
There’s more to this room
Than just me and you.
“Love, when did we last love?
When did your skin
Last feel like the only skin?
The only heart I’d ever touched?
Where did our sweet, sultry
Pandemonium
Escalate to?”
Your leaving is so unfunny
I can’t even laugh.
I...
Stella Artois.
Instead what I did was,
I watched from the top of a striking red bus
A picture of what should have been us
Holding and smouldering in one another’s grasp
But instead was just you. My poor fool.
A flash of confusion, a flash of hurt.
Check your watch beneath the sleeve of your shirt.
Check your phone, dial tone.
I laugh at my teardrops, I cry through the rain.
But if you were me, wouldn’t you try...
Stop.
So therefore, walk no more and breathe.
Take a seat, take a bench,
And mention no more
The tiredness you feel.
“The grass is really green.”
I see that you have seen
That there’s a world out here,
That there’s more out here
Than work,
Than people,
Than you.
“It’s true.”
And sure, it’s all important too,
But remember gentle lady
That this is not all you do.
So talk when you’re steady, walk when...
June 2011
4 posts
17/6/11
Life is hard.
Living is harder.
Learning to live is hardest of all.
Just. Like. That.
He calls me ‘Sweetpea’
and smoothes my hair.
He leaves my yearning bed
That tonight I will not share.
A gap with a voice
And an ugly, empty face,
Personified and taunting
When he does not fill the space.
So the night is bleak
Until at last we speak
To make another tweak
To repair the proverbial leak.
“I think and I feel…”
…And I’d really love”
“For you and for me…”
“When push comes to...
May 2011
8 posts
Who's Saving Who?
You’re everything I don’t expect
And everything I hope you’ll be.
You say so many words except
The ones said too often to me
Of gushing and loving and yearning
And moaning and groaning and honing
And so demanding, reprimanding
Dissaproving, too approving.
I’ve been loved too long
By minds that are too strong
In egotistical claims
That it is always I who is to blame
For my downfalls.
For our...
Faraway Tower
Dead of night meets
My darkest hour.
A clock keeps ticking
In a faraway tower.
Tomorrow that ticking nears
My ears,
There’ll be tears
Struck by fears
No one hears
Except for you, my love.
But the seconds pass
And the feeling stays still.
You do not appear
And it’s not for lack of will
Or want on my part.
Where do I start…
From the heart?
Like a dart
That I can’t
Possibly dare to throw.
Art of a Broken Heart
If I were an artist would I be drawn to you?
Could she be reduced to rubber swept idly onto the floor?
Would we be coloured in reds and purples,
Drawn in beds and steeples,
Painted in heads and fables?
Pulled into a glueing and sticking and permanent fixing?
I place us in a frame.
“A true masterpiece!” they cry.
“Do not touch” signs are at our sides.
Untouchable, but what is the meaning
Of his...
Sandpaper
What is it to walk without
One hand forever in your pocket?
The cinematic showing in your mind
Always this paving slab road,
drain cover road, paving slab code?
Who is it who hears words besides
those spoken softly into another’s ears?
Where is it now,
That aquamarine childhood scene,
Today my world is as green
As the grass my friend dared me to eat.
And I did not admit defeat.
Five a day, a...
For a Night That's Quiet
On one night in a million did we sit
Hip to hip, foot to foot,
Head to shoulder, wrist to thumb
And for one second did I feel your pulse…
Or was it mine?
For the sake of the ache I feel
To come to know you better than you do,
I say that the rhythmic beating
Under layers of skin that a heart is heating belongs to you.
Barely moving. Insatiably soothing.
Like children we are...
Tube Transport Tango
Rogue feelings circulate
A small expanse of space.
A large compartment, we face
Each other and inwardly glare,
As we outwardly stare,
Outnumbering each other ten to
One lonely being.
Who’s happy? I stand up and ask.
Raise your forthright hand
And laugh
If it is glee you really feel
In your heart today!
Do not follow suit with the suit
With his paper and nice suit!
He taps his foot....
Coffee Cup Moneybox
Empty days of one big question mark
Open a curtain, illuminate the dark.
Take a walk, in a big open park.
The reality of life stands up too stark.
Find a new exciting book
Hang your coat up on the hook
Lie on a sofa take a look
Not as good as the walk you took.
So spend time drinking wine
Pretend the brand is fine
That your alcoholism is borderline
My problems are mine, only mine.
But to...
Always More Dance
It’s s a burning, piercing, tranquil feeling.
Your soul is blue but you feel it healing.
It’s a shoe tied tight on a dancer kneeling -
A feeling.
Of movement and joy
That only dance can employ
Simultaneously
But too famously
So that those to whom it means
So much it’s hurting at the seams
…may never make it.
But why? They cry.
As muscle burns into the shape of a scar
As the distance to improve...