July 21, 2006

the next seven poems

the next seven poems are part of a series, based around a boarding school and not necessarily in the right order. I'm sorry that they're fuzzy. I had to use picture files because of the spacing. P.S. to 'Randy eats dildos' calling a girl a 'bird' doesn't mean I'm on crack.

u


v


w


June 25, 2006

y


cuckoo

she abandoned her secret,
she threw it at me –
an eager pipet.

i hoarded it up,
waiting to crack it
in the warmth of my room.

i got all messy
in the yolk of pity,
licking my talons
to feel i was growing.

if i had nursed it
and the egg had burst open,
the bird would have carried me out of the window


June 04, 2006

x

x

We like to think of ourselves as a family

End of year leave–taking,
Down the line, tears,
Metal stairs,
Some of their nipples have swollen,
itching under their shirts.
School milk is better than
home milk.
Offering them up to be
shaken,
some of their hands are
child–sized.

February 01, 2006

Nos pensées sont dictées d’outre–mer

It was you who said we were ‘falling’
and called it ‘love’. Like the french,
an anxious government in my head
assembled a meeting, stiffening their beards
with the perfumed grease of nationalism.

“Protegez notre langue! We cannot be seen
to have our language dictated by overseas!”

they threw down their canes.

By degrees,
I developed my secret ‘franglais’ :

“Will you get me some yoghurt at the supermarket?”
browsing at ‘le supermarche’ I throw spurious spices into our trolley.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you too, baby.”


January 27, 2006

Why I Didn’t Call You After Our One Night Stand

I could smell the phone.
My lips were licked
to say "Last night”-
Mistoffiles, stalking the
vegetable patch,
slinked into my
eyeline.
Phone cord twirling
around my wrist,
I crossed to the study window…

…I could see him, rooting beneath my dying radishes, compost flying from his hurrying claws- his posterior scuffled and neck-fur buckled and did his eyes moisten? so stiffening his lucky tail hailed to the sky. his rectum tightens. the shit is produced.

He kicks over the dirt and scrams

by my vine-tomatoes, slows.
Begins to look around him, strolling through sweetpeas,
In blossom, full of philosophical wisdom.
Sidling past my rose.


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  • Nice to see these poems again, Niki. I really enjoyed reading them last year. by on this entry
  • stares by on this entry
  • okay red fish–net tights (zzz) Alice as knife… (yay) Alice as bird… (sweetie, lay off the crack)… by Rodney Eats Dildos for Dinner on this entry
  • Put link between the exclaimation marks. by on this entry
  • Is that the poem in your gallery? If so, i have to say i love it, except for the last three lines. Y… by on this entry

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