May 02, 2010

He never saw it coming…

Stupidly balanced wine glasses

On stupid thin stems

Toppling

       Sliding

           Avalanching

                 From the tray

Onto his unsuspecting shoulders

In an arpeggio of suspense.

Shards of surprise

Flying from his back.

My face flushes

Like the smug wine stain

           that spreads across

           his grey suit.

I feel disconnected in horror,

As though in a nightmare;

Wishing wishing wishing

That my skin

And my bones

And my body

Could shatter

Splinter

And dissolve into the carpet

Along with the rest of the shards

To be hovered up

And forgotten.

Never spoken of again.

However, all I can do is apologise

And hope that at some point in his life,

He too has waited tables.


April 01, 2010

Hashisha times!

Ashen as the smoke that envelops us,

Lizzie sits in the floor swaying,

Even her bouncy-bright hair

Losing its sparkle.

Ed and I giggle

Through the apple

Flavoured haze.

Keep each other’s gaze,

Then blink.

This is hilarious for some reason.

Ed looks cool

Says Ed.

Says Ed a lot.

Standing up, I feel the ground pulse:

The world is bouncy!

Tendrils entwine us,

Blind us;

But we trust them

(Lizzie doesn’t)

And we laugh at the stories we see.

Later we agree:

There was more than shisha in that pipe.

Ed is cool


Tatoo of Shame

My right arm feels violated

By the market’s finest henna terrorists.

Forcefully snatching my wrist

(No! Not for me thanks!)

And delicately patterning it

With this foul smelling mud

That stings!

This intricate design,

They promise,

Will bring a husband

And babies

(But I don’t want babies…)

Before I know it, the sludge

Winds an elegant trail from

The tip of my little finger to my bicep.

Their work complete, they stand back

And demand the price

Of a basic hostel room for two nights.

                 *

I’m starting to think it looks pretty.

At least it’s no longer orange.

                 *

I love it. It’s beautiful.


To my sleeping bag

The cold hard concrete

Of the petrol station porch

Undermines the sleeping bag

That protects me

Against cold and contempt;

Against the overzealous illumination of car headlights;

Against the guilty sweet smelling gasoline hanging heavily around us;

Against the scary rush of the motorway…

Please let me sleep.


Poem from the North of France

“We’ll be there any day now”

We say, sitting in the dust of cars past,

With home made signs,

With our best pathetic-shy-but-friendly faces.

A car slows down.

Coasts pasts. He reads our signs.

Gives us either:

A kind look, that is also an apology.

A glance that suggests that we are idiots, because we are.

A supportive (in the metaphysical sense) wave.

A buse.

Not long to wait anyhow.

We’ll be in Morocco any day now.


Tread softly upon me

A reworking of my previously posted Love/Hate poem. I rewrote it in Marrakech, whilst in a very poetic/random mood.

Remembering your high in bed amidst the leaves,

(it will never repeat)

Dare I define what can’t be described?

Loving you

          like the mundanity of Christmas sherry.

          like the funny way the inside of my skin in honest.

          like an albatross at Twilight

                that haunts my eyes, my mind, my thoughts.

Hating you

          like rap music sparrows

               (boom boom tweet tweet).

          like worms

                in cheese muffins

                in a clean ironed shirt.

          like cakes left in the rain

          like water (tears) and blood in my lungs

Loving you when I let you think you’re right

          (cute as a button; not so bright).

And letting you hate me,

Spread beneath your feet;

Tread softly.


Freefall

It’s like the exciting mundanity of a hot day,

          senses overwhelmed by season flowers

          and barbecues.

It’s like the smart of cutting lemons

          with a papercut.

It’s like the uncertainty of cooking a new dish

          with new ingredients

          not knowing whether it’ll work.

It’s like a tequila shot

          blisters stings burns;

          soothed with salt and lemon.

It’s like walking along a beach

          and knowing you’ll always

          have sand in your shoes.

It’s like running

          for ever not stopping in no particular direction because you forgot to check a map.

It’s like falling

          but knowing you can fly

          but knowing you may choose not to.

The light that shines so bright

Casts an even darker shadow.


January 16, 2010

Love and Blackberries

I.

Maybe we’ll be lucky this time…

What happens now? I know:

There’s no reason, there’s no rhyme.

Tell me: are you happy now?

What happens now? We know.

Trying to let go; you cling on fast.

Tell me: are you happy now?

Will I ever laugh the last?

Trying to let go; you cling on fast.

I find it hard to find this fun.

Will I ever laugh the last?

We fight, we love and then I run.

I find it hard to find this fun.

It happens over again, stuck on repeat:

We fight, we love and then I run.

Never will I miss my beat.

It happens over again, stuck on repeat.

Maybe we’ll be lucky this time?

Never will I miss my beat.

There’s no reason, there’s no rhyme.

II.

What happened many summers past,

Two young schoolgirls in the thorns.

In the heat, blackberries rot fast,

As their old experience forewarns.

Two young schoolmates in the thorns.

We knew to eat them straight away,

As our old experience forewarns,

But each time we would delay:

We knew to eat them straight away

Before they became sweet sticky juice

But each time, we would delay

Staining our hands and clothes puce.

Before they became sweet sticky juice

One time, you ate them all. Alone.

Staining your hands and clothes puce.

I never had berries of my own.

One time, you ate them all alone.

What happened many summers past?

I never had berries of my own…

In the heat, blackberries rot fast.

III.

Settings change, but the hurt will last.

Bad times end; so do the good.

Blink and our lives will have passed,

Cutting deep, but you see no blood.

Bad times end: so do the good;

On repeat go the same tragedies,

Cutting deep but see no blood.

Everything’s the same, always is.

On repeat go the same tragedies.

Time to shed the regrets, that I can’t bear.

Everything’s the same, always is.

The memories that smart, that I can’t share.

Time to shed the regrets, that I can’t bear.

The story won’t end; just replay the song,

The memories that smart, that I can’t share.

The sands will flow my way before long.

The story won’t end; just replay the song.

Settings change, but the hurt will last.

The sands will flow my way before long.

Blink and my life will have passed.


The Snowman

I can

Still see what’s left

Of my melted snowman.

A puddle, which will turn to ice

Quite soon.

And we

Didn’t even

Go flying together

The way that he promised we would.

Bastard.


What Neil Gaiman wants for me this year

Plagiaristically based upon Neil Gaiman’s blog entry on Thursday 31st December 2009: http://journal.neilgaiman.com/2009/12/wishes.html

This was written for 2010, but feels more appropriate for 2011.


This will be the year that

I’ll be dangerous, outrageous,

My dreams courageous.

There’ll be magic and madness,

No long-lasting sadness.

I’ll be loved and liked,

I’ll have people to love, to like.

I’ll live,

As only I know how.

I’ll give

As only I can.

I’ll be wise when the need does arise,

But be kind at all time.

I’ll kiss someone who thinks that I’m wonderful.

And finally, at some point,

I’ll surprise everyone,

Including myself.


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