All entries for Friday 12 February 2010

February 12, 2010

Three poems

These are pretty much the only poems of mine that came out of my poetry course which I actually like.

I mean, I like the course. It's just that everything I've written specifically for it has so far made me want to put my liver in a vice.

Anyway.

In order, the poems are: a blessing for a human; a valentine for a different subject; and a mashup (or synthesis) of two collaborative love poems with two collaborative hate poems, which I called late because I'm really funny.



Blessing


You need yourself. You need time for yourself.

The time you need to become yourself is the time

passing now.All time that can truly be said to exist

is the present moment, all time everywhere. You

have all the time in the world in which to be yourself.


You can be sure of yourself. You can shore yourself

up against those influences which make you unsure.

Your shores have been breached but you can assure

yourself that you are yours now.


It’s important that I’m clear on a few points:

this isn’t to release you because you don’t need me

to let you go. This isn’t to make you feel better

because you have no reason not to feel like sunlight.

This is just to ask:

how many times

do I have to tell you that

there’s nothing I can tell you

you haven’t found out on your own?


Valentine


makes you smile and driftwood looks like

whales scraped beachclean and the

shells are coming up and we’re

not running the salt always

hits first


and dunes are fat with grass and

bottles are easy empty and

catching ships this

should be covered in turtles the

houses are loud and

coves are not


but you wouldn’t think they get

predators here sharp grey and

who swims these days and

i wouldn’t want to live here but it’s

fun while it lasts


and let’s hear it for the

city on a hill sink one down with a

smile because it tastes

so much better with the

extra salt

which translates as i

miss you


Late


Holding on is/then I am submerged and

you are a cold shower;

stick in my throat.


Rain is: still watcing cuttlefish struggling in

water like plastic bags I asked

where is/but gold flooded.


Sea air is/your bones are hollow but your

wings must hang so heavy


By dawn you - or do you already know how

when you're in the room I tend to

shut up


Luck is not suffocating when your lungs

haze the wind sweet


Your bed’s warm and I don’t know what

love sounds like but I

can’t want you to

be calm


Flex and hit a vein I/roll the dice and every

time whether hand open and smile or

closed plus scream it always

comes up you


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