All entries for April 2010

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.


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.

April 2010

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  • Love it! I love the "Ed looks cool. Says Ed. Says Ed alot" bit– so true! But you are making me come … by Lizzie on this entry
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