All entries for August 2005

August 31, 2005

Two more poems

Running out on me

Time is running out
To say how I feel
Time is running out
Like the world is running out of seal.
There are not many left you see
They keep drying or being killed
Or something
Like all these endless tasks

I, or someone else, invents
Kills off the seal of time
'Till none are left
In the ocean of my love.

Time is running out
To say "Oh love me if you will!"
Time is running out
Like an armeggeddon film.
The counter's ticking down quickly
It beeps as my heart pounds and pounds and pounds
And no hero's coming to save my day
Now Willis, no Cruise, no Gibson,
'Cos they're all actors
(And twats besides)
And now those numbers,
Red, like my heart
And the knickers I stole from your line,
Has reached zero
On the apocolypse of my soul.

Time is running out
To say my words of bliss.
Time is running out
For me to go and take a piss.
I bladder like my heart is bursting
With stuff I really can't hold in
But I can't find and outlet anywhere
For urine or for love.
Now the pain I feel is real
And really quite uncomfortable
So my muscles, like my being,
Are so long overstretched
That, like my romantic yearnings,
They have just given up.
So now piss stains
The trousers of my being.

Time is running out
To say anything at all
Time is running out
For you to be the cinderella at my ball.
Which is fact no-one turned up to
And I had to waltz all on my own
Which was slightly weird
And when you appeared
You left
As none of your friends were there,
And running after you I did not see
The glass stiletto on the floor
And sharp shards splinter into
The sole of … my foot.

Time is running out
To say what I wanted to say
Time has now run out
Oh well, I would only have fucked it up anyway.

Maybe I should have actually done something
Instead of writing a poem about it?

Crystaline

In school once they showed us
This prism of crystal
Demonstrating the light
Flowing from each sharp edge.
I looked and thought though you
Were not paying attention
That crystal was you true,
Sharp edges light flies through.
And while I would never
(Lacking talent)
Try to paint or sculpt your profile,
As I charted that light,
With my blunt HB pencil
It was like capturing the sight
Of your dark features bright.

Still my sketch was not good
I could never draw you well
And on paper your lines
Are smoky indistinct
Fading out before me
Though it is my instinct
To capture light in print.

So your crystaline form
Continues it's escape
From me and from my eyes.
Bright delicate crystals
Cut with light just reminds
Of flight of lines like hind
From hound that just wants to be kind
And how I could never draw you well.


August 16, 2005

THAT guy

It has recently occurred to me that almost all women of my acquaitence (and certainly all the ones I've pulled) have had a previous boyfriend who's messed them around, given them trust issues, and ultimately who they're not yet over.

This causes ridiculous short farces of relationships, lack of sex as the want to take it slow and then the short bit kicks in, and ultimately emotional hardship for me. I'm sure it's the same for many of you guys out there.

While before I prescribed to the "all men are bastards" view, so previous boyfriends would almost certainly have fucked most girls over, I am now revising my opinion:

There is one guy out there going round and messing up all the women!

You know the one, the guy girls cry over "oh he treated me so badly, oh I can't trust men any more, but he was so sweet sometimes and I'm not over him, I'm so sorry." The guy who sleeps with them and is either so bad or so good that they can't then sleep with other people.

Well I say, ENOUGH! We must track this man down and string him up!

Who's with me?


Summer poems

My life in poetry

I'm ashamed
And you should shame me too
Because this actually happened
And somewhere in this foetid sea
Of narcissism and post-modernity
Imagination does languidly lurk,
Unseen, unused and out of work,
Trying to drag down this boy who has been hurt,
Prevent him from sounding like a total berk.
And failing.

Dumped by MSN
How post-modern of you
Darling
Dumped by MSN
How unimaginitive of you
Starling
Whose song I once thought was so sweet,
But now my sweet is bitter.
Like a sheep who's lost his Bo-Peep I bleat
Whilst like ev'ry other girl you titter

On and on in cyberspace,
Where no-one hears me moan
And you don't have to look me in the face
As I let out a love-lorn grown.
You've shorn away that look of grace
In bold black ten point your words are stone

For though you say you don't want to be like
Ev'ry other girl, uncruelly unkind,
That's how your words seem (not sound)
Stripped away's your voice, what you type's not quite,
How I expect to hear you and I find
Myself imagining a girl around
These letters in which nothingness abounds
A girl who's not you, but as the 'net is blind
She poses with your screen name and starts fights.
A girl not you, but ev'ry one I've found,
Who's very sweet in her own mind,
And for my own good my own life she blights.

Looking back at that MSN convo
(I can as I saved it)
It seemed to me that all these girls
Whose ex's messed them up
That rather than an army of such churls
Who go round treating women like crap
There's just one bastard ruining future wives,
Tracks down every girl that I might meet,
Insinuates his way into their lives,
Maybe massages her feet.
And interspersing massages and more
He does his best to fuck her up
When I, a decent bloke, takes the floor,
It's too late she thinks of him and can't stop.

Sure you think I'm paranoid,
But I really think this guy exists,
Making the world an unpleasant void,
And ruining my relationships.

So even though she hurt me this time
I'm trying not to blame her
I knew that she would ne'er be mine
As he'd already claimed her.

So that was my technological break-up,
Please forgive it really happened,
It's indicative of the way things don't work today:
With a post-modern twist
And lots of irony
And me moaning about the things girls do to me.
And not minding
As I can turn it into poetry.

All fucked up

So I'm all fucked up
But aren't we all?
I think that we were meant to be that way.
With our broken smiles
And tender guiles
Our neuroses tied up in a pretty bow.

For everything in life does do it's part
To make you who you are.
From our thoughts sold
To new loves grown old,
Until our stars fall around
Our ears like snow.

And all our lives are spent like this,
Notching notch after notch in our minds,
Until there's no more room
And we're scored right through
Marks storying our fucking up over time.

So now you've notched me,
But you're untouched.
No knife is sharp enough to scare through,
But unseen to me,
Beneath what I see
Those tender guiles have
cracked you.

Balloons

When I was a child my thoughts,
My actions were all those of a child.
I played as a child.
When I thought I was an adult
I still played.

My life was a pretty blue balloon
That I bounced up and up
From the inside
Never touching the ground, ītīwas my blue moon
Red, yellow, pink and green beside.
And I thought that it would never stop.

Kingīs Cross, Aldgate, Edgware Road,
These stealthy pins prick my balloon,
But there was no loud pop, no childish screams,
Glass and metal shards tore my world at itīs seams,
Searing bright and reflecting me
The child the world still knew me to be.

Blue rubber bursts, and itīs an adultīs cries
Yet anotherīs mirth
I hear from my balloon that falls from tattered skies
And deshevelled, torn, it flaps to earth.
I step out , I see, and I walk
And have my rebirth,
In the adultīs world,
An ugly place where shadows stalk,
Destructionīs ripped banner lurks unfurled.

Iīm no more a child,
But Iīll still play,
Batting up coloured moons,
Keep mean pin pricks away.
So that children can remain just so,
Their lives sweet and warm and mild
Up in the air, and they will never know
How their balloons light up my adultīs life
And bring an end to dark.

I like you like

I need you like the prisoner needs the bars
In his dark dank underground cell
No light, no hope, his private hell,
But your bright teeth intruding are.
A cage I love to lie in, that's your guile
I'm in you though I wish I weren't
I'm held but not the way I want
Still sitting in the space behind your smile.
Your bars hold your prisoner's gaze in your eyes,
The dark, pretty, but empty space,
I look and there's no other place
I'm stuck and happy and it's no surprise
Without bars
I'm no prisoner.

I care for you as I care for world peace
That vain poor hope all wars might cease.
I think that it's a good idea
Loving and living, no more fear
Caring for friends, enemies too
But I know there's sod all I can do.
So I try to be polite
Hoping always I just might
Change something, maybe, by being kind,
Yet always lies at the back of my mind
A thought my good intentions tries to hide
As long as I'm without it
We can hope it.

I love you like I love the lie
Wrong, forbidden, the giddy thrill
Once more I'm the child with the guilty grin
Who has his parents' disgruntled face espied
That creased up portrait, with the look that kills
All fun, reminding to lie's a sin,
And the portrait looks at me in distaste
And guilt comes
Like a bus or bullet too late
Reminding you of that rule of thumb:
That when thrill dies
There are no more lies
And without them, I'm me.

I dream of you as a coma patient dreams
Alone and sleeping and yet not quite
And maybe he will never wake
But in pseudo sleep will ever dream
And oh! such dreams
Elysium, Valhalla, Heaven, Hades and Hell
Such bright places, burning faces
The black of fire and enshrouding light
At night
He sometimes dreams of things he knew
But what did wrong, does right
The darkness long, is light
So I almost would regret to wake
But dream these dreams always
Of release.
But without them
I'd have it.

I hate you like God hates the devil,
All-knowing He saw, felt the worming hate that grew
Wriggling 'neath the halo in the bright angel's brain
Leaving it's long glistening trail of slow hate
It slithered on sowing hate in fertile heads
Hate for him that brought that heated pride
Rebel prince cast down halo for a crown
And is too cast down, He felt wings stripped
Flesh and feathers plucked by that wild rush
One by one, as he fell on and on
Landing at last in burning hate
Born of that splash of hell's fire
Bubbling up into Eden
He hears the subtle whispers
Feels the snake's temptation
Feels them tempted and tastes
First sweet bite of fruit.
None would have fallen
Without his hate
Yet all-loving
He loves his
Snake child still
But knows
How good
hate
is.
Without hate
He's not love.


August 2005

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