All 38 entries tagged Poetry
View all 0 entries tagged Poetry on Warwick Blogs | View entries tagged Poetry at Technorati | There are no images tagged Poetry on this blog
February 09, 2010
For Change
I want to be
somebody new.
I want to spin
the sun.
I want to change
nobody's mind,
I don't want to be
someone.
I want to drink until
I cry,
I want to start a
war,
I want to bleed my
body dry,
I want to love my
clichéd thoughts,
I want to sink and
breathe and swim,
I want to learn to drown,
I want to be the
king inanimate,
I want to sell that
crown.
I want to be
a poet.
I want to be
nothing.
I want to be
no-one of note,
allow me that
one dream.
Still
Because I never write in rhyme...
you’re all so young.
you’re all so young.
you’ve still got your legs,
you’ve still got your tongue,
you still wear pink
you still wear pearls
you’re still weaving daisies
with all the little girls.
you’re all so free.
you’re all so free.
you still can’t think,
you still can’t see,
you still have dreams...
you’re still so thin.
you’re still so young.
you’re still what I want to become.
February 08, 2010
Weekend
The candles shadowed my lampshade
impressing two balloons on my ceiling.
They floated rigid, refusing to flicker.
He was going to mention them. Eyes
stuck to the typewriter, the vinyl, the
photos. I prostitute somebody’s history.
He said, but they look more like a broken
heart and I said that we don’t know what
that looks like, besides, we’re here now
not that we’re in love.
There’s a film of wet on the windows.
A girl has a long photo of cheerleaders.
People, glasses scarves bus people.
I want to say
that I am trying to be transparent
but without
I am without
and the balloons start to flicker
because I left the candles burning
a pillow on my brain.
I keep the light on. without.
it makes it seem innocent.
January 22, 2010
Observations
a plane ate the clouds. it’s own clouds. like a shit-cannibal.
a house reflection in the shadow. a whole pool of shadow. a leap. i almost
a man standing, bald. in the big windows. still. and bald. and blue. the room was blue.
men where there are no men. tricks of the light. jumps and hands firmly in pockets.
men, big windows. examining plants. a tableaux vivant. cactus and green.
cars.
ice.
rain.
a group of asians, always. same spot. with potatoes. huge, burlap sacks.
christmas trees. bottles. vomit. same category. same dump. never a bin man.
two micro-puddles of blood on SoHo's cobbles. men in scarves. lights, and lights.
a curly haired woman. a stone-white smile. crystal lips. and i
tbc.
January 14, 2010
Cloud. Because Flies Die Too.
I’m lying, milky-eyed
on someone’s hard wood floor.
My eyes are clouds, dragging
everything me in wisps
over trees, only trees,
where my plumes can hide. Float.
I see a single fly
trapped in between two panes
of glass. Its legs are stuck,
forever, twisted, stiff
dirty diamond legs.
He cannot see me now.
I run down the windows.
Every veined rain-drop chase
a shot of nostalgia
for all the fallen planes.
Their wings mourn the living.
I drip, drip to the floor.
And I am a cloud, now.
(For the moment) I float
above trees, only trees,
waiting for another
milky-eyed Disney star
to join me. To hide. Float.
I see a girl timing
the grief of a thousand
flies. She blinks. And she blinks.
And she monitors the
dying stars. Every star.
The watch-face caves her wrist.
I’m lying, open-eyed
on a lover’s hard wood floor.
My eyes are crystals. Glass.
Windows. He can see me.
They glow. The stars can glow.
Who let them? Who let them?
January 04, 2010
Guilt
grazing knees
and asking why eating grass
and acting donkey
means
politician
towels crease in the mist
a man will check if we showered
or feeling creases
in leathersleeves
with my meccano arms
means
if you run, quick
you can wet your towel
i got caught in the train of my mother’s dress
i spilt some wine on the hearth
i crush cereal under the kitchen rug
i grab
the mist
before it
creams
and i dry my hands
December 25, 2009
i. will.
i’m in the mood
for falling
inlove
with anyone
this year
everything
will be different.
i’ll catch
bullets
with my eyelids
before the
sun melts
alloverthegrass
i won’t shatter
dreams.
and i will try
with my head
on a stick,
a cocktail stick,
to make sense
of
my-
i will dream again.
i will dream again.
become a hedge
and grow
if i can
grow stolid
stuck in someone’s gnome ridden lawn
foreverand
i will
try not
to fallinlove
with anyone.
December 24, 2009
Feather
feather
words
words
fall
soft
on
crippled
eyes
oh
eyes
cannot
see
cannot
cripple
feather
lies
oh
eyes
fall
foul
to
soft
crippled
lies
fool
for
getting
words
:
quilt
my
lies
.
Best
i thought
in the car haze
that this week
was the best week
in ever and ever.
then i got home
and he told me
that he waited
.
.
.
i think he made
me sick.
i think he made
me sick.
i want to tell my mother
i think he made
me sick.
Christmas
i only cry on christmas day
because I'm supposed to be
i only cry on christmas day
like we never want to on
mondays to sundays minus
christmas days
i cannot
on any other day other
it’s col.d.
outside.
see that it’s cold
so we huddle
broken twigs
over the fire
so patiently
wait brittle
for our ash
then we
can be
together.
for another christmas.