All 38 entries tagged Poetry

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February 09, 2010

For Change

fjfj


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...

ss


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

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

it


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.

ggg


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

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.

tumblr_kvioinqrxw1qzfhbl.jpg


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


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

queens


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

mute




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.


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