seb
English
Hi, I'm British and currently living in London. I've been writing poetry for a year. I disregard convention but love imposed structure when it is creative, unusual, and adding deeper meaning. / / Any constructive criticism or advice will be happily received, but like most here I write for catharsis: to express raw feelings on abstract experiences; while I would like to hone my style, I'm no natural and certainly not aiming for any commercial success. / / tumblr: http://somebeautifulplace.tumblr.com/
behold the musk-robinson, as it slinks through the night,
with eyeballs clenched and megaphone tight.
it tweets and it cackles, it sets off the flares,
and governments quiver, all trembling with fright.
it prowls the hot takes, it crunches the lies,
it devours the secrets with hungry, cold eyes.
it gnashes on corruption, it feasts on deceit,
and swallows it down with a scandalous tweet.
“he’s inciting rebellion! he’s spreading despair!”
the ministers wail, ripping out their hair.
“he memes with abandon! he posts without care!
he’s riling the masses—he’s everywhere!”
but ssh. what’s that? a buzz, a hum?
quick, lock the screens! oh no—he’s come!
go block his account! unplug the feed!
go, now, hurry! take the lead!
no stop! too late! he’s worming in!
quick, yank the wires!
hush now—he’s within!
he slithered right in through a half-open gate,
oh, look at that smirk, that grin—it’s too late!
it's torn back our curtains—we’re naked behind
Jan 2, 2025
Jan 2, 2025 at 10:29 PM UTC
endless
mellowness,
c o m e
dress in a mirror.
draw soft glares
across the surface
(and surface someone.)
endless song
drum me notes,
but not so hard!
s l o w d o w n .
listen to the thundering bass
pushing our breath through our mouths
and shaking our hair and bones
like the footsteps of some great thing
that suffices to vibrate our bodies across the surface
like weightless toys.
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 9:19 AM UTC
a wake
sprung light from death
and streamed the heat to my face.
A column, and a call
“leave your mask in bed!”
And it’s light
(though it won’t seem like it.)
Here:
below our crests; over our troughs —
I’m climbing a wire: an altar!
All is white and I am The Starkest Black
Now prostrating and revering myself.
He speaks: “tame a wild animal”.
I am.
Mar 10, 2012
Mar 10, 2012 at 10:29 AM UTC
I sit.
still; left leather top
and gate closed. far
from earth; ragged
look.
You never reached the door.
You stood outside, faced the sitting room.
Rain beating scars to heavy windows.
A warm fire panting. The couch patting the warm space
you left; your lips
open ajar, as my door,
and down your leg, a line,
a scrawl: love.
To answer an angry growl,
I sang:
“please, two peas!
you left;
don’t go — I’ve a hole in my heart,
you know?”
That exultation: it’s exhausting.
Aghast
An arthritic clicking of the fingers.
I’ve snapped them like crazy.
I’m clicking them now! Like the dog might come to me!?
I could change tempo.
Life by my own beat for a bit.
But
now, now
let’s try to find sanity.
“I’m not just talking to myself. Please, forgive! Listen:
We can’t run away from anger. We’ve got to make peace and be real.”
So look not forlorn, for us:
knee-deep in filth,
chatting and fighting.
Because I liked you.
And you liked me.
A little bit.
Aug 28, 2011
Aug 28, 2011 at 8:59 PM UTC
(until)
Your feet touch, your minds don’t;
you blow kisses, they’re carried off:
as the wind; to white face rocks.
There’s you, and you, and me—
laughing, trembling.
Leaving: ripples on a mirror.
(for)
Even when they need it: an open hand to steady;
A solitary swimmer shan’t seek synchronisation.
They’ll sink silently: sapphires streaming,
guiltily gurgling.
As faces gently distort: they’re left castaway.
Aug 12, 2011
Aug 12, 2011 at 12:45 PM UTC
time to go gel
slicked back with cool smooth devils.
writing, waving
wads of sodden paper
and those pads
whip at us
like light
they strew paper
in the pit.
go on, steal a piece
and you can try to read it
and turn it into yours
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 1:56 AM UTC
every root must
avoid the pluck of
disasters’ strings;
granted time it must
break the surface’s
earthen prison.
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 1:55 AM UTC
Dear Strings,
Who’s sung?
And whose tune —
Beats in this ****** room?
When I could have just followed you,
hearing you out, your melody.
Tugging you closer to me.
Pulling on the string till I find your tail.
The long tail that has accompanied
My days,
fawning for attachment, belonging, company, distraction.
Four years pretending to escape,
and I still want to forget everything,
stop living slices of celluloid,
and become you.
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 1:54 AM UTC
I still struggle in the swirling current.
Yet, you’ll just wash up
on the salt water shore.
And under a weeping sun,
I’ll walk you from
The water.
The wrapping waves washing worries
That tossed you.
The froth
That cleansed us of our mind.
We left our soles wasting away on the shore.
All that is left: between our toes;
grains of golden sand.
Jun 23, 2011
Jun 23, 2011 at 1:53 AM UTC