simi-cohen - Hello Poetry

Send me back to nature I am not something you can grow and harvest to supply demand Surplus to requirements I cannot fulfil on what I have been fed I will reclaim the lands I lost to you and your machines Mechanical masters of marketability This was wasteland once then nourished now overproducing, overfarmed Too much from too little spread apart so far the ground is screaming the food is beautiful but - Aesthetic attacking the process made to let soil grieve for its offspring allow itself to drown the earth with what will make new again And without We are surplus

0

Dec 15, 2016

Dec 15, 2016 at 6:26 PM UTC

Surplus

Send me back to nature I am not something you can grow and harvest to supply demand Surplus to requirements I cannot fulfil on what I have been fed I will reclaim the lands I lost to you and your machines Mechanical masters of marketability This was wasteland once then nourished now overproducing, overfarmed Too much from too little spread apart so far the ground is screaming the food is beautiful but - Aesthetic attacking the process made to let soil grieve for its offspring allow itself to drown the earth with what will make new again And without We are surplus

10

she lives in a crystal ball of paradise. at the windows flowers of any and every kind sell themselves to you it's a rainforest in a china tea cup on a chipped saucer it's a conservatory in north east England for 10 years we've watched each other's lives for a while I was small enough for it to be a jungle, somewhere I could get lost in small enough to believe that tigers didn't live in the outside world but then gradually it just became a constant. something in my life that stayed the same and kept the monsters in entangled in the plants, ivy crept up the legs of a chair. hugging it into the floor such that it too seemed to grow from roots roots which after so long I stopped tripping over and became a part of. next to the chair, fragmented through leaves, bits of a table sat and within that, books, books , books this well-read vegetation read me as I walked past every day and stared as I changed my routes and grew 2 feet taller as I let others tread my path too, let them get my compost in their shoes and I loved this paradise for not a single thing died or wilted in all of that time and as I walked home carrying satchels of heavier problems I saw this chunk of rainforest and felt safe, somehow it sits on the end of a long street 5 minutes away from my front door. in it sits a woman who every day for 10 years waves at me but never speaks. not to me or anyone it seems she does not know me I do not know her and yet she waves, and I wave and it saves me. and I wonder when it started and if she knows how important it is to me or if I started it or she or if her only purpose is to wave or if she even likes flowers or if she is real or if we will ever speak. I have no answers but one. We will never speak. a cold day, too cold for October, too damp for mild, milky, smokey October I pass a lamp post not too far away and I see it's peak The conservatory peak and I think ahead and I feel scared for today I am not lost in my problems I am broken by them and think of anything else I think of the woman and of who she is and what she did and I resolve to wave first and I do and for the first time in 10 years there is no one to wave back. but the flowers and even they look wilted I still wave to the marvellous woman who may or may not be there I can't see her but then i don't know I ever did her paradise is still there though the flowers are pastels and I wave and still, in that glass paradise, nothing wilts or dies

0

Dec 23, 2014

Dec 23, 2014 at 2:21 PM UTC

the marvellous woman and her glass paradise

she lives in a crystal ball of paradise. at the windows flowers of any and every kind sell themselves to you it's a rainforest in a china tea cup on a chipped saucer it's a conservatory in north east England for 10 years we've watched each other's lives for a while I was small enough for it to be a jungle, somewhere I could get lost in small enough to believe that tigers didn't live in the outside world but then gradually it just became a constant. something in my life that stayed the same and kept the monsters in entangled in the plants, ivy crept up the legs of a chair. hugging it into the floor such that it too seemed to grow from roots roots which after so long I stopped tripping over and became a part of. next to the chair, fragmented through leaves, bits of a table sat and within that, books, books , books this well-read vegetation read me as I walked past every day and stared as I changed my routes and grew 2 feet taller as I let others tread my path too, let them get my compost in their shoes and I loved this paradise for not a single thing died or wilted in all of that time and as I walked home carrying satchels of heavier problems I saw this chunk of rainforest and felt safe, somehow it sits on the end of a long street 5 minutes away from my front door. in it sits a woman who every day for 10 years waves at me but never speaks. not to me or anyone it seems she does not know me I do not know her and yet she waves, and I wave and it saves me. and I wonder when it started and if she knows how important it is to me or if I started it or she or if her only purpose is to wave or if she even likes flowers or if she is real or if we will ever speak. I have no answers but one. We will never speak. a cold day, too cold for October, too damp for mild, milky, smokey October I pass a lamp post not too far away and I see it's peak The conservatory peak and I think ahead and I feel scared for today I am not lost in my problems I am broken by them and think of anything else I think of the woman and of who she is and what she did and I resolve to wave first and I do and for the first time in 10 years there is no one to wave back. but the flowers and even they look wilted I still wave to the marvellous woman who may or may not be there I can't see her but then i don't know I ever did her paradise is still there though the flowers are pastels and I wave and still, in that glass paradise, nothing wilts or dies

51

afternoon I'm weak from my minds latest ****** 2 months and counting I want to tell him to shut the **** up but I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean it I want to sleep but he wants to party in my anxiety dance on my ceiling, swing from my eyeballs but the party's over so you'd better clean up dusk im crazy, I don't want you, I need you I can't stand on my own he's still banging banging banging against my skull trying to break out or barricade himself in every one of my steps is another hit I'm taking another punch he got in before mine but I see you now, I've called the police and they're closing down this party hands up, I'm coming for you dark the sweet air adds to my intoxication, smothers me further into your arms I gulp more air than there is, try one last time to exstingush the fire it only feeds it what seems to be the problem him, he won't shut up he tortures me I hate him save me please well I'm having a little trouble sleeping doctor I see I see anything worrying you *everything anything he never stops talking to himself, give me silence, **** what tortures me* no no not really night it's the same except he knows knows I tried to **** him, I made it clear we are at war I say we I'm at war with myself but like in any war no one really wins I'm not winning.

0

Dec 2, 2014

Dec 2, 2014 at 6:08 PM UTC

02/12/14

afternoon I'm weak from my minds latest ****** 2 months and counting I want to tell him to shut the **** up but I'm sorry I'm sorry I didn't mean it I want to sleep but he wants to party in my anxiety dance on my ceiling, swing from my eyeballs but the party's over so you'd better clean up dusk im crazy, I don't want you, I need you I can't stand on my own he's still banging banging banging against my skull trying to break out or barricade himself in every one of my steps is another hit I'm taking another punch he got in before mine but I see you now, I've called the police and they're closing down this party hands up, I'm coming for you dark the sweet air adds to my intoxication, smothers me further into your arms I gulp more air than there is, try one last time to exstingush the fire it only feeds it what seems to be the problem him, he won't shut up he tortures me I hate him save me please well I'm having a little trouble sleeping doctor I see I see anything worrying you *everything anything he never stops talking to himself, give me silence, **** what tortures me* no no not really night it's the same except he knows knows I tried to **** him, I made it clear we are at war I say we I'm at war with myself but like in any war no one really wins I'm not winning.

34

A picture paints a thousand words but not today I had ten thousand words for you already But even they could not bring your colours to life They drew a caricature on the back of my eyelids Exaggerated, ugly and so far from the truth But I felt a little safer in my comparative normality When I saw you those ten thousand words would not have been enough Ten, one hundred, one million diluted words Watered down paint into nothing, bristles of brushes too thick to paint the details my words couldn't reach I could not have drawn the kindness I saw in your eyes with my bitter brush And my B6 pencil goes nowhere to throwing the shade I threw on you And though you are painted in landscape you're the portrait of perfection And I have no words. Perhaps now I can begin.

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Nov 26, 2014

Nov 26, 2014 at 6:41 PM UTC

A Thousand Words

A picture paints a thousand words but not today I had ten thousand words for you already But even they could not bring your colours to life They drew a caricature on the back of my eyelids Exaggerated, ugly and so far from the truth But I felt a little safer in my comparative normality When I saw you those ten thousand words would not have been enough Ten, one hundred, one million diluted words Watered down paint into nothing, bristles of brushes too thick to paint the details my words couldn't reach I could not have drawn the kindness I saw in your eyes with my bitter brush And my B6 pencil goes nowhere to throwing the shade I threw on you And though you are painted in landscape you're the portrait of perfection And I have no words. Perhaps now I can begin.

14

Shiny, I'll look at you as binary 0 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 you're wrong the one point down that won't belong smooth and dark and long and yet I can't look you in the eye. I know you're there don't hide from me, I want to see you and me but we we'll never be in the same photograph. You won't put down your bag it's shiny too, chocolate coloured, tirimasu matches your shoes, face, choose now what. They aren't my scars you've got fires of your own lift your shield, no shouts no words that I heard you look confused, scared, cold as if you feel yourself getting old brass and bold grabbing your arm to hold I'll run the course of those tropics of dispar with my index finger swim in them and then wondering, linger if I stepped away from the mirror this morning

0

Nov 24, 2014

Nov 24, 2014 at 3:56 PM UTC

42

Shiny, I'll look at you as binary 0 0 1 0 1 0 1 0 you're wrong the one point down that won't belong smooth and dark and long and yet I can't look you in the eye. I know you're there don't hide from me, I want to see you and me but we we'll never be in the same photograph. You won't put down your bag it's shiny too, chocolate coloured, tirimasu matches your shoes, face, choose now what. They aren't my scars you've got fires of your own lift your shield, no shouts no words that I heard you look confused, scared, cold as if you feel yourself getting old brass and bold grabbing your arm to hold I'll run the course of those tropics of dispar with my index finger swim in them and then wondering, linger if I stepped away from the mirror this morning

26

I'm standing on a square. A metre each way, a square If I move I'll fall off this square is squaring me up, squinting at me Learning it has power over me This square is all I am This square is scaring me. I think it's made of wood, a wooden square Solid yet creaking this wooden square rotting beneath me, a square that snares me, spares me the fall I'd have without it This square stares at me. I know every part of this, this square it squeaks this square, at me this square I have walked to all it's corners but this square that squared me up and squawked at me, squealed and stammered under my feet It became my home, this square that ensnared me, still stares at me but continues to spare me is starting to show me, At least now I know where I stand.

0

Nov 23, 2014

Nov 23, 2014 at 7:11 PM UTC

Squared

I'm standing on a square. A metre each way, a square If I move I'll fall off this square is squaring me up, squinting at me Learning it has power over me This square is all I am This square is scaring me. I think it's made of wood, a wooden square Solid yet creaking this wooden square rotting beneath me, a square that snares me, spares me the fall I'd have without it This square stares at me. I know every part of this, this square it squeaks this square, at me this square I have walked to all it's corners but this square that squared me up and squawked at me, squealed and stammered under my feet It became my home, this square that ensnared me, still stares at me but continues to spare me is starting to show me, At least now I know where I stand.

20