My name is Chris
I avoid obvious rhymes
and give you just the rancid;
'We feel you have not been communicating
effectively as an employee'
poet.
So to you I said 'I'm ill'
'Care to spill?' she hisses.
'Yes' I said
My names the one burning brightly up there in the corner of the room,
'Prince and King Godber'
bearing wooden sign carved by the passion of a Norse god,
a bearded dwarf on a throne.
She responds;
simple, ******, surreal metaphors notwithstanding I ain't slept...
Small ****? Na ****, but let's not go into it tonight,
naked.
In her dreams he's laid with a woman, wept weeping eyes, distant stare, destroyer of hope, Eastern European,a broken painter cheating,
but he didn't know till it was too late.
The Sun became black
The full moon became blood
the great mountain ran with fire
Pain. Passion, Nighttime.
'Do what thou Wilt' says the bald man and shrugs, setting a bomb off in the 20th century.
I did, I do, I do - boom boom. no one laughs.
She shouts angrily Fool, Coward, Prince
Why don't you just come dance outside
stroke away those cobwebs in your hair
so I did, ripped the cobwebs out
screamed outside, bashed my head
on concrete, tried to **** myself
once, maybe twice,
contemplated more.
Like Virginia my hidden idol. My sister in censured pain.
Knees bashed, half-cut in dead of night screaming **** this
provincial slaughterhouse, this cherryhouse
of the half dead / half ******,
merry go round and round, like Kereouc,
but twice as merry, and that's saying something.
Come and bathe yourself in my immortal ****, she bleats
'look it up in your encyclopedia of shames'
you'll just find a picture of a woman.
It's intoned meaning
It's poems,
lips tell tales,
tell them then. I dare yer to tell em.
Scream them from rooftops.
screaming eyes aglow, burning Blake fire
poet looks down with lizard eyes
you remind me of me Mum naked.
Puke. Puke, ***** on the doormat.
Violence in words,
this language is obscene
and that is why
he said she said
is gonna **** us.
Already has.
**** it, fancy overdosing yourself on abilify tonight poet?
Not a plan. Not a plan. Don't go out drowning
yourself in alcohol or life, not tonight, not tonight.
Just never.
This poem is primarily about the distance that often occurs between men and women when they don't talk to each other directly enough from their own lived experience. A schizoid howl in the dark.
In one sense a poem about intense conflict, in another a poem about moving forward and learning to accept my own weaknesses.
The use of graphic strong words and language is just there to emphasise the game that is at play within the words, namely the games men and woman play with each other through life to destroy each other, metaphorically., I hope if needs moderating that this is understood.