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sunsetbythewindow
it still rains even on my best days
Elliott's Window
21/M/my apartment in texas    poet-engineer (or at least half both)

Poems

Hands Feb 2011
We can escape, now,
it's smoky with a chance of curtain drawn,
our minds won't tramsit light
from our empty, covered windo- the train is here.
I'm ready to go.
And though I'm leaving on a train
with room for only one,
I'm hoping you can catch a cheap ride
hidden in my pocket.
Nobody checks your person, anymore,
Nobody cares;
Homeland Security lovingly fed
us fattened falsities
As the fat cats in suburban alleyways
tore off the thickest
pieces of marrow from the national animal
of our Fiction States of America.
I have known this
because I have seen it from my seat
in coach,
thank god, too, because the train is packed.
So fill up
if you aren't going to hop in,
wishing to distort
your mind with all of their public drugs,
community opiates
transmitting across electrical wires hidden
in the ground,
the trees,
the air itself,
stitched into the layers of
dark matter and cosmic foam insulating
our fragile and overdone Universe.
I hear their static,
that pantomimed reality,
caught inside carbon fibers running through everything,
running through me,
running through you,
running into and out of your brain like
a thief without pause or moral.
We could run, too,
the heavy bass notes of the
nurturing ocean could shield the screech
of the battered train's wheels;
the wheels need a rest from screeching, anyway.
Quick!
While the conductor isn't looking!
The wires will tell him you're here
until you're gone,
hidden in my coat pocket
inside a layer of my inner smoke.
Well, if you insist,
I suppose you may leave,
but once the wound of knowledge opens,
just know it never closes.
It will fester and
prickle
with the fetid odor
of truths turned into lies.
I know I'm talking
to myself, now, but I don't
want to let you go,
though I'll stay here,
safe,
in the train carriage,
hidden in smoke.
Smoke,
smoke,
smoke,
the train heats up,
breaths out smoke from its burning
and throbbing pipe.
The engine has built up
an overdose of heat,
trying to throw off the weeds trying
to grow inside.
They tried to enter me,
and they will soon enter you,
now,
without my smoke to shroud you,
to leave your naked wound
easily hidden in
paranoid dreams.
Screeeeee,
screeeeeee,
screeeeeeee,
the wheels screech out,
ready to go,
ready to run,
to run down the track,
to run through all obstacles,
to run through everything,
to run through me,
to run through you,
to run in and out of your brain,
blown away in a puff of smoke,
my memory has burned away
and blows off as ash
and smoke.
Matthew James May 2016
Gav called me up.
Him and Tolly were going out to Never Never Land in Blackburn
3 lost boys off on a curious adventure

All I wanted to do were stay in and play Championship manager and drink Ribena.
I were a slow starter int' drinkin' scene
Mi mum and dad had bought us a tiny bot'le o' mead once on 'oliday
Took mi about 2/3 years to drink it
Another time I had 2 or 3 cans at Gavs
Blacked out
Set off t' t' taxi wi'out mi shoes on
"2nd Star t' t' reet and straight on t' t' moornin'!"
Then puked out o' t' taxi windo'

But I went
Mi mum dropped me off at Gavs 'ouse ont' Shad estate
Gav got us a coke before we caught t' bus in
But 'e sprinkled in some white pewder
"What's this? Pixie dust?"
"It's something to give you Speed" said Tolly
"just drink it!" Said Gav

(At this point in this poem, it's starting to sound like I were on the verge of some cool, coming of age experience. But Gav were only a naive little lad and it turned out he'd been sold crushed paracetamol)

So we caught bus
Waitin' for t' affects o' t' artificial amphetamine
'N' we got t' Neverland
No mermaids 'ere
No pretty ***** girls
There were a few blokes wi dodgy eyes
But no no, no-n-no no, no-n-no no no no there's no pirates!
Just ****** plastic Palm trees
'N' townies in fluorescent nylon shirts
No peacock feathered hats ere
There hair were all steps or curtains
(I was sporting a rather fetching home cut hair style wi no gel and my neatly ironed school shirt with the top button fastened)

Didn't kno' what to do about this weird scenario
T' girls and t' boys weren't stood on opposite sides at this party
They were all in t' t' middle
****** loads on 'em
And they were doing some sort o' side stepping thing that I found later were called dancin'
I sort o' skirted round edges feelin' scared
Then went to sit at sides on an empty table 'n' hid

On t' next table were a nice lookin' couple o' blokes.
They must o' bin good mates!
They were cuddlin' 'n' touchin' each other a lot.
Anyhow, thi got talking t' mi
Told 'em I'd not bin out before
"Ow old are you lad? 14/15?"
"I'm 18"
Thi sort o' laughed, dunno why
Then one of 'em offered me a cucumber sandwich
I thought t' mi sel'
"I dunno much about nightclubs but I dunt think folk normally bring cucumber sandwiches!"
But I were 'ungry so I ate it
Then I think 'e thought we were mates coz 'e were touchin mi leg
I 'ad to crow for me mates
Then Gav came in like Peter Pan and rescued mi and we set off for 'ome

I went to t' phone box n' called mi mum
Didn't know town reet well
So I waited for 'er outside o' mi school
There were some scary looking people on one side o't' road snappin at each other like crocodiles
So I stood under t' lamppost so I were int' light an' t' cars passin could see mi
Felt safer like that
Tick tock tick tock
The crocodiles were lurkin
Each time a car passed I stepped out a bit
To look for mi mum
Drivers kept lookin at mi nervously and drivin off
Maybe thi thought I were a crocodile too
But they also kept smirking at mi
Then some cops pulled up
Made us stand again t' wall
'N' searched mi
Asked us if I were rentin
"Rentin' what? I'm Waitin for mi mum."
"Aye cap'n Hahaha I'm sure you are! Dressed in your tight little hot pants!"
"These aren't 'ot pants, they're chinos?!"
Then mi mum turned up an said "oh aye! This streets t' red light district!"
"Well ****** me!"

Never, never again... Until uni happened
Jennifer Beetz Sep 2019
Meh derl'n, meh dere
who laid meh heer,
lait'ly on meh bak
ta stere et theh stars
frum theh windo clere
an mite ev'n been fruhm
mars

Laid here fair an squair
ta tuch an tuch, o yoo
an so much, on theh
uth'r side fruhm meh

Lait'ly dere, throo
a vale of teres) yoo
luff, quake b'nethe
me brethe an awl
theh uth'r stuff
weel cullit quite
like deth meh
dere
phonetic representation of the drunken Scottish girl in my head