#nineties - Hello Poetry

I’m thinking of The Orb and the crusty, mucked crystal of the transition from child to adult, scored and soundtracked excoriated by blunt first loves, first lives lost, tempest tossed, into oversensitive abysses from which there’s “Never loving again!” except after growing and knowing Lo-fi made it easier and harder than these cheeky bleeders, at least, I know my bare cheeks on film would take weeks to get back from Boots and not be broadcast to Kuala Lumpur in seconds Age beckons always in a way we revulse at but blunder and succumb to You becomes we becomes us as no bad thing but we must honour our custodian status and not impose The stupid vine grows where it’ll grow, we demonstrate this wonderfully

0

May 27, 2020

May 27, 2020 at 8:24 AM UTC

drunkenkind

Gen X Calling

I’m thinking of The Orb and the crusty, mucked crystal of the transition from child to adult, scored and soundtracked excoriated by blunt first loves, first lives lost, tempest tossed, into oversensitive abysses from which there’s “Never loving again!” except after growing and knowing Lo-fi made it easier and harder than these cheeky bleeders, at least, I know my bare cheeks on film would take weeks to get back from Boots and not be broadcast to Kuala Lumpur in seconds Age beckons always in a way we revulse at but blunder and succumb to You becomes we becomes us as no bad thing but we must honour our custodian status and not impose The stupid vine grows where it’ll grow, we demonstrate this wonderfully

28

do me a favor aight when you go switch off the lights close the door behind you pay attention to the lock it makes a sound pay attention do me this favor you gotta do it cause shadows everywhere voices everywhere enemies everywhere ain't no fun though as gang colors in the nineties tag watts tag berlin tag harlem shadows everywhere voices everywhere enemies everywhere for twentyseven years do me a favor aight? i've been looking for a brother i've been looking for a mother nobody knows about it they don't know and they don't have to when they interrogate you about last night when they ask tell em: i was asleep at night as civilians do no talk about turf no talk about extortion no talk about capital crimes private matters wat matter is you lock the door baby

0

Nov 16, 2019

Nov 16, 2019 at 12:01 PM UTC

maxneumann

The Door (To Omar Little)

do me a favor aight when you go switch off the lights close the door behind you pay attention to the lock it makes a sound pay attention do me this favor you gotta do it cause shadows everywhere voices everywhere enemies everywhere ain't no fun though as gang colors in the nineties tag watts tag berlin tag harlem shadows everywhere voices everywhere enemies everywhere for twentyseven years do me a favor aight? i've been looking for a brother i've been looking for a mother nobody knows about it they don't know and they don't have to when they interrogate you about last night when they ask tell em: i was asleep at night as civilians do no talk about turf no talk about extortion no talk about capital crimes private matters wat matter is you lock the door baby

37

Touring the cities of England and the UK Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee A Britpop revolution, all great memories They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic Not to hate the now as times move on But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ****** I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat. JJB

0

Feb 2, 2018

Feb 2, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC

john-bartholomew

Kid of the Nineties

Touring the cities of England and the UK Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee A Britpop revolution, all great memories They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic Not to hate the now as times move on But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ****** I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat. JJB

33

a not-so-special tree sat on that not-so-special floor inside our trailer. maybe, driving by mumbling to themselves, most would call the scene forgettable, I suppose They might think it ****** but that not-so-special tree meant everything to me, meant waking up late, meant snowmen and might mean sweets, foil-wrapped chocolate from the belly of our wooden rudolph. She hung him high. He hurried home with kerosene for the heater. something was for dinner— fuzzy memory: folding t.v. tray in front of the box— I remember melting kisses carefully with the kerosene

0

Aug 23, 2014

Aug 23, 2014 at 5:38 AM UTC

meadowbridgham

christmastime

a not-so-special tree sat on that not-so-special floor inside our trailer. maybe, driving by mumbling to themselves, most would call the scene forgettable, I suppose They might think it ****** but that not-so-special tree meant everything to me, meant waking up late, meant snowmen and might mean sweets, foil-wrapped chocolate from the belly of our wooden rudolph. She hung him high. He hurried home with kerosene for the heater. something was for dinner— fuzzy memory: folding t.v. tray in front of the box— I remember melting kisses carefully with the kerosene

23

Powder blue adam Won't somebody **** me please I miss the nineties

0

Jun 26, 2014

Jun 26, 2014 at 1:07 AM UTC

stukerr

Powder Blue

Powder blue adam Won't somebody **** me please I miss the nineties

3