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Dec 2019 · 63
beetroot salad
Haris Dec 2019
when i was 15

i met

this old man

just standing there,

waiting

for a bus.

i had my headphones

in,

listening to my ipod.

(well, it was

2006 after all.)

he must've

shouted on me

a few times

cause

he hit me over the head

with the ****

of his cane. (*******.)

"what the ****

you dain' that fur?" i says.

"i'm helping you oot, son."

"helping me?"

"aye.

you young wans'll

go deaf

before

you're old,

listenin tae that pish,"

he tells me.

which is probably right.

i mean,

what next?

two boabies

one earlobe?

so we get talking some more.

again, he tells me:

“you young wans'll

go deaf

before

you're old.”

i think he's a bit senile.

then he proceeds to

**** out

the years

beyond me

like an old man

weeds out his back garden:

by the root

until his back aches

(leaving

my bush intact, thankfully.)

he puts a hand on my shoulder,

looks me in the eyes and says:

“**** everything that moves, son.”

but i tell him: “i’ve got a girlfriend.”

to which

the old man laughs

like the whole world is on fire

and nothing matters anymore.

“if i was your age again…” he sighs

as his bus arrives,

hobbling on

giving me a wave,

and sitting next to a

a squabble of schoolgirls

in short skirts and half

unbuttoned shirts. i hear

some of the schoolgirls chanting

“**** *******!” as the bus goes

downhill. i remember

the side of the bus

had a coldplay promo

poster for their album

“a rush of

blood to the head.” and

to this day

i can’t help but wonder

if the old man was a

coldplay fan. or couldn’t

stand their ratchet. probably

the latter. you know what

old men are like.



later that week i read in

the free bus newspaper

(you know the one)

an elderly man had

been attacked by

a gang of teenagers.

“hate crime

against

local *******”

read the article (and it

wasn't until much later

i paid the price

for reading it.)



that same week i met a

girl in the local unders club.

(mouth on her like a

monk

fish.) i had an empty

all weekend

so we go back

to mine

and **** without

protection

and go down

on each other. (we do

things i would never

dream of doing with

my girlfriend.) the next

morning i make her

scrambled egg and

leftover beetroot

salad.

most of it gets flushed

down the toilet a few

hours later,

liquidised into a deep

red. ("must've been

the beetroot salad," she

said.)

we watch the life

of brian and plan

the rest of our life together.


it gets late. very late.

and she's still in

last night’s underwear

on my couch.

i tell her to get the

pile of takeaway menus

from under the coffee table,

but she picks up the free

bus newspaper instead.

her face goes bright red

looking at the front page

headline:

"hate crime against

local *******."
as she

scans the article the colour

from her face drains like a

bottle of red wine on

an alky’s lips. all that’s

left is remnants of a good

time. (but mostly guilt.)



i raid

my cupboards for more wine

but we're fresh out.
Sep 2019 · 155
pornstar
Haris Sep 2019
i can only write what i know

otherwise it’s fiction
which sadly tends
  to be more exciting

people get uglier by the day:
social recluses in some nightclub
hunch further below quasimodo
posting woke quotes
and autosexual photos

   while some poor *******
tries to find the right words
to send his dead friend off
with enough facebook love
so he feels loved

and let me ask you this:
when has pop fiction ever
come true

well?

to name a few:
2001: a space odyssey
1984 and
the wreck of the titan: or, utility

if i’m alive
   long enough
i may rewrite fiction into fact

i may outlive this boring life
and all its success

and be constantly
on the watch
for facts
  of death

face-wrecked on some beach
no pornstar would ever take
her clothes off in
let alone a loved one

spending the last of my days
    watching misdirected love
in a room
curtains drawn
the only slit of light
*******
through an apple
computer screen
only to be filled with
some other man's day

them ****** corporate snakes
are always tempting us
mere mortals for just a morsel

the bible was right

eventually

with a *** bottle washed up in my belly
the message read: bile on my desk

with me lying dead
my blank pages filled
with sick

i can only write what i know
don’t blame me for the mess
Haris Sep 2019
some people

are in need

of anything

but love
their houses a mess

their phones
have history
of dodgy premium rate
numbers

cheapened briefly
by  calls from their mothers

the ******* the phone says
she's 24 and
would walk in his door
if she didn't have to chat
to all the other men

drinking
desperados through a

straw

"man
never to be seen again"

reads the article

hung himself using a belt
his ex wife gifted him to wear

only for his kid to wear
the marks of it
  
the man outgrew the belt
fattened up like a farmer's
mancalf ready for slaughter

somewhere between mcdonald's
and pubs that weren't actually pubs

he decided enough was enough

"some people"
says the woman on the train

peering up from her paper
at some manchild
clipping his kid’s ears
Sep 2019 · 47
some people
Haris Sep 2019
some people

are in need

of anything

but love
their houses a mess

their phones
have history
of premium rate
numbers

cheapened briefly
by  calls from their mothers

the ******* the phone says
she's 24 and
would walk in his door
if she didn't have to chat
to all the other men
drinking
desperados through a

straw

'man
never to be seen again'
reads the article

hung himself using a belt
his ex wife gifted him to wear

only for his kid to wear
the marks of it
  
the man outgrew the belt
fattened up like a farmer's
mancalf ready for slaughter

somewhere between mcdonald's
and pubs that weren't actually pubs

he decided enough was enough

'some people'
says the woman on the train

peering up from her paper
at some manchild
clipping his kid's ear
Sep 2019 · 55
i flick a fly
Haris Sep 2019
i flick a fly out the sink
so it doesn’t sink

how does
the most worthless
annoying creature
in this house have wings?

maybe i just saved a fallen angel

from a shitless life

maybe that’s our prize
for not even hurting a fly and

buddhists were right all along
but with sadistic undertones
or they  simply
don't believe    in doing god's
***** work

so

next time i see a fly
i’ll grab the sun
newspaper
and whack it
put it out its misery
from having wings that
only take them to ****
places

i rested on the wings of my parents

when young

they flew me to the south of france

year after year
***** hair after ***** hair

until it all stopped when bush

came

along in 2001

that ****** ruined everything
Sep 2019 · 463
if you must leave
Haris Sep 2019
if you must leave

if you must leave and i too
the streets are only going to be lonelier
our beds lonelier       still

the coffee in
our mornings will be lost
clogging  our drains

cause we don’t have use
for two servings
of coffee  
when we can’t even    sleep badly

anyway

later that day i sadly discovered
my local
store doesn’t stock
   one person french presses

another annoyingly romantic
thing about the french

the shopkeeper suggested
i try instant coffee

he clearly knows nothing about
quality coffee

or helping a customer in need
of goods  
no shop stocks

not even seedy    kinds

you see

instant coffee
for all its hotness  
has always
upset my belly



i much prefer the slower
drawn       down        weight  of
moments      before indulging

at least you know it’s worth something
more than starbuck
stands for

and less upsetting
on      the inside
Sep 2019 · 77
poetry is a strange thing
Haris Sep 2019
poetry is a strange thing

listen to a homeless man on the street
typewrite his words on wine-stained paper
slap bukowski
across the signature
pass it off as his own
and literature
would revere it

'poetry is a strange thing'
says the homeless man
reading the big issue
'who is this joker pretending to
be bukowski? i could write
better and i’m sober'
Aug 2019 · 31
Cavepeople
Haris Aug 2019
Text messages are what cavemen
Oh sorry
Cave people
Used to call eye contact
(And possibly some form of
suggestive grunting)
Or at least
That's how history writes itself
I wonder what cave people
Would have thought of
Sending an orifice shaped finger
And water splash emojis
As a means of foreplay
To a potential mate?
They would have probably
Thrown the ****** phone away
And simulated the act
Using their actual fingers and spit

And to think they could have lit
Their cave
With the backlight of a phone

Oh wait

That would mean they'd
Have to have ***
With all their underevolved bits
In view

What selfrespecting cave person
Would want to do that?
Aug 2019 · 32
Women
Haris Aug 2019
I have one foot on the ground
the other on your *******
You say you're so grounded
As we lay on the bed
But what you really mean is:
I'm locked in
one of your rooms
It's cold
But
It's bold
colours
Warm my eyes
There's coffee on the desk
With all your books and things
I don't know how to look at him
When you tell me you still love him
Midnight hours stroll through
And the morning rushes us fools
We have leftover moods
from last night
Forgotten
That go rotten
Only to find it at
the end
Of our burning eyes
Aug 2019 · 35
Older woman
Haris Aug 2019
I have one foot on the ground
the other on your *******
You say you're so grounded
As we lay on the bed
But what you really mean is:
I'm locked in
one of your rooms
It's cold
But
It's bold
colours
Warm my eyes
There's coffee on the desk
With all your books and things
I don't know how to look at him
When you tell me you still love him
Midnight hours stroll through
And the morning rushes us fools
We have leftover moods
from last night
Forgotten
That go rotten
Only to find it at
the end
Of our burning eyes
Jul 2018 · 175
She raped me
Haris Jul 2018
She ***** me.
I was whisked to a flat
mixed with other drinks,
mixed with other people.
She led me into her room;
I can’t remember clambering
into her bed
but I can still remember her
stripping my clothes off
without asking,
directing my ***** into her
without asking.
I asked her to stop.
I asked her to stop.
She did.
But out of offence
rather than law.
She told me to leave,
angered
I went against her tides
and the men before.
Jul 2018 · 282
Bush fires
Haris Jul 2018
Along this trek of life
I have learned
that bush fires -
although easy to spark,
come at a price.
They love uncontrollably, yes,
but I’d rather not spark someone
that keeps my body
incandescently warm at night
and starves any breath I have left.
I think I’ll try lighting the ocean instead –
in this life or the next,  
despite the impossibility of it.
God loves a trier and
I’ve grown weary of easy love.
Jul 2018 · 775
To women
Haris Jul 2018
You,

the woman,

graced with tender hands

and ferocious words,

that toppled down walls

of my bricked in ache

with bedtime talks

well past dusk;

single-handedly rebuilding

my pieces into a sprawling

empire of self-conquer.

You,

the woman,

who set aflame my shame

with fiery words

and picked up my

aftermath of ashes

with naked hands,

that still remained

unscalded and soft.

You,

the woman,

who ripped open my riddled chest

of barbed feathers

itching to ****** their way out,

allowing me to spill my guts,

holding me back together.  

You,

the woman,

who saved me

and made me better.
Jun 2018 · 159
To my father
Haris Jun 2018
Father, we quarrel most days
with the idea of love.
How I yearn to say
under a blanket of stars above,
“See? You can feel
and show fears
even through your darkest Achilles' Heel,”
whilst hugging tears
out you,
as you did with me,
when I was too young to walk without you.

Father, you wonder why
I don’t phone you
as much as you would like,
and I yearn to say,
“These empty conversations we have
are no use
to either of us anyway,” and
"There is strength flowing
with freedom,
grace and joy
when ice
succumbs to the melting;
you can break through dams
and be the blossoming of flowers
you never thought you’d see
when you let your words
flow freely.”

But what I yearn to say the most is,
“Father,
I love you,
I love you,
I love you,”
and for you to say it back
in a sea of tears
and for you to know
what the freedom
of strength,
grace and joy feel like.

Father, I feel like an orphaned soul,
so let me wander into your empty words
and, together, we can fill our home again.
Jun 2018 · 411
Eclipse
Haris Jun 2018
Through the rage of each passing storm
her strength got more weathered and torn.
For her strength was aswirl in the sea foam –
her broken cliff-face weeping rocks in the gloam.
The moon, her strength’s only guide,
sent her swimming through the night.
Awash on sand, she warmed to him,
the sun, but never stopped loving him,
the moon. There she lay,
in endless nights, and begged him to stay;  
until one day, faraway,
the moon decided to fly away,
and let the sun’s love burn bright for her.
May 2018 · 321
Scars
Haris May 2018
"I can hear you, billow out, your broken past, while you rock back and forth, wearily clutching these sheets. I care not for stories of me, in your sleep, but for all the stories no one dared to care about. Whisper smoke in this bedroom air, we share, and I will listen, patiently, still, for this slow smoulder to shout, in flames, around us. I'll wrap this blanket of skin around every last inch, of you, when the first sparks and crackles sound. I'll let this furnace, of you, burn deep into the very marrow of my bones; your scars, now, mine."
May 2018 · 248
I weep
Haris May 2018
"Why do you always weep
before i fall asleep?"
she asked me, in gentle
cradles and lullabies.

"In the hope
the salt
in my stream of tears
seeps into every crevice,
of your soul,
and melts every frozen path,
in your dreams,
so you can make your way
back to me,
every morning,"
i replied, bloodshot-eyed.

With that she weeped, too,
and I knew
we would never wake
to another morning apart,
so long as these streams
flowed free
into our sea.
May 2018 · 255
Love and Air
Haris May 2018
"There lives poetry in song, poetry in notes, poetry in vibrations, escaping, through this air, we breathe. We must catch these deep pockets of air, and fill them, with this love, we create. We shall not let our lungs lull and waver even when, it feels like, the weight of it all, pockets bulging, will bury this symphony we create; let this composition overspill, overfill, into you and i, until our bodies tremor and levitate, in joyous harmony. Let all, of us, flow out in chaos, and let it be said, we loved, until there was no sound, of us, left to give."
Apr 2018 · 176
I crave your treasure
Haris Apr 2018
Can I open you?
Can I close myself in you?
I crave your treasure.
You say, 'Give me a moment, all in good measure.'
I want to douse me in you; just give me a clue.
What was it you said when I was lying in your bed?
That everything unsaid with eyes are lies disguised in threads;
woven into words in some 3rd world sweat shop
that I purchase in good faith leading to a strop,
when it comes undone at the seams after one wash
and I inspect the label for the second time
where it's printed, 'Made in Her Mind,'
exposing the yarn of words we both shared,
realising wearing it is funding a labour of love that is tethered and teared.
A materialistic part of the mind soaking in last night's wine;
you don't need either but it cost you a heart to just feed it to a moth
and intoxication blurs the words enough so love is mistaken for loss.
Don't you ever feel like you're in a war veteran's skin that's thin atop,
showing scars tied taut like a sailor's knot?

Can I open you?
Can I close myself in you?
I still crave your treasure.
Apr 2018 · 268
My Proposal
Haris Apr 2018
‘It’s tradition,’ her eyes said, flooding, in tones of love’s blue,  
like I was the sky, reflecting, on broken sea.
I landlocked her body around me, kissing every stained hue,
and whispered proposals of hot breeze, evaporating her heart’s plea:

‘Neither wedding rings nor signed paper vows
penned by other hands, sheen and ink fading due south,
would truly be enough to marry our pieces and all;
Rather, I’ll gaze, “I dos.” on loop, into your eyes,
and only your eyes, so your caved soul
grants me entry and closes every inch of me in,
spending our honeymoons savouring:
the very last sunset
in every sky, space and time,
entwining our hallowed limbs
bracing amid the cosmos’ wind,
flickering out the sun like a votive candle.’

This is my proposal to you
and I sincerely hope you reply, ‘I do.’
Apr 2018 · 206
Her eyes
Haris Apr 2018
Her eyelashes were like sunrays
And her pupils: the sun itself
The first time I gazed into her soul
I was blinded
And it's been a beautiful vision
Ever since
Mar 2018 · 162
The Sea and Us
Haris Mar 2018
The waves filled with love and mirth
Crashing into us, spawning birth,
We are all the sea and the sea is us
Gleefully running from the surf,
For memories are sediments and the water itself:
A flume of emotions, much dispelled,  
The shoreline shan’t be strewn with our steps
For longer than our strides: it must be swept.

I watch the blue **** aloft and think:
How it would feel to fly over the brink?
But then I glide down when our skin sticks
In salt and wet, we kiss, which does the trick.
Audio link: https://clyp.it/f3ovh42t
Mar 2018 · 418
My last wish
Haris Mar 2018
If she were to ask me
On my deathbed
What my last wish would be
I would reply
In the slight of a second:

'For every last drop
Of my soul, salt and all
To be poured into the sea
So that every time you float
In its vastness
You'll be lying on me
Riding my waves
Dripping wet
As one'
Mar 2018 · 8.8k
After the Anthropocene
Haris Mar 2018
Our bodies may never entwine again
In their lifetimes
Our skin may eventually shed
Every touch and kiss and grip
Of you and I
To be all but mere dust
My longing for you may seep
Into every sweet letter and noun and adjective
I choose to utter
Unto my speech is but lost scripture
But the very ashes of me:
Bones, organs, salt and all
Will sleep with undying peace
In Earth’s nomadic bed
In the knowledge
The hands of time are tied 
When we’re together

It’s as if the cosmos, the stars
The planets, unknown forces
Whatever it is, banded together
To preserve a timeless pocket
Of our love’s lint
That transcends us
And the us that comes after us
And thereafter
Until our paths collide again
With a big bang
And time will roll into motion
Along with light and love
And our hearts
Will grow old together
As sparked from the very same
Atomic lint

My dearest, this will be our beginning
And it will be the most beautiful thing
The universe has ever seen
Mar 2018 · 236
Weeds
Haris Mar 2018
when love seeds
in two people
the roots
that nourish
can get tangled up
in parasitic weeds
that sap
valuable resources

one person decides
to sever the stem
that now holds three
in order to save
each other

that's human nature
Mar 2018 · 154
Thorns
Haris Mar 2018
Choosing a path
Fraught with thorns
Is said to be reckless
But it's the flowers in bloom
After all the bloodshed
That keep us marching through
Mar 2018 · 137
The Magpie
Haris Mar 2018
Just like a magpie
I charge
To protect you
From other flutters
But when you leave
Forever
I'm left with a nest
Of silver
That holds no value
Whatsoever
Mar 2018 · 136
Sight
Haris Mar 2018
A filled bookcase is a window to sight.
Mar 2018 · 229
Par for the course
Haris Mar 2018
Love for other things is par for the course,
But love for you will never run it's course.
Mar 2018 · 299
Biringan
Haris Mar 2018
fraught heat to love's cornice
and the fog thawed in,
the stone coping's moss, the *******'s coarse and, christ, it's new age sin,
where do we rebuild everythin'?
biringan?

well, I'd offer,
though, I know, the port would be half-mast and tapped,
sea: won't conceal it,
i'll call and cosher your
errant heart.

waning moon and endless wells
your epoch: now a beached shell,
though unorphaned 'cross
your lost love's blanket of stars,
inked into the deepest of skinned scars.

you're at the helm now baby,
it's a handless haul, too vast to crawl, 'midst the squall of it all,
kittens in hand, head anchored in sand
you reach for 3rd mate in.

and, so, the sea was peaceful,
so your heart could see again.
This is an unfinished piece but would like people's opinions on it.

'Cornice' refers to a snow cornice: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snow_cornice
Mar 2018 · 131
Tic-tock
Haris Mar 2018
Tics make folk tock,
And can be embarrassing,
At the quietest of times.
A poem about the daily struggle of having a 'tic'.
Mar 2018 · 135
Man-made heat
Haris Mar 2018
A fleck of snow,
Sends shivers down,
Spineless sheep.
It's sun arbitration,
10 inches deep,
Between Mother Nature,
And man-made heat.
Feb 2018 · 170
The Rum Shack
Haris Feb 2018
Stumbling in at half past seven-ish
A few moments lost for that fleeting date-ish
No Havana 7 but double ginger severance
She’s got a toppling agenda, a full Hacienda Luisita
Oh, in her mind
In her Copiapo mine

Nurse these beguiling blue eyes
Nurse these blindsided thoughts
For I thought we were still in knots?
Who’d have thought we were not?

She was unshackled in The *** Shack
Months before that
Gnawing at her whilst she was gnawing at it
Sharing a familiar piece of (sweet) potato sponge with The Conquistador
Both throwing it up again and again and again
Until the gnawing bored

For we were specks to one another
For we were sitting not next to one another
I’m on the edge of my seat here
Are you not?
Quick! Before the varnished pining rots

Exchanging sentiments of worn out threads
But no slinky boots?
Only a longing look
Returning to the tender hook
She looked at me and said, 'It's getting late.'

Greet, adiós, greet, adiós
She wiped away my loss
For I was left unshackled outside The *** Shack
Backtracking her back
Feb 2018 · 246
Re: Reefing
Haris Feb 2018
Somewhere, baby, it started to cede
Growing on that folly morass
Would you believe?

Had our backs turned to our love
That was left sleep talking
Sprawled out on the middle
Of that lukewarm bed
Oh, can’t take that silent shivering
So, tell me, where’s the reefing that we kept?

Said, ‘We'll be best friends forever.’
So why are we not together?
It's a voyage from the doldrums, I guess

You're gonna call it now, baby
Christ, I've seen it
In those gauzy eyes
I've got his phone safe in my palm
With shared memories
I could never understand

I can't furl it no more, oh no
When it's brought me to my knees
For it's 26 knots of gusto
And that vessel's heeling at the seams

Our love's flanked on that deck
Of missed aces
But I'll not fold it, oh no
'Cause it's still hocked inside of me
Of all the things we decreed
And, I swear, it won't go undealt
'Cause there's bound to be another pair
Of hands at our helm
Feb 2018 · 286
The Blackbird
Haris Feb 2018
Alas, the kaleidoscope Blackbird caws
She’s wanting her nest back
So I’ll cherish a straw piece
In the hope I can salvage a piece of her
This is benevolence, my pal
This is bequeath of nature's desire

The Hunter bows and charges to the beat of her flutter
For he knows what I know
A crispy realisation that has led me to this overflow
Dam! That Apollo and his yellow-stricken bow

Now she is fettered, she is fluttering
Her heart is in sixpiece
But don’t despair for Orion’s here
He guides you, he waits for you

She flies up into the farthest corners
But then realises
All her love's here within

— The End —