the metro is a dream machine, lights pulse through dark windows; colours stretch, tangle, till they break, phase, fade out. those high pitched squeals, squeaks of wheels, wind tunnel rush and hum of pushing against time.
gliding underground, electric eel, growls like a metal dragon, tail bending around corners, weaving the bends, hisses like a snake. jumping out in the half second before it exhales to a stop.
Because my sugar levels dropping, mind foggy, dopamine high crashing; because legs aching; I can’t unknot the multi-coloured tangles this evening; because yesterday; because I said yes; because. Because you never said in so many words.
You say there is cloud cover with chance of rain, but you know there will be rain because you have a headache. You can tell but you can’t say.
Submission for the theme 'distance' for The Menteur Anthology
Here by the Beat Hotel near the St Michel in a cafe with wine I feel the hum turn to sizzle and sparkle and overfill into my eyes too much till they are brimming with hope that could spill onto the table and my heart is swelling with a optimism and I feel it spilling over I worry I will laugh crazy for no reason but to release all the glowing light inside which is feeling far too obvious for everyone they will think I am drunk but I have only had a sip but this conversation is several glasses of something of energy of fermented anger and worries and anxieties about the world
turned into wine and we sip the sentences we sip the sentences and eyes clink glances in holistic belief and hope it is so much but you say we are free we are freer than this ramekin which once held peanuts which we nibbled between drink and thought and you say you can’t believe you are talking of Sartre here and it is cliché but the words ripple like a song we know we forget but when it plays we forget we forgot and always know we need to hear it again we wish we could record the feeling the sights the words the way you say the words so that we are filled with childlike possibility when life weighs us to stare at our feet.
Stream of consciousness poem. Written ad hoc/spontaneously after returning back from a bar after having some brilliant conversations with friends and a university tutor about creativity, philosophers and writers. Felt a magical and inspirational moment that I had to record down the exact feelings and thoughts that ran through my head or felt at the moment. These thoughts overlap other thoughts and tried to leave no emotion spared. well I actually didn't think too much about the words when I wrote, just let the words tumble out and forced no punctuation to help that happen. Probably most honest poem I've shown.
I feel hope I am trying to let my heart sizzle without the heat getting too high and eyes steam up like windows condensation I am not crying I am just happy and hopeful and everything is beautiful but if it sizzles too much my body shakes fidgets I am not crazy I just love this universe I am also scared of it all if I sizzle too much my heart I will my heart will I will burn out but if I drop from this high I feel cold and stone dead numbness which also scares me when it makes me careless and not look attentively when crossing the roads or feel my body hum in a muted tone hum like a grey vibration inside barely moving
Written in stream of conscious style. Edited a couple of aspects to poem but other than that it's all pretty much intact as it rolled off my mind from I don't know where on the day. (more info on part I)
It was today I know I had reglown a sparkle dimmed dimmed a frightened dormouse the frightened dormouse wearing a mane has begun the trick to become a lion
practising the self like arpeggios slipping up on that one note that one note which rings true like a fact then the next slips like a truth which is history slips like a truth called history and written in books which are called true
I sat polished skin like wooden floor knowing you were thinking of me and knowing you were thinking of me maybe willingly made me glow like the way if you gaze into a painting long enough the colours glaze the eyes phosphorescently
Meandering through texts which give all the answers and none and take away much more after the explosion of letters and words and noise and traditional orders of words de-institutionalised word orders which roam maverick released from the prisons the asylums the phantoms of meaning phantoms that beat the old drums again and again till even the ground aches and rumbles and trembles with trepidation we are not so brave as the ground
I wrote a very long poem on 17th March 2017 after I got back from the bar feeling full of energy to write something (the bar is mentioned in later part of poem). It's in a total stream of consciousness and forced myself not to use punctuation. I edited a couple of things out on here but apart from that left it mostly intact (but separating it into sections so it's digestible). It's a bit of a mad one as I just let my mind ramble.