"anaemia" poems
En robe de parade.
Samain
Like a skien of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anaemia.
And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.
In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.
4.3k
*two bottles of 70cl whiskey later and a few beers, popping sleeping pills for an actual effect worked with (it's ten past five p.m., i'm already mentioning ~ eleven minutes to midnight, so wait)... you get the shovel and broom ushering the ***** drinkers from a town centre in Leicester or Norwich; or you implant a hope to live in Scandinavia; you're basically laughing with a russian at that point: 'eh eh, where's lithuania?' 'ah **** it's next to yuri reciting poetry on the laika satellite.' 'thought so.' german started from monkeys, sent one into space... slavs started with dogs... like all good people, i would too have kept the cats grounded in atmosphere; well, the oedipal riddle began with a sphinx, so i'm more than ready for the cerberus.*
i'm not going to repent for
my alcoholic metabolism,
i'll wait till you turn into ostriches
ostricizing vegans for anaemia
and bulimia and the london fashion show;
bullseye market that cares for
diaphragms and diabetes; sure the arabs
are alcohol free, but diabetic
looking into the sand dunes like looking
at dunes of sugar.
Feb 28, 2016
Feb 28, 2016 at 12:02 PM UTC
#20 | 31 Poems for August 2016
I began writing this at exactly 03:58 a.m. on a Sunday morning while listening to Charles de Gaulle to JFK by Bas.
Lately I write my most honest pieces during the early hours of Sunday mornings while everyone is still fast asleep.
Wonder what the view is like from Charles de Gaulle to JFK, 30 000 feet in the air.
But anyway, you and I still got bad blood between us like sickle-cell anaemia.
Reminiscing back when I used to be close friends with a girl named Amelia.
Guess we drifted apart as soon as I moved back to Pretoria, maybe the distance dismantled our friendship.
I’ve decided to do this all alone and if anyone’s coming along then let them come along.
I wish I could drift way with the scent of this cup of coffee but a few minutes from now it’ll be colder than your shoulder.
Always wondered if you’d head to Cape Town to go study at that school of brand leadership we always talked about.
But you chose to stay at the Pretoria campus because of certain unforeseen circumstances.
In 2014 I got accepted but unfortunately the tuition was too high like Wiz Khalifa and my mother couldn’t afford it.
That’s why I may have the perception that dreams delayed will always feel like dreams denied.
I’ve been praying for three whole years for a miracle, adjusted my faith and became more spiritual but still nothing has changed.
Guess I’m just young and unlucky; my hands are freezing and my heart is bleeding.
Navigated through space and time just to find the time to give you space.
Words unspoken make way for a silent devotion, this whole thing hurts but I try my best not to let my emotions show.
Wonder what happened, we suddenly stopped talking several months ago.
Maybe you have changed, I just hope that you’ve changed for the better.
I am slowly falling apart and all I can think about is gathering the pieces of my broken heart together.
Maybe you have changed for the better, I guess no one works that hard to stay the same.
My hands are freezing and my heart is bleeding, this whole thing hurts but I try my best not to let my emotions show.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 10:02 AM UTC
#12 | 31 Poems for August 2016
I never knew that hearts could get played like grand pianos do.
The notes are exquisite but the pain and heartbreak are obviously not.
Maybe it is true; maybe my love is as bad as my handwriting is.
Maybe that explains why past lovers never had the patience to stay.
Maybe I’m slowly going a bit crazy and need you to gather some positive words to say.
Because honestly speaking, that’s something I could really use right now.
You’re a flower blooming in a world full of concrete walls; it’s wonderful watching you grow.
But somehow we still have bad blood between us like sickle-cell anaemia.
Loving you was like smoking a pack of cigarettes – you took my breath away but you were slowly killing me inside.
I never knew that hearts could get played like harps and violins do.
The symphony is exquisite but the pain and heartbreak are obviously not.
Maybe it is true; maybe my love is as bad as my handwriting is.
Maybe that explains why past lovers never had the patience to stay.
Maybe I’m slowly going a bit crazy and need you to gather some positive words to say.
Because that’s something I could really use right now instead of having you spewing words of hate.
Aug 12, 2016
Aug 12, 2016 at 9:15 AM UTC
I feed the blood from this old pen and into paper blue again with red line dot to spot the flaw
I feed the blood a little more.
I starve myself of oxygen to feed more blood into the pen and from the pen yet more again to flow.
To go or not the red line dot, the flaws I spot the blood, the bleed the overwhelming need that goes to feed this anaemia that which in turn serves only to make each scenario that tiny bit dreamier, anosmia, can't smell, can't taste, ink never goes to waste because I inject it back into my veins.
And I tire, retire to take a time to rewire, a hard drive dive into electric cells, dwell within without my pen in hand and still the blood flows into flawed lines, these are the red dot diary times.
I feed to feed and that alone,
paper, pen and I am home.
leave me
be to
write and
bleed.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 10:57 AM UTC
Aches in joints
Rheumatoid
Temperature results in fever
Heat warmth in joints
Redness in joints
Inflammation
Tiredness
Iron defiency anaemia
Stiffness in joints.
Acrostic Poem
Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 1:13 PM UTC
the monochromatic anaemia of current culture with such journalism as is reflected (it’s all unneccesarily american): there’s more english history outside of england than in england itself... in england the history is only a question of stigmata in how medical professionals are stuck in the pits of cartesian theories of the disembodied brain of the theory posed by gilles deleuze & felix guattari - like is prescribed to individual, so should be unto nations: inward looking, inward searching, reflective... rather than reflexive.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
What happened to the world we know
No longer free to come and go
Facebook, what’s app , twitter each day
Happy we were to text our way
We called our loved ones or a message was sent
We didn’t know time was on rent
Now all we have is social media
An unforeseen life anaemia
When we had both that we could use
We never felt the need to choose
Yet here we are no longer in charge
Of problems small or even large
What mattered last week doesn’t now
Just stay at home and then somehow
You’ll have the chance to make amends
and see your family and your friends
And never live the life so empty
But more a life full of plenty
Life is so fleeting and so dear
Let’s learn a Lesson from all this fear
The internet It helps us all
But far from grace we had to fall
to find a text can’t kiss a cheek
Or hold a hand when it feels week
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 11:15 PM UTC