"chintzy" poems
Paint tin blue sky
red faced white guy
and a *** of tea
for company.
One chintzy plate to hold the toast
and porridge
I like that the most.
Paint tin blue sky
red faced white guy.
Dresses up in finery
to oil the wheels of industry
and the only thing that he can see
is paint tin blue sky.
Jun 1, 2013
Jun 1, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
Distilled sun invades
to project on whitewashed screen their
chintzy-hotel love,
melding the serenading shades.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 7:25 AM UTC
There is a gutsy finality to
the way you add curls of cream to the cup;
a knowing glint in the chintzy sheesha,
second-hand, jewelled, meditating on the
window-seat behind you. Beds of children
form foamy chains against the azure blankets
out there, above your head. Your glasses are
windowpanes, screens to a lighter view. Curled
in your belly is a shaman with the
bold dimensions of a project. You stir.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 4:55 PM UTC
Eight stories up a
chrome and glass building,
with twelve thousand people peeking out behind
chintzy curtains,
I pace.
My stomach leaks tension and the
phone hasn't rung yet.
TV's too loud, Discovery Channel
playing sharks with crooked teeth
and heavy ***** eyes.
They are familiar, the sharks. They peek too,
behind curtains of water and
doomed fish.
Apr 1, 2011
Apr 1, 2011 at 5:44 AM UTC
A single magpie
follows,
mocks my folly
down the silky path.
Watches me pass
old railway stations.
Hops around
mad vegetation.
Trembles like
a rabid dog in dirt.
Stands waiting
above tunnels
and unnamed bridges,
heading straight for
the south coast.
I exit the wood
with thumbs up.
Pull off my ear defenders
to let lobes
cool off
in oxygen pools.
Enter through the side door.
All rules abandoned
like dog tearing up fox.
We eat white loaves,
eggs poached,
plastic potatoes,
a couple of items off
the children's menu.
My appetite is applauded
and I'm thankful for
such a throwback feast.
Next, drowsiness
lets itself in.
Both chef and beast
access the same dream.
I'm left with
a handful of passions
and tattoos repeated.
Bite off two fingers.
Still chewing rings
when elder spits out
the only tongue
he's ever taught me
to imitate.
His knowing look
of devilish frenzy,
our cook wakes up
to nod along
with the crazy.
Dog jumps up
and licks master's chin.
Begin to think about
untouched piano keys
hidden behind that
golden mouth.
Hope for the carpet
finally retired.
Look through the
chintzy cabinet
filled with the same
**** since '86.
Imagine knocking out
that wall
my family is so afraid
to see fall.
Street becomes
a magpie nest.
Out of
the warren's way.
Sep 12, 2020
Sep 12, 2020 at 12:13 PM UTC
12:25 AM 2018-06-28
I heard rumours that you didn't love me anymore
So I went out dancing with a chintzy little *****
It didn't make me feel better in anyway at all
I just can't get used to how you never call
My friends say that I should just put the past behind
Rumours are that you found yourself another guy
Rumours can **** you if you listen to them all
I just can't get used to how you never call
I'm sorry for being a man so incomplete
Never understood why you thought you had to leave
Never could get over the heartbreak of it all
I just can't get used to how you never call
You're in a another province. You're in another state.
You're in another time zone. The hour's getting late.
I know that I should text you why do my fingers fall?
I just can't get used to how you never call
J. H. Webb
Jun 28, 2018
Jun 28, 2018 at 12:50 AM UTC