"holidayed" poems
We dine on Tuna & Merlot red wine
a single car's headlights shine
traveling down a road
so many stories untold
you're selling your old flat
in the Georgian house
we all lived in
back in the colorless nineties
when the music was bad -
Westlife, Take That, Spice Girls
& everyone
wore either black or blue
it seemed, on this Island
& your boys were still small
& my family holidayed in Cornwall
& I didn't yet know I could write poetry
when you move away
I shall be sorry to see you go
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 7:33 PM UTC
Freedom, my fickle friend,
How nice of you to come.
Shall I take your coat?
Or will you creep furtively in the corner like last time?
Why so shy, freedom?
Your reputation precedes you.
Your triumphs trumpeted universally,
You’ve an entourage of millions.
Ah,
Freedom has a secret.
Statuesque, god-like, beautiful.
I cut you open one night,
While you holidayed in Nod.
A cat in the night, I crept inside,
Looking to unlock my door.
Instead I seizured in nocturnal vision.
Your breath notstirred.
Your blood notran.
Your heart notbeated.
Shriveled demon,
There is no hiding under the scalpel.
Your mask is torn off.
You wolf in sheep’s clothing.
You rotten peach.
Come not when you are called,
For I know already too much self-contradiction.
Jul 27, 2011
Jul 27, 2011 at 12:05 AM UTC