"juddering" poems
"Who am I, mother?
Who am I and what do I do?"
–Norman to his mother Norma, "Bates Motel"
And so it goes, a split self - the protagonist defending the darkness as
Bizarre murders satisfy obsessions of a mothers love, taking a
Chefs knife, stabbing victims to death.
Dualistic wars within, a helpless man whose mother taught him of the
"Evils of women," instilling her own moralities of their wickedness.
Fostering the antagonistic personality of his mother
Giving to his incomplete soul a sense of wholeness.
Hidden behind the boy next door innocence, a terrified man
Incarcerated; locked & bolted
Juddering with fear - promising to adhere - set free said to be "cured."
Kleptomania returns; unearthing bodies from their graves, stealing skulls; a comforting souvenir, as
Loving anyone meant destroying them also.
Multiple personalities dominate him
Norman Bates becomes Norma; his mothers persona, crawling into her skin
Originating from their very kiss, kick starting a timeless love affair
Paraphernalia of skins tanned, butchered conquests -keepsakes turned to art & now protecting an un
Quiet mind
Reasons pertaining to mental insanity
Sectioned to institutions
Taxidermy as a young boy fascinated his mind
Urges to **** & fill, feeding euphoric highs, & even
Vertigo.
Women thrilled him; their smell lingered on each garment he kept.
Xenos to himself; who, am I mother?
Youth denied, cried away
Zenith ended; his final resting place behind the bars of Mendona Mental Health Institution, 1984.
© Sia Jane
Feb 1, 2015
Feb 1, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
You were in a tail-spin, (You remember?)
Of course you do, endlessly falling,
Churning dark clouds for company,
Every silver-lining has a cloud.
So I reached right in, (you were so blind.)
Placed your trembling hand on the controls,
Although, you did not trust me, (did you?)
Not at first, although with good cause,
Because you were dizzy, disorientated.
But slowly, ever so slowly, we relaxed,
Pulled you out of the dive, up and away,
Banking, climbing, power ramping up,
Juddering through the stutter-stall,
Until we were purring, a throaty growl.
A big cat in a poorly constructed cage,
Bursting free, guided by rainbows,
Flickering smile insinuating itself upon your face,
(So lovely) on your beautiful lips.
Without really noticing, (smooth as silk)
We coasted along in open skies,
Rah, French kissing the gentle swell of the sea,
Transforming everything into a mirror,
Reflections captured in burnished bronze,
Can I release your hand now? (don’t gasp)
Yes, my love, you are flying again.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 10:40 AM UTC
They lose their lives to small hates so easily that you wonder if they are allergic to love. Perhaps these gangsters, revelling in their roadsters, go banging in their round pools of darkness to shut out the light, light so bright that it will reveal something sick about themselves. Their hair is so slick that it shines in the headlights and warns them to step away, find the shadows, a place that is far far away from cops and gallows. I thought myself a gangster once, true, tossing teens to the ground to grab their shoes; breaking windows with heads to see bleeding prism hues. But I learned otherwise when I found you: I discovered that life is a measured destruction of time already, so I renounced my life so small in order to **** myself in minutes rather than bullets and enjoy each and every doddering slip -- each and every juddering rise and fall as we watch the future play out having already gambled it all.
May 14, 2013
May 14, 2013 at 11:31 AM UTC
I awoke by the sea to a fearful crashing,
the ground juddering under me.
In the distance, ribbons of laughter-
the shape of human life.
I had not forgotten.
From an immense past,
a thread of light drew me back.
This was my dream-plan.
This is what I asked for.
I lift my head to look.
It wavers on its weak stalk.
Without command, my arm-stumps
jut out at odd angles,
as if about to take me with them
somewhere.....too soon.
They have a mind of their own.
Uplifted, I am blessed
with a peaceful crown of blue
from which a sweet-salt tang
sharpens a wild desire...
I want the air,
I want to push back the hampering twigs,
to hang on thermals in an unlimited sky
where I can chase my bird-shadow
over the hardened earth.
But I must wait for the sky to offer itself,
wait for the light to whisper-
It's time. Time to begin again,
to take a wiser flight.
To be free
as a bird.
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 3:04 AM UTC
no one survives the hunt
or the transformation
between a juddering ****
that resembles desire
and the notch of recognition
May 28, 2015
May 28, 2015 at 11:57 AM UTC
I met this **** chick at the entrance to the cinema
and we agreed to sit in the back row
[after all I bought her ****** ticket
so the little **** knew what was expected]
and when the house lights went down
and the couple next door started
mauling each other's mouths seriously
she unzipped my pink satin trousers
and took out the first six inches
of my mighty ***** of generation
and gave it a spectacular *******
until I shot off into her dribbling cakehole
and then I could enjoy the film
without very much extraneous distraction
[apart from the antics of the couple next door
as they were in their eighties at least
judging from their heavy breathing
and from the time it took them to come,
just like a slow train juddering into
a suburban station on Christmas Eve].
Feb 16, 2015
Feb 16, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
Two stories, intertwined to weave a web,
Of elaborate lies and hidden secrets.
Parallel truths of a renowned city:
London, the city where they come to live.
London, the city where they go to die.
A cacophony of colours, vibrantly singing,
Reds that foxtrot and blues that Waltz,
Twirling, swirling, laughing, swinging,
Shining bright till dawn takes its course.
Whilst peeling greys in burnt out husks
Of building's corpses, thrown down by the tantrum of time,
Get signed by the shaking hands of addicts,
In dripping graffiti and shattered windows.
In an office, hands soft from perpetual ease,
Poking out from crisp white sleeves,
tap methodically at keys,
Maintaining a facade they all believe.
A few streets down, fingers:
Tobacco stained and streaked with yellow,
Pierce a quivering needle into
Their master's begging flesh.
A girl who seeks definition in numbers,
Who needs a crowd to hear her message,
Seeks knowledge in eternal wonders
Of London streets' bleeding essence.
Yet the boy who drowns in pounding feet,
Melts into the din of a thousand voices,
And his voice pleads a dying whisper,
As he loses himself to anonymity.
By the light of the underground
These juddering truths are evident,
In the despondent eyes fixed on filthy floors,
And the eyes dancing with potential, flitting around the crowds,
Waiting for a chance to shine.
London is a lock that guards two doors,
And we are the key that determines our fate.
Oct 19, 2014
Oct 19, 2014 at 1:17 PM UTC
Sure, she was
pretty.
Pretty as a doll.
Porcelain skin,
Stoic,
elegant.
Everyone said so;
therefore
everyone knew so.
But,
she was never beautiful.
Never having that smile that soars across your face, reaching the rising heights of your cheeks,
heat flowing through the cracks of your skin made from memories passed.
Encircling your eyes, forcing the green leaves to wither,
facing the tight chill of another winter.
Eyes awaken, olives on the branch
Skin turning fiery now… it’s laughter!
A shuddering of skin
juddering and jiggling
Cracks are forming where sapphire squeezes out and down the mountainside, leaving its trail.
Youth is wasted on the young?
As if youth is something to be owned.
Oct 20, 2020
Oct 20, 2020 at 6:29 PM UTC
December, end
of year, end of something,
my acquaintance will be forgot.
Ode to divorce, if we were hitched,
but hey! To a new beginning.
Night like charcoal
on windows. Out of bed,
coffee, new machine, shiny black
juddering awake,
spurting caffeine
into the vacant cup.
You’re doing my head in, you know that?
Yesterday’s game, lobbing
words, ping-pong tiff, oh
you didn’t think I’d forget?
Regret it? No. I was on top.
A dog barks.
I think of my grandpa’s Alsatian,
bounding tennis-ball-in-mouth
when I’m fifteen, hands sticky
with slobber, for a second,
when you were unknown.
I sip, finish, got new batteries,
make that gawky move
with the jacket, slip on trainers.
I take my Soviet Kitsch, Sigur Rós,
and your Killers. After all, the latter
is how it began, ‘it’ being us, your lips laced
with lager, my Dr. Peppered self
gushing with excitement
at being out of the house.
*Didn’t peg you for a fan…
I guess I’m not what I seem…*
ain’t that the truth darlin’? Everything
will be alright. Look
at me now, opening the door so quietly,
cold latching onto my skin
like I’m a magnetised substance.
I like how you don’t know.
Ginger cat scurries from under a car.
I think it’s running away too, running
from us. Right idea ****
You know **** means kiss and ‘tom’
means empty in Swedish? I think of that
now, funny how a strange thought
can leapfrog to the front of your mind.
I can’t drive, you can, but you’re asleep.
Boy, you’ll be wondering
where I am, but I was never
there anyway, really, I don’t think.
Hours from the shock of me, gone,
for reasons unknown,
a magic trick with
Carbon Monoxide in my ears,
your Brightside too.
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 2:40 PM UTC
Brooding skies
Tell me
I am falling
The weight of grey clouds
Like gates of a foreboding vault
Tell me
I am falling
I feel it
In the walls
Of my heart
Drops of sweat gather
About my forehead
My thoughts ache
And yet
I am
An artist
And this is the adventure
For which I have yearned
To be free
Free
Free
So why does freedom
Feel so dangerous?
Why will my tense body
Resist it
Do I wish to cling to the security
Of imprisonment?
I must call upon courage
Deeply possessed
Birth right of all
Limitless oceans of strength
Awaiting those who seek it
And I will believe in the sun
Although invisible to the eye
This morning
It is there
To warm
My juddering soul
For in the storms
We are like mice
Huddling together for safety
Our tears should not be shed in pity
We should hold each other close
For we are human
We have fear
And courage
We possess despair
And hope
We live
Yet we will die
Sep 29, 2016
Sep 29, 2016 at 1:41 PM UTC