"matchbox" poems
It's Sister Lucy not Sister Bridget
who's the crush on the young priest
Father Joseph Magdalene said,
Mary said is she the one? as she sat
on Mags bed listening to music
on her record player I thought
you said the Bridget,
Magdalene sitting beside Mary
passed a glass of lemonade to her
and said nothing certain
you understand just the rumours
I've heard but don't tell
the parents or my arse'll
be slapped for spreading the rumour,
have you a ciggie?
Mary said
putting the lemonade and glass
on the bedside cabinet,
Magdalene poked under the mattress
and took out a squashed pack
of 10 Woodbines and said
open the fecking window
or Ma'll know we've been smoking
and she'll have a moan
and passed the packet to Mary
who took a cigarette
and put it in her mouth
and went and opened the window,
Magdalene took a cigarette
and stuffed the packed
under the mattress again,
Mary sat down and said
have you a light then
or are we to fecking **** on air?
Magdalene took out
of the pocket of her dress
a box of matches
(liberated from the kitchen)
and struck a light for them both
and put the matchbox away again,
they inhaled and sat in silence,
the record played( Billy fury)
and they tapped their feet softly
and nodded their heads,
so what are you doing
about Brian Brady?
Magdalene asked,
what'd you mean doing about
I'm doing nowt with the ******
it's him who thinks I'm going
to be doing things the soft loon
Mary said,
you seemed to be encouraging him
the other day Magdalene said,
ah was fun only I'd not let him
near me in a serious way
no more than the holy Joe himself
Mary said,
smoke filtered ceiling ward,
a car backfired from the street below,
Magdalene leaned in close to Mary
I'm your best friend
and I get jealous of the likes of him
being too near to you,
O he's nothing to be worrying yourself
about him Mags he's just a loon
as boys are Mary said,
Magdalene held the cigarette
a way from her lips
and kissed Mary's cheek,
Mary sighed and said
he's nothing I just give him
the tease he'll get nothing
from my ****** money box,
they both inhaled and exhaled again
and watched the smoke
rise ceiling ward,
the sound of Magdalene's ma
downstairs singing along to the radio,
Magdalene's hand went on Mary's thigh,
a bright sun in a blue Irish sky.
Jan 4, 2016
Jan 4, 2016 at 2:43 AM UTC
I wasn't sure what to make
of this intergalactic space war.
With flying soldiers in old tobacco tins
and bullets made out of fingers.
I took it upon myself, I suppose
to conscript to this chaos,
upon the fluffy terrain.
Some sort of tyrannous Tyrannosaurus,
with a purple top hat
had taken over the bunk bed fort.
I'd made up my mind.
The only thing for it was a straight "Neeeeee-owwwwwwww"
into the back of the villainous lizard.
My comrade in arms however,
felt I wasn't quite suited for this rampant combat.
Although, his reason I didn't quite agree with;
"You're doing it wrong" he said, rather patronisingly.
I guess my little cousin is less of the kamikaze type and more of the tactical warfare nature.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
There's a tiger in the tree top,
playing checkers with the sun king,
cutting light across the cloudscape,
as black takes red for another king me,
God carves the stubble along the jaw line,
clean cut remedy
we all sing for the twenty-third century break me down,
break the matchbox,
light us up,
burn the red wood down,
tiger's gonna swallow the world,
tiger's gonna bleed a rectified rainbow realist chorus,
all the pawns are at root,
all players underfoot,
God's got checkers playing with the son killing world feaster,
tiger tiger, what do you fear?
oh tiger tiger, what hell do you bear?
oh tiger, how death plays you so
so foolish,
tiger tiger,
you fall
Aug 22, 2012
Aug 22, 2012 at 3:04 AM UTC
We'll start the fire
in morning streets
with a flick-clip
on a matchbox
and light a trail
we made to steps
headed for a bed,
this time with no
extinguishers or
hanging fire exits.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 10:35 PM UTC
When we
Are alone,
Me and Ammini
Make another
World to play in.
Like the ever vacant
Sand houses
Some adults build
With their kids
On the beach.
Then,
I will get angry
Even if the gentlest
Of breezes
Passes that way.
She will turn livid
Even if a *****
Passes that way.
If
Single
Single
Memories
Or sighs
Or their scars
Appear on the face
She will
Wipe them off
With
Kisses.
After playing
For long,
We will fight.
Ammini will holler
Louder than
The way she laughed.
I will keep mum
Louder than her.
I will
Lay her down
Holding her close
To my *****
That will beat
Ammineee, Ammineeee.
As she pretends
To sleep,
I will shoo her off
Go away pussiiii!
As if the masculine
Of pussee is pussoo
She will shoo me off
Go away pussoo!
I will retort
Go away Poochamma!
Ammini will retort
Go away Pochamba!
Go away Kochambi!
Go away Kochambra!
Go away Pochambra!
Go away Sochambra!
Go away
Sorambi!
Go away
Soramba!
Go away
Soorambi!
Go away
Kooramba!
Go away
Koorambi!
Go away
……
At a loss
For words
She will
Change the tune.
Goaway
Slate!
Goaway
Bag!
Goaway
Tree!
Goaway
Pencil!
Goaway
Pen!
Goaway,
Ant
Goaway
Mosquito!
Goaway
Matchbox!
Goaway
Straw!
Goaway
Book!
Goaway
Cot!
Goaway
Chair!
Goaway
Window!
Goaway
Door!
Goaway
Mobile!
Goaway
Button!
Goaway
Computer!
Goaway
Trousers!
Goaway
Shirt!
Goaway
Sky!
Goaway
Puppy!
Goaway
Star!
Goaway
Well!
Goaway
Girl!
Goaway
Boy!
Goaway
Calendar!
Goaway
Fan!
Goazway
Doll!
Goaway
Broom!
Goaway
Tiffin box!
Goaway
Poetry!
Goaway
Annakutty!
Goaway
Appakutta!
Goaway
Ammikkalli!
Goaway
Appakkalla!
About to lose,
I will show the
Trump card.
Go away
Agnus Anna!
Her face will change.
Hesitantly,
She will say
Go away
Kuzhur Wilson!
Then
An
Intolerable
Silence
Will
Spread
There.
When Ammini
Turns back
To
Kochu TV,
I will
Enter
The bathroom
Shut
The door
And
Puff on
A cigarette.
Then
Another
Kind of
Game
That
Makes
Life
Intolerable
To live
Will
Pool
Around me
There.
Translation : Ra Sha
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 10:26 AM UTC
I never wanted to go splashing and crashing over the top of a rainbow..
So..
Julie and me sailed off across the jellybean sea to a land..(and here I'll agree this sounds a bit grand. )
But under nursery rhyme trees where lollipops grow out of grandmothers knees and lemonade pop,pops up out of the ground with a lemonade pop popping pop kind of sound and where chocolates galore can be found on the shore by the lakes of cream cakes..
..here we will stay to play every day...and the night never came and each game was brand new..
Wouldn't you want to stay?
Well..wouldn't you?
But the time finally arrived though we had hoped it would not and wiping snot on my sleeve (because boys do that)
We built a matchbox boat and got ready to leave...ready to sail on the sea of despair
I will,I will be going back there to the land of sunshine,funtime..
..and whether it's the jellybean sea or an ocean floating in marmalade tea..
Julie and me will cross it together..
..eating love hearts and living,
Forever.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
I confessed my adoration declaring my undying affection along with my true intentions
You declined most gracefully (clear and concise)
Narrating you do not share the same sentiments, (it was a forgone conclusion)
Letting me down eventually yet elevating my spirits every time you smile;
If you reciprocated even a decimal point of devotion or a fraction of affinity I hold for you
Metaphorically speaking it would acquire the vast space that now occupy all the stars in the known cosmos
For my affection towards you ran across time through galaxies extending throughout the infinite interstellar, finally resonating to the heavens unsettling angels and almighty god
In space time is redundant; direction hold no relevance and gravity is absent
Similar to the romantic intentions you have for me – literally none existent
You will always occupy that pedestal you once accused me I have erroneously placed you on
I will always hold the candle for you, step off a bridge if you asked me to
I would rather deserve medals and not have them; than to have medals and not deserve them
Very much like you – case and point
Maybe you are like the sunset I only have the privilege of admiring its magnificence from a far
But never to retain it for myself I have to let go once the dusk disappear giving way to the stars
But I like to still envision; let my imagination run rampant; then contemplate in accordance to the “Many Worlds Theory” that somewhere in the unknown multiverse, vibrating in a different frequency, we co-exist ecstatically ; now living & sharing an apartment in New York city; enjoying Chinese takeaway drinking cheap wine while listening to all your favourite songs from the nineties. (Specially the Goo Goo Dolls, The Verve and Matchbox Twenty)
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
If I could do anything
I would be controlling clocks
And go right back to that mouldy box
With the broken locks
And the electrics off
Those days when I would sold me socks for cake and drops
Whist cooking rocks
***** this K detox
I feel like a baby fox
Thats I been ***** by all 3 bears and goldilocks
But day by day with my tool box and theese building blocks
I'll build my very own fort knox
Il see the light shine when I stike the fire from my matchbox
Listening to my old jukebox
Nov 19, 2018
Nov 19, 2018 at 9:27 AM UTC
It's 11:11 make a wish
Look out the spotty window
See all the frowns
And boring towns
See how powerful the words we use are
They can cut deep
Deeper than the most violent assault
Buildings and obelisks of befuddlement
Pressed for time
Lemon scented tiles
Scrubbed
No mold
Personal preference
Common courtesy
And common sense
Scarce but invaluable
A face only a mother could love
And a father can lie to
Coulda
Woulda
Shoulda
Didn't
Searching for carrion
Give way
To the wayside
ECNALUBMA
In the rear view
The worms eat us
The early birds catch the worms
The cat nabs the worm
After being resurrected by satisfaction
And the night owl writes the tell-all
Put the ear to glass
Put the glass to the door
And listen closely
To sound of knuckles cracking
And the chattering of coffee shop patrons
Indian givers going back on their word
Fingerless gloves
Prim and proper
Promptly pummeling
Tunneling to tomorrow
Well done
Slim to none
Fat chance
The local native's tongue
Sold fresh and farm raised
On any given day
You can find demi-gods
Playing a a pick up game
Matchbook
Matchbox
Mismatch socks
Pick up sticks and stretchmarks
Just stay the night
So we can wish this all away together
It's 11:12 open your eyes
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
You are
cherry blossom
an oval
a fish-eye
you keep
mosquitoes
in a matchbox
& pray
to Buddha
we part every now & then
so we can meet again
Jul 14, 2015
Jul 14, 2015 at 9:17 PM UTC
the first accident we **** a baby bird,
hardly a bump in the road
hardly anything,
a tiny body in ***** snow,
us, howling roadside prayers like coyotes to the moon
second, we bruise;
shining yellow cheeks blush under peach
and eyes bluer outside than in,
just the taste of skin, slightly sour
and one missing tooth
third, there’s a casualty
my casualty,
a long slick road and a wall
and a fatal breath, just my bones slipping
- down my throat
and blood flowing back up
laughing
a slight of hand trick
we pull away in the last moments of mysticism
broken and stunning...
...our fourth accident is a blinding light
and the fatalities were minimal
none of them ours
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
My life has been somewhat perfect.
I pursue things that pleases everyone around me;
But why was I never happy nor satisfied? Is it really an effect?
Of things that made me capable of achieving things my eyes can see?
I feel nothing but emptiness,
Like a matchbox without matches nor dust and spiders.
Very cynical thought for one and filled with absurdness,
I can't blame people for I'm a mere banter for others.
I don't sense my purpose, nor my passion.
What an irony for the title seen above,
Yet it is something that I'd like to figure even without caution,
A mere thrill for me for I have wings yet I'm a flightless dove.
I envy and do not, those people who know their passion,
For most can achieve and do what they desire,
Whilst others cannot so they end in what if's and aggression,
How morose for the latter but dreams can always transpire.
I am entrapped by the idea of a passion driven life,
A loony idea that is far beyond reach,
Unless dreams are sacrificed or even be in a strife,
To just taste a luscious pitch black peachy leech.
Mar 28, 2015
Mar 28, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
I remember Buffalo-
Amherst actually, but the suburb not the college town
My nephew lives in Amherst
But the college town not the suburb
My grandmother lived in Buffalo
Amherst really
and my dad too
My grandfather died there, before I was born
We never said we were going to Amherst
We said Buffalo
Like someone from Los Alamitos might say
they were from Los Angeles
But Buffalo was where grandmother was
But not the fun one
The fun one lived in Gloversville
Which is near Amsterdam, my mom used to tell us it was Amstergosh
Still, Amherst had soft boiled eggs for breakfast
a giant oriental rug on which a small boy could play
but just with his Matchbox cars
and a blow-up Sinclair dinosaur
There was the garage with doors at both ends
Perfect for hiding a car
From brothers-in-law
On a wedding day
There was the giant Chrysler
light green as I recall
In the driveway past which the neighbors lived
with their iced tea with mint and lemon
There were Uncle John and aunt Mimi
Who were like my great uncle and aunt
Except they weren't
Just really close family friends
Uncle John was the one who told me at the age of five
"Always tell a woman you need to leave an hour before you actually have to leave"
We were waiting for Mimi to "get ready" so we could go somewhere
She was taking forever
I do remember Buffalo
Amherst really
But I know there is so much more
that I've forgotten
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 11:17 AM UTC
We sweat out the holy stuff.
You used my ribs like one uses
the rough side of a matchbox
striking up your fingertips
to light the rest of my skin on fire.
I'm glad I was just another burnt tip
in your collection.
I'm glad it was an easy discard.
I took a mental photograph
of you in that moment--
Bare chest, pulling down your boxers,
holding my face like one molds a statue,
bite marks on my jaw line.
I smoldered in your sheets,
you kicked me out of bed.
This must be what Pompeii looked like
after all the ashes cleared.
I'm glad I was just another pretty girl
you liked to watch go up in flames.
I'm glad you didn't ask me to stay.
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 11:58 PM UTC
Her head was covered in stubble
That's where her hair used to be
She touched me with cold fingers
And black serpents writhed in my chest
I could bite my bottom lip off
And gag on my own blood
I come around head swimming
Her fingers in my chest hair
Had me running for the matchbox
She kept the lighter lit a while
And I watched it dance on the end of a safety pin
White hot
We locked eyes
She had me
Third degree
Beneath her thumb
In between the black charred lines of skin
Her tongue would run
Nostrils filled with that smell of cooked flesh
If this is love
I understand
All night long we kept the fire going
Burning old photographs and books for tinder
Not hot enough
Not bright enough
So we lit our little house on fire
Nowhere left to fight-scream-throw things
Not hot enough
Not bright enough
A spark hop
The neighbors house
Smoke alarms screaming like a newborn baby
Spreading so fast
God couldn't stop it
The whole city burned like a cherry
Sirens screech
If this is love
God ****
May 31, 2013
May 31, 2013 at 12:35 AM UTC
i see the matchbox girl
dressed in rags
skin transparent
veins so blue
and you're curled
unceremoniously
between heavy linens
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 10:15 PM UTC
I grew up on the boarder of city and country
On neo-folk and punk served with romantic classical
The kind of music that paints pictures
Rainy days were my favourite
My Mom didn't pay much attention to me so I learnt to play
With my wild imagination
Until Dad came home
He'd leave whenever he got mad "I'm going for a drive"
I loved dogs and horses and all natures creatures
Except cockroaches
Dear god did I ******* hate those things
My Mom was a pagan my Dad the member of a Catholic church
Mom told me if I am good in this life I'd be a unicorn in the next
My Dad just taught me the lord's prayer
My first friend told me I was going to hell
I knew she'd be a slug in her next life
School bells
I enjoyed school
I was a prodigy child in everything except math
Dad pushed me into Karate, Judo, Rock Climbing, Soccer, Boxing
I liked playing my piano and drawing my dog
Sports made me uncomfortable
My first kiss was with slug girl
She was pudgy and had a cute smile which I was jealous of
But she screamed and ran away
That was the first time I heard the term "gay"
I started to like boys because I thought it was "right"
My Mom said "we all love our friends" but my Dad frowned
I loved my Dad
I wanted him to love me too so I kissed the boy I grew up with
It was gross
I kissed many boys after that and tried my hardest to forget slug girl
We moved into the heart of town and I wore more black
I stopped playing with my Matchbox cars
I stopped galloping about like the horses I desired
I put on a little eyeliner and the bullying I faced when I was younger
Made me weak
It got worse
They tormented me those kids
I wished them all dead but I knew Karma would get them
Eventually
Now I am still drawing animals and writing and playing piano
But I wont ever forget my Dad and his silly beliefs and *** Pistols
I embrace my gayness although not to it's shining potential
But I will always love myself for everything I was
Am
And ever will be
My story is far more dark and complex than this but to tell it would take a lifetime
My whole lifetime
And more to come
x
Kaity
May 25, 2015
May 25, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
A boy, but more like everything in the galaxy excluding ordinary through the eyes of her and she thought he should be stared down congruently through everyone else's eyes too with his clever hands rendering sweet enough to drown you with the softest of all touches. But she crossed her heart and knelt on her knees every night that no one blinked a contriving eye at all the particulars that made him the fantasy he was; the downward flick on the right side of his honey colored mane, the lonely dimple that rested on the left side of his cheek that only came to life when you kissed him or told him how colorful the fireworks were when your hands accidentally touched; his opposing colored eyes that wouldn't be noticed by anyone who didn't thrive to admire every particle of his being, eyes that should cost a million bucks and the freshest breath of air ever exhaled just to be looked into once. He deserved the worlds audience of eyes, but she's glad no one looked at him but her because if they had everyone would want his every last piece and he would be so viciously gone and she's oh so greedy and needs his every last part; the broken ones, the faded, the pieces that could never balance quite right without delicately falling apart. He was a matchbox who never ceased to ignite more than just sparks.
Oct 11, 2013
Oct 11, 2013 at 1:00 AM UTC
A sadness haunts that town.
stuffed between the cracks
of dilapidated matchbox houses,
and in the grit of rusty trailers.
Even below the green carpet of government buildings,
And the marble courthouse floor.
Poverty stares Wealth in the face from across the street,
his haunted, empty eyes
lit by the embers of discarded cigarettes.
Wealth is good at glossing over the cracks,
setting up the chain link fences and rail road tracks.
Iron curtains that could be stepped over,
if anyone knew they were there.
But no matter how many fences,
there's still that nameless sadness in the soil.
A potent concoction
of dead dreams, harsh realities, and broken hearts.
With a dash of Cherokee tears and lead from the War.
All stirred by Monotony,
who lights her cauldron fire
with electric bills and dollar store receipts.
Like a curse, it spares none.
Though they've learned how to smile
with tears in their eyes,
above moth eaten scarves or pearls.
It's permeated everything, down to the roots.
But not to leave the glass half empty;
Some still find happiness,
some are still sad.
That's just how it goes.
Hope and despair are but two notes in the same tune.
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 11:28 PM UTC
Summers ago when he was ten
his first blush was born from her glance
on his yard fell the first rain
he had but met her only once.
Most precious gift gave her tiny hand
one that he kept in a matchbox
no ring it was a red rubber band
long lost still at his heart knocks.
How can stop time by a girl's whim
stales never a moment of closeness
when love was an unripened dream
lust was an unknown address.
The boy soon grew to become a man
the girl went to some faraway land
they come but once in one lifespan
his first blush her hand's rubber band.
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 1:37 AM UTC
Ken and Barbie drive around
in their matchbox cars in my small town
its bright yellow with a stripe you'll see
how hard they try, and wanna be
admired by everyone /including me
stepford wives, and soccer moms
stepford husbands mowing lawns
with perfect twins that keep them in
competition to hide their sins
their tongues spew knives from their lips
about a neighbor that's not so hip...
they're so busy judging everyone
they don't notice flowers in the sun
words, or art -- or people like me
that don't fit in the picture they see
I stand alone in my small town
while Ken, and Barbie drive around.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 9:46 AM UTC
They say that opposites attract but I stopped listening a long time ago
I never knew who was talking anyway and I've never agreed with them
But I think she might be a lot like me and I have nothing to base this on
Aside from the fact that she leaves rooms like a burn victim
If this room is on fire I think its because of the matchbox in her sleeves
Yet I can't prove any of this I haven't even heard her voice
She's a whole new language I don't understand yet
~W.C.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 12:46 AM UTC
Plastic pistols, cowboy hats
action men, palitoy combat
Hotspur, Tiger and Hurricane
leather footballs, broken panes
Matchbox, Corgi, Airfix, Meccano
Stickle Bricks, and (only) red and white Lego
Triang scooters, Raleigh Choppers
Dunlop plimsolls, orange space-hoppers
Down the park’s obstacle course
Witches Hat, iron rocking horse
Bumps and scrapes, grazes and cuts
rub it all better, just-get-back-up
Home before dark, in time for tea
Billy and Ian, my sisters and me
Dec 13, 2021
Dec 13, 2021 at 2:26 PM UTC
I watched it all happened
I watched it all burn down
And yet I stood there watching
Without uttering a single sound
I knew all their secrests
I knew all their lies
I knew the real stories
All from each side
Trusted by all
They told me all things
But I stood there in silence
As they played a game of kings
Doing nothing at all
Even though i held the power
I just let them fall
Withering like a flower
Times have moved on
They are all no longer friends
I'm the last connection
There is no chance they will make amends
People fall apart
All rundown to different ends
Hatred and recentment burns
Though cast away by the winds
I see them all now
And even I've lost that spark
The one I once held
When the whole world seemed dark
As I stand upon the ashes
Of the loving people I once knew
That time gone and forgotten now
The very thought to which is taboo
Yet here I stand
At what was the foundation of the past
Holding the matchbox in hand
Crying, I thought it would last
I did nothing to stop it
I myself set it ablaze
So much for the peacekeeper
all she could do was gaze
And try and act innocent
Attempting not to get burnt
You would think after such tragedy
That I would have learnt
But its a burden I'll carry
Right down to my grave
Knowing I destroyed them
When they could have been saved
I let them burn
What kind of a monster does that?
*******
I'm Guilty
~
Oct 6, 2018
Oct 6, 2018 at 9:26 PM UTC