"northerners" poems
I met my girlfriends family today
Northerners
It was her grandad on her father's sides
Ninetieth birthday but you couldn't tell!
Congratulations
We go out for a meal, enjoying the laughs
They thought I couldn't eat
The giant whaler portion
Of fish and chips
"It's got nowhere to go!"
"Y'don't get fish like that down south"
"You'll never finish that."
"Are you struggling?"
"Good luck with that!"
I only went and ate it all didn't I
Proved them wrong and now I think
I may never ever eat again
A fully suppressed appetite forever
All to make a point and to be
Accepted
To be fair though,
We don't get fish like that down south and
I would eat the giant whaler portion again
Provided someone's doubt in my ability to
Actually eat it swayed me from the large
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 2:01 PM UTC
I want to hold your arms
Warm and breathe life into them
They are so strong and easy to let myself go in
I want to grant your back the grace to stand up tall and feel no pain in planting your feet in the ground
I want to kiss your hands
As you do mine
You don’t understand the life you put back into them when you do.
I want to warm your heart
Enough so that I can be the person you calm yourself for
I want to be your calm
Your crazy
Your beautiful
I want to be stable, insatiable ground for you
I want to reflect nature for you,
Something beautiful that outshines anything man made.
I want to reflect the consistency of the moon
The illumination of the sun
The sweetness in planting feet to soil
Body in ocean
I want to be what beaches are to northerners, to you
I want to be who you kiss Sunday morning
Who you want to come home to Friday night
I want to be your whiskey
I want to be a part of why you feel blessed
I want you… to be able to see me in my true essence
And I want you to know what your compliment,
Your genuine appreciation and respect means to me.
I want to do what hearts do, with you
I want to do what bodies come together for, with you.
I want to appreciate every muscle, every vein
From top to bottom and push you into ecstasies of pure bliss
As we will fall into exhaustion
Only to wake and create a scene all over again .
I want to be here, someday with you
I want to watch you leave out for work
And know that this is the home you will always come back to
I want to create different ways to mimic hearts with you
I want to blaze the trail to greatness with you
I will celebrate you
I do celebrate you
I see “we” in your eyes
And I feel the distance we put behind us when you hug me.
You match my need to keep moving
I want to bind “unlimited”, to your success
And passion to everything you do.
I want us to be wonders in our separation
And a force not to be countered in our together
I want to believe in “forever’s” with you.
I’d love… for the first time with you
I promise I would…
I’d bind myself to moving forward with you
Next to you
And forever do things just to catch the sun you have caught between your teeth
And the glimmer of the moon you have sprinkled in your deep chocolate eyes
I’d like to be bold enough to tell you what I could be
For you
With you
Behind you
Next to you
But, I am a flourish of nerves wrapped up in a facade of confidence
Trying to mimic the sea
Peaking back to see if you have caught a glimpse of my beautiful.
-Indigo Morrison
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
I finished moving into my residential college as a storm began
- fat raindrops, as big as coconuts, falling from a black and fouling sky.
These northerners were acting like a "tropical storm" (Henri) was a big deal.
“Surely New England gets storms?” I ask, from behind my mask.
“What about NOR_Easters?” I say, like a meteorologist.
“Those are different.” I’m told, with no other explanation.
“Did you bring this storm from the “SOUTH?” I’m asked, accusingly.
(This was after I told them about coming from one ”bulldog-college-town” to another.)
“Yes.” I reply, “It was in my luggage.”
A silly question but they have a point - the storm feels like it’s involved and fulfilling some obligation to dramatize my college move-in story.
“Time to quarantine!” I’m informed - “Yep, can’t WAIT!” I lie.
One disaster at a time.
Aug 22, 2021
Aug 22, 2021 at 2:41 PM UTC
it begins with saint piran's flag... well, let's just
say that, there ought to be two "offending"
but classicly marxist, separatists governing bodies
in, what's know as geo-politics...
upper-class retards think that the people
occupying the home county known as essex
are, complete idiots...
well... hello my "fellow" londoner!
nibble on some rat-shit, get a pigeon **** *******
on your top-hat? **** **** off!
the northerners can't claim, that i'm
a southern fairy... in europe there the north / south
and the east / west divide...
the southerners seem to prosper, as do easteners...
and likewise...
essex, and the whole "point" of the south-east...
no... cornwall wan't to be indepedent,
like the basques in spain...
and that flag...
may i make a suggestion to counter the cornwallians?
revert, allow essex to have a teutonic inspired flag
in reverse to yours...
i.e. a black crux on a maiden's "body".
living in essex, i've started to become, irritated
by this county becoming a joke fior the whole nation...
like a bunch of indians saying goa in portuguese...
sure, i know: northern monkeys...
wild antics and bits and bobs...
essex has produced snooker champions...
the other sort of chess-players... the geometricians...
and then the serving geographic is simply quote as:
sun-tan orange "quirky" accent;
and all, from a megapolis that exterminates rats,
but feeds urban pigeons.
in essex? we have woodland pigeons,
and they look like the very-most pristine theologians,
if not priests...
and they're fat...
blooming... and they have the equivalent of
a dog collar... and sure as ****
they won't have one their legs, reduced to a stump
with all the claws removed... like an urban pigeon might,
strutting... well... "strutting"... merely limping.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 11:19 AM UTC
Mirages caress the air in celebration of hope once lost
they will breathe now but wither at dusk
when the sun has lost its patience seeking a worthy companion
no one ever shines like him, he thinks
not in arrogance but longing
in an exhaustion of otherness
and he knows he has busy hands.
whorish and predictable
he will always leave eastern shores for western ones
gently touching bodies of water
or angrily scorching the audacity of land still being there without him
at times the earth trembles at his powers
breaks
protests
and the sand's shoulders go limp but rest assured
tomorrow
the sun will ****** those lands not in heat
and will still be lonely
will still not know the life he gives
or hope to barren lands and northerners
still not know that he's a part of everyone.
he IS the celebration
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 5:29 PM UTC
*sun when slips down west
sky is pink-a-blush
day makes merry-home haste
dies in sullen hush
my eyes dreamily follow
not the meridian star
but in the dusky glow
the flock's flying far!
how they rush together
in twos of clinging pair
ahoy a home is there
waiting in all weather!
the ones roaming on south
run home way down north
leaving their hopes to sprout
on the sunrise coming forth!
the northerners fly to south
end of day's toiled roam
hoping surely no doubt
finding there a cozy home!
Tell me their chirping words
as they fly over head faraway
it's time to pick up the shards
piece them to build another day!*
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 11:15 AM UTC
Winter tends to bring out the worst in people,
living in Wisconsin doesn't make it easier,
when 60%,
of one year,
of your life,
is cold and wet.
We all yearn for summer,
The word "summer" itself becomes a cliche,
we can't stop talking about it,
and us northerners think about it often.
then the days come when the leaves are on the trees,
and boats and docks sprawl on the thawed out lakes.
And we become happier.
Even those of us with hurt feel bads,
and broken hearts,
they can all forget the pain for a moment.
When they wake up on a summer day,
and hear birds chirping,
and hear the country music blaring,
and the days are longer,
and everything seems pure.
I even can forget about you for a moment,
when my beachy hair flies in my face,
and the lake water covers my skin.
Summer helps me to forget you,
Even though it is when we met.
I'm forgetting you.
Filling up the holes you left,
Finally.
Forgetting.
All of it.
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 8:08 PM UTC
Cabin fever, feverish dreamer, saw the northern lights
on one of those nights, or had they only seen her?
The gas that spirals into stars left a burn on my
elbow, when I was catching-what-I-can-before-I-go,
and I stretched for all I could reach but
I dropped back to earth, found a face full of sand
on the beach where I'd come to land with
an empty satchel. I tell myself, oh well, most days,
oh well, here's a bit of a green glass bottle,
and as well, here's a half broken shell, the same
colour as the one I only ever see when I dream.
Oh well, you never can tell with the northerners,
the lights, the stars. I had just been so sure
they were, for a long time, simply ours
for the taking. But it takes more effort than
one might suppose to visit the solar system
when most planets keep all doors closed.
I told my best friend I'd seen something or one
extraterrestrial, and she thought it was a story
I'd spun to be extra interesting. She was
right of course and I was faking, which I don't
do very well. Gut-full of anticipated remorse.
Mar 20, 2016
Mar 20, 2016 at 9:39 PM UTC
_French alone is tasteless.
Because we are Northerners
Because we are not southerners
Our tongue's taste is Hausa spices.
Arabic is part of our natural heritage.
And English is adequate ingredients.
To cook
To taste
To swallow_
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 6:23 AM UTC
My life became a constant
theme tune,
Coronation Street
Steptoe and Son
worst of all,
Terry and June
I know they're not real
just situations
but I find myself
humming insanely
someone should
'brain me'
(the Northerners'll get that one)
It's not rocket science
not Beethoven either
and
I'd rather learn those
than
keep wrinkling my nose
at those awful themes
but it seems I will.
Nov 4, 2017
Nov 4, 2017 at 5:23 PM UTC