"puffing" poems
a lady lights a cigarette
glowing red cherry
lips, puffing without
regret
a cigarette, burning
smoking, grey breathing
choking and
tap tap the
falling ashes
it is over with
a definitive flick —
a lady lights a cigarette
she can see her spirit
dancing in the smoke
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 12:26 AM UTC
I met a friend today
His name was Death
He smiled big with pure white teeth
And minty fresh breath
I asked him what he did for a living
Staring blankly at me, batting his eyelashes
He did the opposite of giving
What did that mean?
But the closer I got to Death
The better I understood his scheme
In his sharp black suit he won me over
I felt an irresistible draw
Like to a diamond in the rough, or a four leaf clover
He convinced me of the beauty in the night
That when the moon was hidden from view
There was nothing better than the lack of light
He led me from my lust for life
Sang to me in my sleep
Whispered sweet nothings and handed me the knife
I tried to pull away from my newly found friend
But his choke hold was so tight
On him I started to depend
The world could see me deteriorate into nothing
He held me harder and closer
With shortness of breath I stood huffing and puffing
Enclosed in the lackluster of our friendship I became numb
The emotions drifted with my vitality
I tried to retrieve them but could only attain 1/5th of my former sum
The more time you spend with a person
The more you become like them
I suppose I couldn't see the situation worsen
Collar around my neck he leashed me like a dog
I cared so deeply for him
My haze filled mind ignored the dense fog
I came to terms with my life long trap
Death circled like a satellite around my position
No matter where I went he found my place on the map
Eventually I succame to this fate
Despite his control
Death, I could not hate
I loved him too dearly to notice the signs
I couldn't think clearly
His presence was odious and it wasn't benign
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 11:25 PM UTC
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I stepped out of a puffing train,
my long unkempt hair a lion's mane,
getting used to my twitching tail,
Posing on the Gateway of India,
the extraordinary explorer pose,
took a boat to Elephanta (sans the hose),
and when my shivering co-passengers
had finished feverishly taking pictures
and started screaming holy mothers and sisters,
I took off from the starboard end,
and became the first man-lion to
cross the polluted Indian channel,
surviving to make the news channels,
my scientific name listed as a brand new mammal,
my mating call recognized as a gushing gargle,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends,
I devoured deep-kissing lovers for lunch
at Bandstand's low-tide on a hunch,
to the delicious sound of munch! munch!
even as Shah Rukh Khan watched disgusted
from his big big bungalow by the sea,
and as the city sharpshooters came after me,
and later when they brought me down,
from Nariman Point building, like KING KONG,
I tuned a dusty guitar and sang a melancholy song,
on the death of adventure, love and reality,
dangers of delusions, lethargy and self-pity,
repression, horniness and too much TV,
down in a shower of bullets when I went,
sky like the coming of rain, godspeed, godsend,
in a mythical city, where nothing is really meant,
On a mythical Mumbai weekend,
of no serene start or dubious end,
with imaginary beauties, invisible friends...
Jun 4, 2016
Jun 4, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
i am sitting and pressing green paint in misshapen swollen dots on my nail beds and thinking what if i mess this up? i am notoriously bad at fingernail painting and i ruin it and i am also afraid i will ruin myself by loving you.
yes, yes i hear you like a train. my head is all railroads and oceans, but i hear you puffing and whistling he does not love you, he would not love you, he loves her. long hair hazel eye i am not her i cannot be that girl i do not want to be his girl
but i want him to want me
oceans
trains
Mar 4, 2018
Mar 4, 2018 at 9:59 PM UTC
Standing on the hillside is a rustic yellow cottage,
Rusty yellow staining from the steel dust of the trains.
Passing, rushing carriages that crisscross by the hour,
The ten o clock from Frankston meets the City train detained.
Golden light of sunrise in the calm of early morning
Golden light reflected on the rusty cottage roof,
Puffing at his briar and sitting at the doorstep
Old Grandpa drinks the peacefulness whilst stroking cat aloof.
Bacon smells a-beckoning from coal range fires a-glowering
Delicious tang of coffee from my Granma’s breakfast fare,
The clattering of silver wheels as silver rails reverberate
Sings the music of the morning with not a trace of care.
Memories from yesteryear I treasure on reflection,
Memories, a little boy, recalled from times secure.
Memories of cuddles in the ***** of my Grandma
And the scent of plum tobacco giving Grandpa’s pipe allure.
Perhaps a trick of memory, perhaps my passing fancy
But I clearly recall a sign above the kitchen door,
A simple sign of welcome with a sense of real belonging
In the gentle name of “Sunrise” to warm the heart galore.
Marshalg
In memory of my dear Nan and Pop Cummings @ Mordialloc by the bay.
23 April 2013
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
The Ganga talk
eh eh eh
What does it say?
The Ganga talk
eh eh eh
She says light me up
Light me up
The Ganga Talk
Ay ay ay
She says daddy burn me up
Burn me up
The Ganga Sing
What does she sing?
She Singing
oh in harmony
As I put the flame to her, she seems
Soft
&
Vibrant
Honest
Eyeing me
OH
I cannot think
Burning
my baby
Oh
I cannot stop
Puffing my baby
till she's gone
Society
Has triggered this in me!
And All I can think about
Is the next time my
ganga talk,
my baby gonna sing.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 12:52 PM UTC
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Just as the earth puckered its mouth,
each bud puffing out from its knot,
I changed my shoes, and then drove south.
Up past the Blue Mountains, where
Pennsylvania humps on endlessly,
wearing, like a crayoned cat, its green hair,
its roads sunken in like a gray washboard;
where, in truth, the ground cracks evilly,
a dark socket from which the coal has poured,
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
the grass as bristly and stout as chives,
and me wondering when the ground would break,
and me wondering how anything fragile survives;
up in Pennsylvania, I met a little man,
not Rumpelstiltskin, at all, at all...
he took the fullness that love began.
Returning north, even the sky grew thin
like a high window looking nowhere.
The road was as flat as a sheet of tin.
Somebody who should have been born
is gone.
Yes, woman, such logic will lead
to loss without death. Or say what you meant,
you coward...this baby that I bleed.
6k
On a thin ribbon of light
unfurled from unseen heaven
direct to her parted robe
and disquieted ear
comes an angel’s voice,
the dove’s winged companion,
with words foretold in the book
now slipping to the floor.
What hunger fires
our flickering imaginations,
that require Grace come
wrapped in velvet purses-
with proof of the child’s
purity dripping from tables
and prophet encrusted walls?
I think they had it all wrong-
Fra Angelico, Veronese, van Ecyk,
and even Martini with his
gilded apprehension.
I prefer a scene without
unblemished lilies-
no fine linens, puffing cherubs,
or embroidered pillows on display.
I picture her instead
at her daily labor- pulling
on a ***** rope at the village well.
With calloused hands, she
draws her trembling reflection
skyward, when, announced
by the slightest breeze,
a stranger appears.
Before their eyes meet,
a bird’s flight distracts her-
water splashes from the bucket
washing the dust from her feet
and soaking the tattered hem
of her robe. His silent glance
holds her only for a moment.
In the distance, a voice
calls out, “Daughter!”
She turns, sets off,
bowing to her burden.
A cloud’s shadow
melts in the heat of the road.
Tom Spencer © 2018
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 8:30 AM UTC
Sittin’ on the beach, in Cancun
Suns overhead it, must be noon
Don’t really know ain't been to sleep
My souls on ice, I guess it’ll keep
My Costa’s are filtering out the sun
I seem to be suffering from too much fun
Only one cure, I need another drink
Maybe then my clouded brain can think
Summer time in old Mexico
Have a good time when we go
Drinking and smoking and having fun
Swimming and snorkeling, soaking up the sun
Bikini clad waitress, strolls the line
Cuba Libre please, don’t forget the lime
Swaying cheeks, a pleasure to see
Maybe later on, just her and me
I can’t wait, slowly follow to the bar
Panama hat and a Cuban Cigar
Strolling along, while I watch her sway
Can only imagine, if I had my way
Summer time in old Mexico
Have a good time when we go
Drinking and smoking and having fun
Swimming and snorkeling, soaking up the sun
Puffing smoke, we arrive at the bar
The bartender winks, I stuff a tip in her jar
Hands me my drink, I squeeze the lime
Having so much fun it’s bound to be a crime
Mexican girls and ******* tourists
Equal opportunity, hey! I’m no purist
Seeing the sights, and doing well
Summer beach, and I'm feeling swell
Yeah, summer beach, im'a feelin' swell
feelin' swell....
Aaaaaaarrrriiiiibaaaaa
Sep 17, 2016
Sep 17, 2016 at 10:52 PM UTC
I hear a wind whispering from the hills
It comes down tickling the woodland rills
From far is heard the frightened murmur of leaves
As it pounces on them like wayside thieves
It shakes the branches of flowering trees
And their weak petals drop like confetti in the breeze
Over hills and trees it loves to skip and stray
Always in motion, never inclined to stay
It moves unhampered over streams and field
With no resistance to its might, they simply yield
Like a child, it romps over the sloppy meadows
In its gentle touch, dances the gleeful flowers
It skillfully pleats the blue chiffon of the ocean
Sometimes curling waves in electric motion
Over the sea it runs puffing up the sails
And over the sky heaping clouds in bales
Sometimes it steals furtively like a lover
And disappears kissing our cheeks under cover
Often it comes capering with a lilt and a swing
We feel delighted when we hear its merry song
Like a nomad, the wind roams from place to place,
Hiding its mysterious presence from our glance
From an unknown hide out it comes like a spirit
But always making us feel its vigorous might!
At times it gains force and roars like a beast
Felling trees and wreaking havoc with its twist
In rampage, it sweeps the sea and the ground
Triggering sparks of fear and horror all around
Oct 27, 2017
Oct 27, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
Hidden under the honeysuckle
and hibiscus
Lies a stone.
And as I sit, drinking a gin and tonic
Looking over the spent plates
where crusty bread
fried calamari, which is a fancy word for squid,
and two Oysters Rockefeller
sat
until recently consumed by two parents
both in that awkward state of freedom
and longing
when their child is at camp,
out past the ducks on granite rocks
puffing themselves up
flapping their wings
towards afternoon sun on Winnipesaukee
my thoughts and eyes are drawn back
to the wheel of stone
leaning against the rotting wall of railroad ties
covered in a remoulade of Honeysuckle
Rose of Sharon
and other viney things
that are unidentifiable to me.
It has been painted during its time
but the paint is faded and chipped
and the feeling is that the stone
has outlived the painter.
Yet I do wonder.
What was its job 50, 100, 200
years ago?
Was it in a mill?
Did it lie flat, grinding?
Did it roll, upright, crushing things?
What else did they use round stones for?
Is this what retirement for a working stone is?
Cast to the side,
forgotten
hidden under the honeysuckle
and hibiscus
in an alley next to a waterside Wolfboro restaurant
where parents sit
Looking at Winnipesaukee
over spent plates of bread, squid and Oysters Rockefeller
thinking of a child at camp.
Aug 17, 2012
Aug 17, 2012 at 9:11 AM UTC
It's half past four and the Red Rose
is Doppler dashing across
bullying slow fourth class hikers bikers
who dare to share the bridge walkway.
Puffing pumping its steam sweat smoke
straining through the shielding lattice
smogging choking foot folk
who snort its sulphur scented smuts.
Oct 17, 2015
Oct 17, 2015 at 6:19 AM UTC
I live so shyly it could be
taken as an apology but
it is only simply that
I seek to walk gently
As I live where thick
forest grow deep within
a hidden society places
you will never know.
I am a gentle giant the
King of the jungle a great
power house, walking
softly and slowly.
As you look into my eyes
rivers and waves will
channel and flow
between us.
I sit so still in the jungle
resting so deeply the world
is centered around me.
No human, monster or
giant cat could ever disturb
me my heart strong and enormous.
I am a fortress great castle made
of stone as many softly creep
past me.
I bear my chest a treasure chest
a temple for my heart.
As I open my inflated chest
puffing out my heart I breath
my love into this world.
Always holding a perfect space
for my a green house for
my family to grow.
I have the wisdom of many elders,
the strength strong men and the
touch of a gentle baby child.
Covered in warm soft fur we
hold each other within the
lightest kindest touch.
We know a gentleness can
only be built on enormous
power and strength.
As I am born to hold cherish
and protect as you will see
in my eyes I cradle my
family within my heart.
As an amplified love burst
through my chest I feel every
follicle of hair search to
express.
Although never anger me
never threaten my family
as I will drown you out
like thunder.
I will be all the storm clouds
of your life turning your day
into night as I shatter your
world with rain.
I will grow like KING KONG
curse and dominate your day,
you will wish you never
crossed me.
I am the beating heart of my
family as they all beat inside
of me so maybe no giant is
ever bigger than me.
Don't throw your lies at me
as they will bounce of my
silver chest as I do know my way.
I can be your worst nightmare
the softest mother and the
gentlest grand father.
And all the love in my chest
passes through my skin as
though it was paper thin.
I feel the jungle grow all
around me as I pour my
love into my family.
Give it to me, for all the world
all I want is to love my baby
and I will be so happy.
Living within a pool of amplified
love that turns brighter jungle a
electric field green.
As I really love my family
be careful with their sensitivity
as all their love sponsors me.
But be gentle and I will love
you like my family
as I am the
GREAT GORILLA
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 7:59 PM UTC
Father figures through out my life
they fall to pieces for my mother,
only to get swept out by her broom
when the floor the family is depending on
gets too filthy to dwell in.
Blame this on the fact that Pisces
is in Saturn in my birth chart.
It was never in the cards
for me to have a father.
I no longer have to play the role of a daughter.
My age has outgrown that possibility,
my mother could never keep a man
in the house for too long,
on the surface she is strong
but my mother makes us sleep
in her bed for a reason.
I came from a male chromosome
that came from a body
that has yet to perish
but dead to my existence.
I don't mind this,
except nights when I'm pure tragic
madness, and he pulls up in front
of my house while I'm drinking wine
and puffing chemicals.
Hello, you made me
but we don't speak.
Strange sadness but mammals don't
need parents to fend for them once one hits
a certain degree of awareness.
But I thank him anyways for giving me life.
Sep 5, 2013
Sep 5, 2013 at 4:51 PM UTC
Hoarfrost lipstick
Touches not-dead-enough lips.
She's limp and entangled in branches.
Unfeeling fingers
Snap newly-formed buds
Breath puffing and gasping, he glances.
"Pretty...
...my pretty...my pretty cold doll!
See how the snow on her dances?
Almost...almost finished.
Just need the rest...
That last one got covered in scratches..."
Bone-numbing cuffs,
Can't scream from the gag.
She's trembling and sobbing in snatches.
"Shhhhhhhhhhh...
I just need your arms...
such pretty white limbs!.."
He picks up his shears, and advances.
Feb 22, 2011
Feb 22, 2011 at 7:34 PM UTC
The Pansies curtsied deeply, in their flouncy purple dress,
To the yellow Jonquils; and then only to impress.
And Amaryllis hides her newly naked-lady stem,
But her bouffant clothing opens, at each thrill of puffing wind.
The Bluebell always bows her head, when saying any grace,
Though Iris has Apollo's tears, fresh on her upturned face;
While Daffodil has sunshine, in her ringing petticoats-
Poor Honeysuckle is quite gone; all eaten up by goats.
Jun 28, 2010
Jun 28, 2010 at 6:42 AM UTC
Aye,..Uhh
where the weed...Where..(Where the2)..drinks..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..(Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane2)..(Yeah..let's have some fun*2)..Aye..
Burn up, Blaze up..Yeah burn up, Yeah Blaze up, Yeah po up, Yeah drink up, Yeah burn up..Yeah po up..Yeah..Blaze up, Yeah drink up.. let's (turn up2)..Yeah..let's..have (some fun2)..Yeah have fun mane..Aye..(Where the3)..weed..Yeah..where..(where the2)..drinks..(Yeah let's have some fun2)..tonight mane,aye..(Where the2)..weed..Yeah..(Where the2)..drinks..(Aye let's have some fun3)..Tonight mane..Aye..Po up Yeah, Blaze up Yeah...drink up ***** & burn up man..(let's have some fun..Yeah*3) man..Aye
OFTR, we throwing a house party like we in the 70s era dawg, yeah we gonna have this **** jumping like Kid n Play dude.., mane
The whole crib gonna foggy filled up wit hella smoke, aye..Yeah ***** that dope..Yeah that good kush aroma dawg..The only thing you can really see is the fire at the end of the roll up..Everybody drinking yeah Everybody rolling up, Yeah everybody coughing & choking & (having fun*3).. Yeah..my nigaa..Yeah we puffing on funky, Uhh.. Homie leave all the stress at the front door man..so
Don't bring no drama, don't bring no problems, don't bring no ******* don't bring no false ones, & don't bring no stank ho's please dawg..forget blowing ****** we got sticky icky grown organically, no pesticides Yeah mane..just straight THC Thats it..home grown , Yeah we..(having fun*3)..relaxing kicking back Yeah kicking back a young ***** had a long *** tiresome day, now its time to unwind get high & have some fun..Yeah..man..Uhh..
Yeah, its time to roll up,Yeah, its time burn up, Yeah its time to po up..Yeah, its time get super drunk..
(Yeah just having fun*2)
(Have fun*3)...man..
Yeah, we gone turn up tonight dawg, Aye we got 40s OEs, Aye we got champagne, clicquot mane,Aye..we got Budweiser, bud lights,coronas & 2,11s by the case load,..also ***** gin, & vsop..Yeah we getting ****** up like a white fraternity, please don't throw up mane,..make sure you eat..Aye mane, **** what people think about me I just live my life, who's the **** to tell me I ain't living right..nobody **** right..
(We having so much fun yeah*3)..tonight should be here dawg , come now, Noo we ain't stopping till the morning.. That's how OFTR party dawg..Uhh Yeah we party hard Aye..
(Where the **** at mane,Yeah where the drinks at,Aye4)...(burn up, po up, twist Yeah, don't stop..Uhh,Yeah3)..
/Don't stop,3../3...
ever nigga..let's go..
Noo I ain't done wit this song no not at all
...Ohh, that's what you thought dawg, **** I still got some more turning up to do.. Man I still got kegs & bags of marijuana that ain't even half way through we getting throwed ,like a football, Yeah we so gone mane..(Ohh*3)..Yeah dawg, Let's go..
(burn up, po up, twist Yeah, don't stop..Uhh,Yeah*3)
/(Have fun3)..Yeah mane/2
(Have fun*3) Yeah..Uhh
where the weed...Where..(Where the2)..drinks..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..(Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane2)..(Yeah..let's have some fun*2)..Aye..
Burn up, Blaze up..Yeah burn up, Yeah Blaze up, Yeah po up, Yeah drink up, Yeah burn up..Yeah po up..Yeah..Blaze up, Yeah drink up.. let's (turn up2)..Yeah..let's..have (some fun2)..Yeah have fun mane..Aye..(Where the3)..weed..Yeah..where..(where the2)..drinks..(Yeah let's have some fun2)..tonight mane,aye..(Where the2)..weed..Yeah..(Where the2)..drinks..(Aye let's have some fun3)..Tonight mane..Aye..Po up Yeah, Blaze up Yeah...drink up ***** & burn up man..(let's have some fun..Yeah*3) man..Aye
We doing what we want Yeah..we having so much fun man, we twisting & drinking we living free Yeah..we living freer..than they want us to be , Yeah..we breaking all the rules like **** Dat **** Noo, we don't care about polices, noo, we don't give a **** about nothing, like **** all the laws homie, Naw mane,
/we just do what we want..(Yeah2..)/2
we gone kick back & roll up the whole pacc, Yeah man,we gone wake up tomorrow & do the same **** again..Yeah man, we gone live it up..(Yeah, we gone have some fun3)..tonight.. (Yeah2)..Aye..Uhh
Where..(where the3)..weed at...Where..(Where the3)..drinks at..Uhh..(Where the2)..weed..(where the2)..drinks..Uhh..Yeah
Let's have some fun tonight mane, Yeah let's have some fun Aye..(Where the3)..weed, where..(where the2)..drinks,..Where..(Where the2)..weed..(Where the3).. Drinks..Aye, let's have some fun tonight mane..
(Yeah..let's have some fun*3)..Aye..
(Uhh..Yeah, Blaze up, burn up, drink up , po up, Yeah Blaze up, burn up, turn up, drink mo*3)
(Have fun6)..(Yeah have fun4)..
Man..
Let's have some fun..Aye
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 2:42 PM UTC
eyes closed and gently singing...
miles of buildings playing
musical lights with no one
home.
perched on a rooftop, the wind
running her fingers through
my hair.
a child wild as ever, smirking indelibly
at concrete modules splattered by their
own brains.
taking in deep breaths of quality alert air--
and puffing out a dragon's fraught column
of fire.
gotta light it up just to see straight, passed and
through...make way, my scene.
a sort of rough draft being smoothed out, you see...
now i gotta **** half this city to work your energy
out of me.
Jul 28, 2018
Jul 28, 2018 at 12:50 PM UTC
It was a glorious night for a moonlit flight
On Barry my Big Berkshire Boar
Huffing and puffing like flying was nothing
Over the treetops we’d soar
Well I never knew, that other pigs flew
As Darren came circling down
Sat proud on top his Gloucester Old Spot
Wow! What a wonderful sow
I’m sure I can claim that Darren was the same
As his jaw nearly dropped to the ground
For Darren and I, had pigs that could fly
And you don’t really see that around
“Hey your pig flies!” Darren wailed with surprise
“And we only just met for a drink”
“I didn't know you, had a flying pig too
Just what would the other guys think!?”
So we soon made a pact, with our secret intact
Everything worked out just fine
Now we’re both out at night, when the weather is right
Racing our rare flying swine!
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 6:27 AM UTC
First Girl
When this yokel comes maundering,
Whetting his hacker,
I shall run before him,
Diffusing the civilest odors
Out of geraniums and unsmelled flowers.
It will check him.
Second Girl
I shall run before him,
Arching cloths besprinkled with colors
As small as fish-eggs.
The threads
Will abash him.
Third Girl
Oh, la...le pauvre!
I shall run before him,
With a curious puffing.
He will bend his ear then.
I shall whisper
Heavenly labials in a world of gutturals.
It will undo him.
3.2k
seated at the backseat with our song on repeat
she reached for a stick inside the back pocket of her faded denim jeans
i heard a familiar flick sound
only to see a lighter on her hand
silence fell upon us
not knowing what to say, i glanced around
trying to find an excuse not to continue to blatantly stare at her
still, she is all i see through my peripheral vision
savoring the smoke,
letting it all fill her lungs
puffing,
inhaling
yes, a stick could **** sooner or later
if no one dares to stop her
but what if she's already dying inside? or what if she's just doing this to fight the demon who made its way inside her soul?
chained her heart,
no plan of letting it go
i may have seen her burned her throat countless times already
yet, it still feels like the first time her thin lips pressed against the filter
how i wish it was my lips, instead...
Oct 18, 2018
Oct 18, 2018 at 6:16 AM UTC
Trains at the bottom of the garden
metal dragons breathing out smoke and steam
huffing and puffing, waiting for the signal
some compact with tanks affixed
others larger, more grand
pulling colour matched tenders
sometimes bearing shields and names
beginning with 'Duchess' or 'City'
mostly black, some rusty
deep reds or greens
with contrasting lines edged in gold
Once one came in matt pink
and I wondered why it didn't gleam
like the others, perhaps pink
was a colour not to be given
it's equal due with other
less feminine shades
it had to be denied vibrancy
yet I loved the pink one best
later I learned somehow
that the colour was that
of the primer used
to inhibit the rust
and my pink engine
was just an unfinished paint job
pressed into service
prematurely to give cover
for another that was broken
I wrote down the numbers regardless
it was a ritual that one performed
though I didn't understand why
yet it was exciting
to record a new one
that hadn't passed before
Behind the business end
came carriages laden heavy
with the visitors of summer
come to fill our beaches
and our town with their loudness
their raucous laughter
with strange accents
brummie, scouse, mancunian
faces pressed against glass
expectant, excited, impatient
almost there now
anxious that this last delay
pass quickly and the half mile
remaining be completed
We would lurk beneath the bridge
like adopted troll children
it was cool there in the summer heat
darting out from behind pillars
or in my case watchfully, cautiously
edging my way forward
to place pennies on the track
or sometimes nails
then to retrieve them
flattened, thinned, squashed
once the train had passed
sometimes we'd wait hours
or so it seemed
sometimes no train would come
and we would trail home
for tea and bath and bed
leaving our offerings
to the gods of the rail
for rediscovery and inspection
the following day.
Cynthia Pauline Jones 17/10/13
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 2:23 PM UTC
**The glass bowl stands-a fragile shell
For puny, puffing orange swimmers
Flimsy as the frosting on a wedding cake
You, an endearing fool care too much
For goldfish- that on a bleak Sunday evening
When the weather’s offbeat and the curtains
Appear especially dull- and you slouch back on
Your favorite divan regretting the choice of
Wall-color and some slightly more cardinal matters
Will die on you-
All you asked was for the dumb goldfish to keep
Scurrying about- but no, today’s not your day.
Your heart is a shore pebble and your lips are
As twisted as a winding hill road
As you regret ever having brought in the goldfish that die.**
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 11:41 PM UTC
Haven't eaten in two days
Put it on blast
Im fasting on keys
This white girl keeps harrasing me
Lowkey i hate what its turned poor Ashley
Didnt mean to become what i said i wouldn't
Made fun of the ones who couldn't
Now i tell myself i shouldn't
But beg her to please shoot it
Highkey i love the ride it provides
Indulge my soul let it slip inside
No pain to when i puncture but i lie
Remind myself why
Then who
To where did i met and looked into her eyes
I sit there and conversate with the love of my life i guess im not straight lesbian crush on Crissy shes always on my mind and ill **** with her till the day i stop dreaming
Till the day i stop puffing and heaving
Basically stop breathing
My holy trinity
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:40 AM UTC