"roadworks" poems
Ben stands deliberately imposing,
his arms crossed and his stern face
reminding us all we’re x minutes late.
We are each a cell.
Circulating the city’s veins
by foot, tyre and train.
The city doesn’t die, but it does grow old.
And when its veins tire from carrying its load
necessary roadworks interrupt its flow;
Like open wounds. Each yellow hardhat
a fingernail on the invisible hand
of an omnipotent surgeon.
Sep 7, 2015
Sep 7, 2015 at 10:38 AM UTC
I stay up for the moons
Quiet gaze
The light by the bedside
Carves shadows of you
Into my bare frame
The air itself is naked
Vulnerable of all scent.
I kissed you thrice,
One on the lips
For devotion,
One on the ribs of
Your teeth,
On the elbow of your
Favourite book.
As all writers do.
I created that arched frame
That pulled your
Tendons tight
To my inked sheets,
Shot you into blind space,
While I teethed on
The bow of your
Fingertips
Our skin tarmac,
There was roadworks
Of our bed.
Toes dancing morbidly
Between bursting stars
While night gulls
And ravens watched
Through the window
Waiting to peck
At the mangled carcass
Of our hearts.
Apr 26, 2016
Apr 26, 2016 at 10:40 AM UTC
And here I am just chillin alone, so cold to the bone more frozen than Frozone
Hypothermia, doctor doctor
Got places to be can't you fix me up faster
This avalanche is ever-lasting
Pass the parcel the pain aint past it
Waiting on a whim is it really worth it
Honour and duty but so close to deserting
Flee and be free of fear containment
Constricted and closed off, self-enslavement
Harden up and be tough, roadworks and pavement
Detour and derail to prevent persuasion
Tactical retreat the feet beats down
Live to fight another day or be six feet under ground
The silent treatment is a healing sound
But the heart beats cleanly too lost to be found
No map could make or break this problem
I got a little lost now I'm tryna solve it
Never used the stars to guide my path
But if i have no faith I'm ****** to die fast
Jun 6, 2017
Jun 6, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
I didn’t want to.
He’d just got in from work
and flung the keys
into the bowl
so the clatter rattled
into the kitchen
where I was taking out
the chocolate fingers
from the Sainsbury’s bag
and I still hadn’t shut
the fridge door
so my right arm
was going cold.
He came up behind me
and groaned
and I assumed it meant
he’d had a long day
except everybody’s day
is the same length
but he put his arms around
my chest
subtracted the bottle
of Gordon’s gin
from the bag
and said we’ll be drinking
some of that tonight
I could do with it.
Then it came.
He asked if I’d called.
I said no because
what am I supposed to say
it’s too far to drive
on a Friday night
and they’ve got roadworks
on that roundabout still
but he butted in
like a cough in a quiet room
and said fish
and chips for tea then
been a while.
Picked up the phone
offered it to me
as though a pig’s ear
to a Labrador
and I thought stuff it
as he shut the fridge
so I reluctantly poked
at the numbers
and heard the bloop
again and again
and said to my mother
how’s this evening.
Sorry yes sorry
what yeah OK
no better right I see
yeah my fault I know
that long right yeah
so half seven
yep OK half seven.
It’s just I don’t like
the idea of monitors
and plastic-y tubes
and doctors with PhD’s
spurting words
buried in a dictionary’s depths
but he put his hands
around my chest again
and we said nothing
for a moment or two
until he said
I’m going for a shower babe
alright.
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 5:42 PM UTC