"sellotape" poems
It’s time to take down all the decorations,
They look tatty with no celebrations
to give them purpose,
Bauble’s shine turns to rust,
The tinsel starts wilting
Like flowers left in a vase.
Fragments of sellotape cling to the wrapping paper,
And grab at the walls and window ledges it passes on its way to the fire
Trying to escape death.
At least a kind of death.
Floating up out of the flume to be part of a white Christmas for next year.
A flake of ash that ice molecules wrap themselves around to become a snowflake,
And to think you used to be wrapping paper.
So much tasted of last year,
How much is recyclable?
How much to care about complacence of wastage?
How much should I shed a tear?
How much should I care for carbon footprints and ******* tips?
I don’t want to care at all
It’s too much baggage.
All I want is to fly this year,
I’ll make a kite from the bones of the Christmas tree,
The baubles and tinsel and snow spray stripped,
Now bare of all personality.
Maybe it will fly…
If it doesn’t,
There will always be next year,
Until there isn’t…
…And even when I die someday,
Maybe I will get to be a snowflake.
And I’ll get to fly that way.
Jan 4, 2014
Jan 4, 2014 at 6:42 AM UTC
Thunder over Karl Marx’s grave
here comes night
running at me with scissors
dangling sellotape
half finished art projects
still weigh heavy on your mind
like all those missed opportunities,
a C should have been an A.
Pastels not paint. The smudged trail of a finger
across ****** feelings which
surface back to tentative fumblings
with a sister’s friend’s Barbie
the smooth plastic bendable limbs
the positions configured with a one armed Action Man
eagle-eyed and
watching
and if I ever feel down
if I ever feel low
I think back to a story I once read about a woman
who had her face ripped off by a chimpanzee
and as she screamed
the chimpanzee leapt up and down
primitive rage grinning.
Not a pleasant sight I can imagine
but when I feel down,
that’s what I think about,
a woman
and a chimpanzee
ith a face hanging from his primate fangs.
Dec 31, 2012
Dec 31, 2012 at 5:04 AM UTC
It is the mundanity of the act,
of envisioning your hand gently wrapped around the copper kettle.
Obstinately gripping the pen, while you wring a sheet of paper dry for the right words.
You, cupping my face as if you were holding something precious.
As if I might slip through your fingers.
It is this devastating simplicity that obliterates every shard of my being.
A brick wall, left at the mercy of a gleaming sledgehammer
that is determined to turn everything to dust.
I see your hands everywhere.
In the haze of steam and shower curtains,
the lines dragged in velvet throw pillows,
the cloudy smudges left on a glass of water.
They run faint paths through my hair, their touch ghosts against my eyelid.
If I stare long enough,
your palm is right there, pressing into mine.
Silver cuts through the air and delivers a redundant blow.
The dust scatters once more.
You did not leave a hole
the way everyone said you were bound to.
Empty space cannot exist without everything that surrounds it, yields to it, forgives it,
validates its gaping hollowness.
Empty space is a needle and thread on the dresser, a sellotape dispenser on the desk, a container of soup left on the doorstep with a get-well-soon scribbled on the lid.
Empty space is where you can see remnants of what once was whole.
The faith and conviction that bit by bit, you will put your fragmented pieces back together again.
The nothing you left was so thick and suffocating
that it permeated every room,
filled my lungs to bursting capacity and left me gasping for more.
Its sickly, bitter fragrance danced relentlessly in my nostrils,
as though my suffering was the sweetest symphony ever heard.
It waltzed until I could feel it rising in my throat and leaking from my eyes,
twirled until my head spun.
The nothing you left insisted on making its presence known my every waking moment
and then gleefully romped its way into my nightmares.
It was so quiet, though.
A resigned quiet, like that of the ****** swinging in the gallows,
when everybody holds their breath to watch the pendulum sway.
The crossbeam glistens with last night’s rain and
they trudge back home, muttering to themselves as the dust settles beneath their feet.
I sink into sheets creased by your fingers and watch it sway.
Aug 21, 2021
Aug 21, 2021 at 6:45 AM UTC
Paper soulmates
Drawn together by fate
Glued into each other's lives persistently
As we are paper soulmates we are prone wear and tear
Torn paper is truly unfixable
You can only try to sellotape together what has been torn apart
Scrunched paper can't truly be smoothed out again,
there is still going to be evidence of past experience
Our story Inked onto the pages of our body
Stained by water, the ink smudges off of us
Our stories ??
unreadable
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 4:06 AM UTC
Dire need of sleep,
Sellotape eyebrow to cheek,
Wandering white sheep,
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 7:20 PM UTC
Bonjour, mon amour.
What brings you here
at such a late hour?
Ah, I see. Your heart
has been broken. Many
have before yours and many
will after. Well, comment ça va?
Not too good? It would be
a miracle if you did feel
well.
Have some gin and some
sellotape. Patch up that heart.
Have a fresh start. Give me
a smile that can stretch a
mile.
Look to the stars, mon amour,
and see them shining.
Half of them are already
dead and gone but their light
makes such an impression, we
see them for years after.
Look at the ground, mon amour,
and watch the ants at work.
They never falter even when there
are obstacles in their way.
They just get on by.
So, mon amour,
Have some gin and some
sellotape. Patch up that heart.
Have a fresh start. Give me a
smile that can stretch a
mile.
Look at me, mon amour,
See these eyes that shine so bright?
Do you think they shine with laughter
or tears?
See these lines, across my face?
Are they the crinkles of worry or smile?
Look in the mirror, mon amour,
and tell me what it reflects.
You say you see yourself?
Look closer.
Now what do you see?
I thought so.
My, oh my, mon amour,
Have some gin and some
sellotape. Patch up that heart.
Have a fresh start. Give me a
smile that can stretch a
mile.
Au revoir, mon amour.
Leaving so soon?
I hope you think it through.
Remember what I have said
and spread the word.
Do not have a heavy
heart. Bonne nuit and sleep well.
Life doesn't last forever
so enjoy it whilst you can.
Jan 9, 2012
Jan 9, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC
My nose is out to get me
It’s giving me the fear
It sneaks about when I’m asleep
And whispers in my ear
But when my eyes are open
It’s clearly in my sight
I think I’ll have to stick it down
With Sellotape at night
My nose is pitched against me
When ever someone bakes
It drags me by my helpless face
And points me at the cakes
It leads me into trouble
And I’ve no choice but to follow
It has a lot of pulling power
Although it’s two-thirds hollow
My nose is trying to **** me
I think it’s lost the plot
It sometimes sits there dribbling
And twitching on the spot
It scowls at me with malice
And it’s evil nostrils flare
My nose is picking on me
And I'm slowly going spare
May 13, 2014
May 13, 2014 at 11:07 AM UTC
I encountered your spiritless body swaying gently
as your dangling tiptoes longed to reach the tips of the dandelions
I found tacked to the tree, the christian leaflet with the sellotape crucifix that asked
HAVE YOU FOUND JESUS ? , then saying WELL, HE'S FOUND YOU and your Vermillion lipstick scribbling on the reversed side.
Poor you, I could imagine you frantically searching for the sticky notes
( they were on top of the refridgerator Irene)
Poor you, I could visualize you searching for a pencil, realizing that they needed to be sharpened (you coulda used my Swiss army knife Irene, it was in the rusting tackle box in the garage, sure it was covered in dried fish guts, but you coulda cleaned it)
Poor you, I could picture you finding the pen depleted of it's precious writing fluid, then exploding it's flimsy frame, beneath a lone rabid pink bunny assassin
WELL **** YOU IRENE, **** YOU FOR LEAVING ME
Feb 11, 2013
Feb 11, 2013 at 10:06 AM UTC
His sense fell from his pocket
rolled away in-between the floorboards.
He did look
But couldn't find.
She's only now discovering
that her own company is lonely
in the light.
Lonelier still when he tries to solve it
Not your problem
not your puzzle.
It is odd she thinks.
He feels real, seems it
This fake lover of mine.
But if she opens her eyes does he disappear?
Just like the real thing?
Sellotape and rubber bands and super glue
and wooden slats nailed across doorways
Hide her from truth
Curious;
She cannot seem to escape this peculiarly tragic trap
she'd set for another
then distractedly stepped into herself.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 5:03 AM UTC
I burnt my hand on the laminator.
You laughed, and continued to talk about tannins,
Drinkable leather,
Even though I couldn't smell them
Over the tobacco from your clothes
That slowly seeps into mine.
I'd come outside with you for a cigarette
A compliment, maybe not to my lungs,
But I don't mind letting my battered bronchus
Take one more hit so I can laugh with you
About the sommelier placing the wrong cutlery on the table.
I have to keep up
Sharpen my tongue, mind, wit.
More so than those blunt scissors
Which crawled through parchment and maroon ink,
Mimiking the nice red from Chile it described,
Goes well with fish.
I can't imagine you crying,
Though I'm sure you did.
Turning away the sellotape-scarred wooden desk,
Blistered from years of frantic Christmas present wrapping.
Your walk, a sound only comparable to
A bold child clambering up the stairs to bed,
A heavy, determined, "I'm fine" step,
All femur.
Out to the tiny garden, more butts form compost for your vintry.
Only there would you let yourself search,
Rustling through your handbag, past papers and lighters,
For a scrunched up tissue.
Jun 25, 2011
Jun 25, 2011 at 6:59 PM UTC
i will find hope in anything
if it means there is a chance
you will love me
i will scrape every bit of hope
from the tunnels of our conversation
in order to sellotape a crack in my heart,
i want to believe in the chance
you will love me more than her,
but it is hard to be someone’s world
when they are looking for a country,
she is a town
and i am the universe
however in your eyes,
she is simply
more
than i could
ever be.
Jan 27, 2018
Jan 27, 2018 at 3:37 PM UTC
You grind
my yellow cactus
Like an asphalt pomegranite
You slime into my universe
Like you are not of this planet
You guage my tumbling body
Many fireworks try to chameleon
The colors bright
But you enter my daytime tea
Like you are of the nite
2 men **** you and you blame the doctor
By spoken word transmits you to lay
Under the gun of my evolution ladder
Sniding God for the interlude in which you play
Screaming geese beckon to your strange turning psychosis
I have all these ribbons and sellotape
I suppose there are many radios in Spain
I guess that my jive-box is a measurement of pain
Tourists chat and snap poloroids
Just a normal day.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 6:34 PM UTC
The world is not a paper crane.
It’s soggy streets
and pouring rain,
rapping dreary melodies
on your window pane.
It’s side roads
and alley ways,
numb fingers
ripping sellotape
trying to put together broken things.
The world is not a paper crane.
But it’s the smell of grass
on sunny days
and matching china
cups and plates.
It’s warm blankets
round the fire place,
eagles souring
through the great escape
the day it finds its wings.
Feb 4, 2014
Feb 4, 2014 at 5:04 PM UTC
i moved it
into a box
under my bed
sealed with more
layers of sellotape
than my mum’s
birthday presents
it’s not exactly
spring cleaning
and i still sleep
on top of these
dusty memories
but it’s okay;
i’ve forgotten what
was in there anyway
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 4:53 PM UTC
It was the first minutes of the morning after.
The feast of Stephen boldly trod across the threshold
and waded through the leftovers
of Christmas delights and indulgences,
the echoes of family festivities,
and the discarded wrapping
still clinging to twists of Sellotape.
The delights repeated,
the echoes faded
and all the discarded
lay deep and crisp and uneven,
even as we followed the heat
of the good King's steps,
into the cruel cold,
seeking the blessing of fresh fuel
for the wider feast ahead.
Dec 17, 2024
Dec 17, 2024 at 2:51 PM UTC
Take my heart,
guard it,
as I guard it,
it is slightly precious,
it has been ripped out,
burst before,
a bloodless balloon,
infiltrated with cheese wire,
somebody tried to stop it,
prevent it bursting again,
slow punctures repaired,
with minute patches of sellotape,
sorry repairs,
pierced,
allowed gentle entry,
somewhat deflating,
only slowly,
a slow release of aromatic air,
a little spiced,
the heart still beats it's thrill,
despite the the chill,
love me some more,
I know one day you will!
(C) Livvi
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 3:48 PM UTC
Bah humbug it's Christmas
Time to panic and purchase extra ****
Time for adverts to hype kids to pester parents to scavenge shelves. Time for painful smiles to be painted and pretend all is well as kin folk gather.
Worry about bedding, and seating and gravy boats and tangled lights and sellotape and hiding spaces they want to sink into.
Time for the lonely to feel isolated and the happy to be oblivious.
Time for excess and ** ** ** Christmas songs relentless grinding through bones while millions go without.
Time for charity boxes to rattle because governments ignore.
Time for hangovers and walks of shame.
Devouring more than is needed. Consumed by the season's abused meaning.
Then once done and discarded we have January, Billuary ready to ****** up the spoils.
And the New Year foolishness of resolutions, and lose weight, get back in shape, sales and sales and holiday dreams until the old valentines rolls in, then Paddy's day and Easter, then pressure for the perfect beach *** It goes on chipping away and chipping and chipping.
Dec 5, 2020
Dec 5, 2020 at 8:40 AM UTC
stick it together with sellotape
hide the cracks as best you can
as long as it stays in rotund shape
leave the mess for another man
May 26, 2022
May 26, 2022 at 8:36 AM UTC
You glance up once again
from the rediscovered photo,
sellotape stained and saved
for this future finding.
You hold me yet again in
the honesty of your peaceful smile,
in that shared perfect moment
catching us all unaware.
But that was just before our fall
into confusion, into the fog
that suddenly enveloped you
and robbed us all completely.
But now you return to mind
and I can return your smile
once again.
Jan 3, 2025
Jan 3, 2025 at 2:20 PM UTC
Hooked into the dynamo I go with the flow around with the tyre attached to a wire I fall free
concrete and steel, tell me how does it feel when the blood shows a route that I've mapped, with sellotape on my legs I beg for assistance from strangers, no danger of them hearing this, in that sweet moment of bliss when your heart opens up to spill out the secrets you've kept in a cup with the teeth and a pickled onion because that tastes so nice when you rack up another point on the scoreboard of life where the winners get prizes for lies and the surprise is there's prizes at all.
I fall free,
******* in oxygen like a fish out of water and they never taught me, that to survive I'd have to roll over and die a thousand times in a thousand lines of ******* where the sane truly are insane,
the dynamo slows and I drink ***** and lemonade, trying to recreate another page, I invent, concrete, steel and cement tell me how does it feel when you feel the skin start to peel and the secrets slip out?
I am hooked and whichever way you look at it it's a tag which will follow me through this life into the cemetery and the next life beyond, but beyond all expectations when the illumination of light that filters in through the mirrors in my mind
I find
a peace
in her.
May 17, 2015
May 17, 2015 at 8:51 AM UTC
First things first
because that's how I rolled.
I don't like new things
and I
don't like what tomorrow brings.
I don't like new people,
I like old.
I like people who are stitched up
with some history,
sewn into
stories they've been told
and
held together with Sellotape
smelling of 'Wintergreen'
I've seen new
and it won't do.
Newspapers
are not new
we've read them
eaten chips out of them
thrown them away and
then they're old,
I like them then.
Aug 6, 2017
Aug 6, 2017 at 7:16 AM UTC
If i fell would you catch me ?
Would you wrap me in your love ?
If i were broken , would you fix me ?
Not with sellotape ..with love ?
If i were lost , would you find me ?
And take me... home with you ?
If i were worn out , would you fix me ?
And make me feel brand new
would you ?...would you ?....would you ?
If i built a wall around me
Would you wait for me outside ?
Or would you climb the wall to reach me ?
In this place now .. where i hide
Would you ?...would you ?...could you ?.
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 5:12 PM UTC
Black coffee.
Black coffee with 0 calorie sweetener.
Green tea.
Naked rice.
Yes, naked.
Or in other words deprived of every bit of nutrients.
Pepsi Max.
Pepsi Max cherry.
Chemicals. But not calories.
Heaven forbid you'd drink calories!
Soup.
Spring Vegetable Soup.
But not vegetable soup.
Not tomato soup.
They're 50 calories more at least!
ONLY spring vegetable soup.
Apple.
Only one.
That's a whole meal.
10,000 steps.
At least 10,000 steps.
What are you, lazy?
If you're not walking every second of the day then you must be.
Size 0.
Even if you're not
Buy all clothes in size 0.
You can't wear pretty clothes until you've lost that weight.
Lies.
No, you can't be honest.
How attention-seeking can you get!
Tumblr.
Tumblr is the Bible.
But only the thinspo community.
The rest is irrelevant.
If you ignore all my advice and eat
make sure you do it slowly.
One small bite every 5 minutes.
And don't you dare distract yourself while eating
I'm not going to let you for another 24 hours so you'd better savour every moment.
Craving more food?
Drink some water and get a grip.
Thinking about giving up?
Watch me make you feel the worst you've ever felt.
Try me.
Envelopes.
Sellotape them.
You never know how many calories are in the seal.
Don't. Trust. Anything.
The package says that 100g of grapes is 70 calories?
Call it 400 just to be safe.
You read an article about the dangers of restriction?
Don't believe everything you read.
Believe me.
I'm your best friend.
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 1:44 PM UTC
Twenty and two pieces of banana leaves
Spread over stacks of news paper sheets
On each leaf a red spot of lemon tickle
while the boiled egg on top buckle
Over the three serves of mixed veg Biryani
These meals are to be packed and distributed at the lane
After three parcels the cello tape came to the reel's end
Nineteen parcels still to be packed and it's thirty past nine
The hungry have to be fed and the office duty starts at ten
How to pack the food parcels when the cellophane tape is spent
O god, the brain black out and hypnotic
And in no time the left hand stretch robotic
Moves to the left to a corner below the table
Amidst a jumble of books past two boxes and cable
The index finger skips the top one and aims
The lid of the second one and claims
a brand new cello tape immense
Out of a stupor the brain awakens with a sense
O Jesus! His presence
Heart heaving,
Tears gushing
'Am not alone but Jesus
Like a baby watching curiously a craftsman work,
He is always beside the great Me, lurk
When the human wit run out and escape
Pouncing to catch for me even a cello tape
May 30, 2022
May 30, 2022 at 2:51 AM UTC