"tuts" poems
What if I fell in love
With a broken down son-of-a-bitch
Not because I needed to fix him
But simply because I wanted to revel in his beauty
The maddening craziness
Of a life
A life that didn't need to be maintained with perfection
A life where you could just knock down pillars that you didn't need
Destroy friendships that weren't beneficial
A life where one could disown one's own mother
Without the whole neighbourhood offering their tut-tuts
And their 5 cents too many
About how to trim your garden
What if I fell in love with a life
Who let their weeds grow
And created a garden out of thorns
A **** patch that would make those neighbours shriek
What if I fell in love with chaos and disorder
Not to right the tables
Nor to order the shelves
What if I didn't attempt to prune the garden
But I let it grow into a forest
And then laughed when I stepped on a thorn
What if I let the sun shine through the madness
What if I opened my arms to the destruction
What if you sung me a lullaby out of tune
And I asked you to sing it anyways…
Apr 9, 2014
Apr 9, 2014 at 1:57 AM UTC
***** and butts
****** and *****
parents and "tut tuts"
shimmies and struts
primps and cuts
falling, falling into ruts.
Oct 3, 2012
Oct 3, 2012 at 2:35 AM UTC
Jakarta, 31 Mei 2008
Alunan piano mengarungi ku
Melantunkan ayat-ayat indah
Penuh harap atas ridho-Nya
Enggan berbuat yang tak sempurna
Ragaku gemetar, Serasa
Aku mulai menyentuh-Nya
Padahal ku tekan tuts-tuts nada
Alangkah terkejut saat kau berkata
Laksana Tuan menasehati Hamba-Nya
Enggan berbuat tak sempurna
Music terus ku mainkan
Bagaikan hidup yang kekal
Akankah sekekal masa?
Niscahya indah hidup di Surga
Gembira rasa hati hidup bahagia
Oct 17, 2011
Oct 17, 2011 at 8:35 AM UTC
Kyra is a painter, but she's colorblind.
She makes someone else's world colorful but hers is grey.
Whenever she draws in the middle of spring afternoon, she tends to whispers to the singing bird on her shoulder.
"For whom I draw still hasn't been decided, and I wish to meet my muse soon after the season's end."
Two days after spring.
She's being asked to attend her friend's rehearsal.
A pair of her brown eyes is glued to the pianist as his melody hits her right. His fingers gracefully dance in tuts, faster than anyone's breathe, but not so fast compared to Kyra's hand sketching him.
"I find my muse." She whispers in happiness. Gaze falls to the quick sketch on her hand.
She asks her friend about his name, eyes sparkles with love, so pure, so honest.
"His name is Will. He's special like you."
Her brows furrow in confusion as she skips a heartbeat.
"Special? Like me?"
"He's a pianist but he's deaf."
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC
The delighted shrieks of kids as they play marbles on the cobbled sloping streets,
A Ramadan pleasure while adults sleep off the heat of the day.
Men watch with quietly stirring stomachs as we stroll past, ice-cream in hand and flip-flops clicking on the pavement.
A woman tuts.
We are foreigners here in this foreign land,
Lending our British gaze to the hill-top view.
Let's go back there, me with you,
To the town of white and blue.
Nov 3, 2013
Nov 3, 2013 at 4:22 AM UTC
It dances and shimmies and leaps.
I jump and howl and weep,
While the tail-less lizard tuts in dismay,
"Oh dear I'd never dreamt of this day",
Wiggling away to the deep.
Jun 9, 2012
Jun 9, 2012 at 6:28 PM UTC
"My heart beats so strong, you can see it through my shirt"
I wanna feel that beat moving up my skirt
And my body with my skin
Tingling
Pace, pace, back and forth
"Your heart feels fine girl, no worries, what's the worth?"
A big strong boy with Polaris eyes
I can feel your body tense
Thinking about mine
Beat em up baby, there you go
I'm sorry I woke you up last night
And the night before
Always bringin my girls, what a world
In your room
It's the safe place
To come back and party
When babygirl is throwin up,
And I need to feel okay
You just let me do it, go with it, always
I know when you're mad, when it hurts,
You press up against the couch and the clouds come down
From their place in the sky,
Of your eyes, they pour
Harder and harder, now my hips are sore
Cause I told you more, I told you "more!"
And when you moan its like a lions roar
You're the king of here, breathing in my ear
Down my neck in the bed
You taught me everything I know
How to control a boy, destroy his soul
But you're a catch, got it bad
Think I finally met my match
Now when I'm making em shake
I'm thinkin of your hands
Coulda never been such a good lover
Such a good sucker and *** shaker
Such a "Please don't go baby, come back, god ****
I wouldn't have learned how to **** around
If it hadn't been for you, tuts
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
Touring the cities of England and the UK
Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid
The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts
Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts
That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise
Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife
The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee
A Britpop revolution, all great memories
They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops
Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock
We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s
Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly
But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour
A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power
Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair
Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares
Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era
Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer
A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back
If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic
Not to hate the now as times move on
But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one
Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella
laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella
Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face
Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase
Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer
Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ******
I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now
Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go
Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat
But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat.
JJB
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
I am right, I am wrong
I am Yin, I am Yang
I am a day, I am a dawn
I am the Spring, I am the Fall
I am the sun calling for the moon
I am the wind, I am the storm
I am the past, I am the future
I am right now, I am back then
I am a saint, I am a sinner
I am an angel, I am a devil
I am the faith, I am the fear
I am the good, I am the bad
I am alive, I am dead
I am the sweetest lie, I am the painful truth
I am the unexpected Hello, I am the disappointed goodbye
I am the strings, I am the tuts
I am the unwanted smile, I am the desired tears
I am the love, I am the lust
I am a champion, I am a loser
I am the painter, I am the canvas
I am the happiness, I am the sorrow
I am something, I am nothing
I am the daughter, I am the friend
I am a girl who lost a soul
-Erika C
Nov 2, 2014
Nov 2, 2014 at 8:06 AM UTC
and sometimes magic, a scene from the book
of genesis, chapter verse whatever,
buying whiskey and beer in a supermarket,
the cashier, Tara, knows me,
she's my gym coach,
she tut tut struts and tuts when i buy
beer telling me to keep the beer off -
i told you alcoholics are mobile,
we go sightseeing most of the time,
on a double decker bus we bemuse and
lipread: and here's the Elizabeth tower (formerly
known as Benjamin "big **** Disraeli -
the English by the French after the 100
year war: if they're not retards, they're perverts) -
**** that shit's brushed off on me! am i a **********
if i hold dear a British passport? phew! no? yes? huh?!
i must be a Mr. Khan in waiting...
no, but seriously, a scene in the cave of an iceman,
5 lasses buying wine lonely,
me my beer my whiskey,
i get a lemon added / **** i told you it was a lime not
a lemon on the conveyor belt -
i get a lime, lucky Adam got an apple
and one asking, i'm doing double-up fevers waiting
for Saturday night with Paris, Hilda, Venus and Hera..
Adam gets an apple from smooch slick Eva
naked and i get a ******* lime on a conveyor-belt
in a supermarket while buying whiskey...
Jonah! call the whale! i'm sure we'll both
be calling it Noah's ark when tomorrow comes;
**** you not, we'll be boarding dry-land at
Arsuk - **** send a message to Columbus -
we discovered North America via Greenland
like you discovered the same via the Caribbean Islands,
ha ha! call it dynamo of Erik versus Kristopheren;
i just got a lime on a conveyor belt in a supermarket,
Adam was handed an apple in Eden -
i guess that's worth a 50 50 chance of coincidence
with my sex-starved libido and the English "roses":
not that i'm guarantying anything good either,
it's not like i'm a vacuum cleaner based guarantee -
but **** me, the ****** **** wrinkles and all,
bamboozle clad the salutary march for applause -
and the fainting bearskin trumpet-brigadier at
the ro- -yal parade onto Buckingham Ponce;
n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
“If you need water
Just ask”
But what I really
Need
Is pen and
Paper because
I’m bleeding
Words
Run faster
Than my mind
Can think
And your
Stone cold needle
****** find
No blood left
Inside my
Fingers
Clenched up
Holding on to
All that’s left of
Sanity
I never had
Tonight
Still you want
Blood?
Open up my mouth
And draw it
From my bitten
Tongue
Look inside my
Head and
Shout for the doctor
To come stitch my
Thoughts
Back together into
Someone who makes
Sense and
Sees light
At the end of
This tunnel
You offer Band-Aids
Trying to
Patch together these
Holes in my hands
And ask how
And who and when
“I guess you won’t
Do that again?”
Chuckling softer than
The ticks of the
Clock I’ve been
Watching
Counting down
All my words
Are slipping out
Of consciousness
I’m holding on
To grains of sand
Blowing away in
Winter wind
And
The mattress is
Soaked in the
Sweaty truth of
Words
You
Were too busy
To hear
To see
To ask
“Why?”
So bandage me
Up with your
Perfect prescribed smiles
Tsks and tuts and
“What would your
Mother think”s
And I’ll try to
Fit the pieces
Back together
By myself
With pencils
And napkins in
Your waiting room
While a cab comes
To carry me
Away
"Home"
Feb 4, 2013
Feb 4, 2013 at 11:11 PM UTC
So you cheated, which is something I honestly expected.
Doesn't mean I’m not destroyed, I'm really quite affected.
I was hoping it wouldn't go this away, and together we would be great!
But at the end of the day I was your cheap thrill, a way to increase your heart rate.
Because i need a break from you, girl worried about getting to the next base,
That is, before I escalate the situation, punch someone in the face.
An interesting experience, and I hate to sound cruel,
But your breaking my heart Tuts, i hate being another's tool.
And your best friend assured me you cared a whole lot.
“Yeah, I'm sure.” I said after, just wanting to smoke some ***
“No, she really does, and loves you, this is all a big mistake.”
“Yeah? If it were truly like that I would be great”
I think a better word there is ecstatic.
But my imaginary friend was back, “Don’t be so dramatic.”
I loved holding you, and I'm sure you felt the same.
You were my Peach, in this stupid game.
But you took the game too far, why oh why.
And now the other boys are busy, making, a Peachpie...
Some like to scream, and others just love to pray…
Me? I just hope I don't get in the way.
But you, you proved my hypothesis right…
Do remember when i said i loved you, late that night?
Then you broke my trust, dashed me into pieces.
So here am, righting yet another thesis,
Against the name of love, put Cupid to shame,
****** I’m liar, here I go screaming your name.
Beautiful Peach, you wound me so…
And now, I’m completely out of ammo.
Do i ever want to see you again, i don’t know.
But you made a man into a shadow..
So in conclusion.
Not a single man, woman or child, should be deluded.
If I take you back, will be your last chance.
But, I’mma need 50 in advance.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 8:55 AM UTC
he tells me I'm a
pretty painting
and that he'd love to
meet the artist
I tell him
**my blood
sweat
and tears
caused all of this
"pretty"**
he laughs
and shakes his head
hand rising to touch
a "no" croaks from my throat
**"you can't touch
museum art"**
he gives me
a look of determination
and says
*"what if the art
is no longer
the museum's?"*
his hands reach up
and he tears me from
my safe, safe wall
and steals me
he strokes each delicate
curve
with a rough, shaking hand
a hand shaking with
lust
he tells me I'm a
beautiful bird
and that he'd love to
acquire a feather
I tell him
**my feathers
help me
fly from
"monsters"**
he sighs
and shakes his head
hand already catching my throat
a "no" squeaks
from my chest
**"birds were meant
for freedom"**
he gives me
a look of exasperation
and says
*"but what if the bird
is put in
a cage?"*
his hands clasp me
and he rips me from
my safe, safe perch
and steals me
he plucks each delicate
feather
with a rough, shaking hand
a hand that shakes with
need
he tells me I'm an
intricate book
and that he'd love to
meet the author
I tell him
**I am the
author
and I
wrote each word
with pain and misery
and
if he desires to read it
he must gain a
"key"**
he cackles
and shakes his head
hands already tracing
my barriers
and what lies beneath
them
my mouth forms the word
"no"
and my tongue spits it out
from the fire in my stomach
he tuts
and shakes his head
a look of unwithering
victory
and says
*"what if the book's
covers are simply
torn off?"*
his hands reach up
and he strips off
my safe, safe barriers
he runs his shaking fingers
over every word and
punctuation mark
fingers that shake
with lust
he skims his burning eyes
over every letter and
accent
eyes that burn
with need
and once his satisfaction is filled
he leaves me
with nothing but paper
but I must thank the man
for he left me
a pen
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
*
1. After last night's dinner you poured mint tea into a porcelain cup for your dad, and he laughed, saying, "Daughter, the last time we did this you were four." You replied seriously, "I'm living my dreams, Dad."
2. You go to counseling once a month and have been doing so intermittently for the last 10 years.
3. But when you were four years old, you had conversations with imagined dinner guests and poured water from a plastic tea *** like scripture from a pastor's mouth. You'd never had real tea, so you imagined it with lumps of sugar. From ear to ear your smile was real.
4. Five years ago if someone told you that your family would be sitting at your table eating your food on Easter, you would have laughed because you didn't have an oven or a table.
5. Five years ago was when you chose life, and everyday you keep choosing it--like painting over a crimson stain in white.
6. You like church because you feel like it's one of the few places you can cry, and everyone else seems to understand.
7. When you were little, you would say, "I want to go home" even if you were already there. You knew more then than you know now--that home is not a place, but a feeling.
8. Every Easter you wonder how the Son felt coming home to His Father. Sometimes you forget how heavy the stone was when it rolled away.
9. Your dad is the strongest man you know. He has bushy eyebrows; when he ruffles them he looks like a horned owl about to take flight. Your mom tuts and tells him he looks like he's going to fly away. And he has, several times around the world.
10. Sometimes you want to fly away too, just to see what your hometown looks like to a bird, to fit your piece of prairie to the rest of the puzzle. To see what your dad saw when he flew through the sky. To see what keeps bringing him home.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
The Ifs and buts and sighs and tuts
are all that fill my mind
the why's and when of now and then
have burned my poor eyes blind
the would and should and if I could
have broke me by design
the have and have not and I forgot
that you were never mine
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 7:01 AM UTC
I'm a drama
queen
one with the utmost tastes
and forlorned lusts
an animal by any other name
a hair, a haunt, a thimble
a willaby
a tuts
tut tut
tuts
May 18, 2021
May 18, 2021 at 3:58 PM UTC
shadow men speak to me
he says i'm safe
he says i'm perfect company
and i offer him my mind
for i am scared
simply because he is there
and he is real
a rainbow paints the sky
and kisses my cheek
she says i am the beauty
that she reflects
and i offer her my skin
because i know i am the ugly
that coats her gray skies
rain drops speak to me
he says he understands my woes
he says he cries for me
and i offer him my pain
for i want to be one with the bright
simply because i am hurt
and i know that i will never be happy
sunlight shouts into my room
and grasps my hand
she says i am the light
that she burns
and i offer her my hair
because i know fiery red
makes yellow an earth shattering orange
gray clouds speak to me
he says i'm beautiful
he says he's sorry he never came sooner
and i offer him my hope
for i know he needs the innocence
simply because he is dark
and i want to give my purity a chance
a sunflower coats my ceiling
and holds me in her outstretched petals
she says she loves the light in my eyes
and i tell her i gave it to the clouds
she says she loves the wild in my hair
and i tell her i gave it to the sun
she says she loves my pain and strength
and i tell her i gave it to the rain
she says she loves my simplistic beauty
and i tell her i gave it to the rainbow
she says she loves my racing mind
and i tell her i gave it to the shadow man
she says she loves me
and that what i gave away
was not all that i had
and i ask if she would like the rest
but she shakes her gold halo
and tuts
and she sings with a voice that glides
down my throat like warm honey
i do not want what you are made of
and she wraps me in her petals
and leaves
and she smells of everything wonderful
in the world
and when she is finished
she is grey and drooping
and she says
now you are one with the bright
and she leaves me to ponder
what i have really given away.
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 12:59 AM UTC
I caught a glance of a fashion
Out from a face of hands
Its crime its greatest passion
It tuts in its demands
It speaks garish and fast
When I listen in intent
Its first word is its last
Its message often bent
When I look away he creeps
Slow and on the prowl
Often when I turn he sleeps
And hides all 'neath his cowl
He knew me back when I was young
He'll know me when I'm old
He's let me off and he has stung
He knows all things grow cold.
So when I saw him glancing
I turned and gave my thanks
And also reprimanding
His insistence on his ranks
I told him life is more
Than numbers on your face
For moments you can't store
On your hands or any place.
Leave me, I told him
I have no need of you
My life is not your whim
I tell you it's not true
I closed my eyes and held them tight
To let him heed my call,
But as they came back, took the light
The clock was still there on the wall.
Jan 14, 2015
Jan 14, 2015 at 7:17 AM UTC
The man in the raincoat tuts and mutters
stares at he puddles that form in the street
that splash up upon his cold angry feet
from the gathering streams that flow in the gutters
Tomorrow s a time like far away
and memory a knife like ice
and hope a sun to sink again
when London winter clips the skin
He turns again the pavement then
spins up glaring like a grimace
and thinking of some fonder place
he ascends the creaking stairs to the kitchen
Water boiled for tea and heat
he hates the furniture and tends
to wait for some fair-weather friend
the window rataplans with wind and wet.
Murdering a cigarette
in the saucer filled with ends
They say that God is always good
so howcome it rain on weekends ?
Copyright London 1990
Sep 24, 2019
Sep 24, 2019 at 3:29 PM UTC