"untidy" poems
She had hung it up from the mantelpiece in her bedroom, so when he entered the room there it was. It was suddenly lovely and he immediately imagined her body flowing into it, flowing from it. Standing close to the dress he brought his fingers to the fabric, touched gently, stroking then, as though it already held her form and substance.
Stepping past thoughts of her that so stirred his body he entered the pattern of the dress. It was a meadow in southern Ontario. July, when already the sun had bleached the profusion of grasses: water chestnut and papyrus sedge. He had stepped from the untidy veranda, past the pond, and down the rough track between the fields unmown, uncut, left fallow. As he entered the breaks of woodland between these swathes of grassland, deciduous leaves, dry and brittle from the summer's heat, were strewn on the path, and between the trees clumps of bramble bushes with berries of red and blue, black and purple.
There was no wind. The only sounds an underlay of crickets, his footfall, and the sharp mournful cries of geese on the now distant pond.
He saw her like an apparition standing motionless at the woodland’s boundary; her dress at one with all that surrounded her. When he came close and placed his hand on her shoulder he could smell the sweet dry earth mingling with her body's sweat, a hint of her *** as he placed his cheek against the shower of printed pollen amongst the leaves on her back.
Back in the late afternoon bedroom he heard her move about in the kitchen, and the spell broken, he turned away and went downstairs.
Several days later, as they prepared for bed, she slipped the dress on. As she stood in the lamplight smoothing it against her flanks, adjusting its fall across her ******* he felt himself faint that such a thing of beauty could be a joy forever . . . and beyond.
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 4:55 AM UTC
i woke up,
in a different clothing,
and a different bed from
mine.
the gray t-shirt stuck
to my sweaty skin,
and i got out of the untidy
bed, to find the source
of the delicious pancakes
smell.
what i found weren't
pancakes,
but a lying, lifeless
body on the kitchen
floor and burnt
breakfast.
Mar 28, 2014
Mar 28, 2014 at 8:37 AM UTC
if words are food for the mind,
then here is a glimpse of mine
if words are drugs for the brain,
then here is why i'm so pained.
abandoned, abhorrent
abnormal, absent
abstract, abuse
addicted, anxious
betray, bitterly
blank, blasphemy
bloodless, breakdown
breathless, brutal
captive, casually
catastrophe, cautiously
change, cigarettes
crucial, clueless
damaged, dangerous
deadly, disastrous
disheartened, disconcerting
dramatic, dreading
eager, eccentric
ecstasy, eerie
effete, effortless
embittered, excess
faded, failure
faintly, fallacy
faltering, fatally
fearfully, finally
garbage, gawky
gibberish, gloomy
gone, goodbye
graphic, gratify
hallucinate, harshly
hazy, heartless
hectic, helpless
hesitant, hit-and-miss
idiotic, idly
ignorant, intimacy
illogical, imaginative
infatuated, intoxicated
jealousy, jittery
journey, journal
joylessly, judicial
junk, juvenile
keen, killing
knavish, knocking
knockout, knotty
knowingly, knowledge
laborious, lacking
lame, languishing
lifeless, literature
lovelorn, lugubrious
madness, maintenance
make-believe, malaise
mean, melancholic
mellow, melodramatic
naff, naivety
nameless, naturally
nauseous, nebulous
neglected, nervous
oasis, objectionable
obliged, obliterate
oblivion, obscurity
obsolete, one-and-only
pacifist, pained
pale, panicky
paradise, paralyze
passionately, passively
raging, ranting
rationalize, raving
realistic, reasonable
rebellious, reckless
saboteur, sadness
sake, sameness
sanity, satisfactory
scar, steady
taint, tangled
tasteless, tearful
telling, temperamental
terror, theoretical
unaffected, uncanny
uncommon, unconsciously
undesirable, uneasy
unfortunate, untidy
vaguely, vanish
vanity, vanquish
versatile, vicious
violence, voracious
waiting, waking
walkout, wanting
wasteful, weary
withering, wrecking
if words are food for the mind,
then you've seen a glimpse of mine
if words are drugs for the brain,
then no wonder i'm so pained.
-djs
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 11:21 PM UTC
Nails in pocket
For future fastening
Of repellence on wood
Legs twisted, stiff, that
Forgot how to follow
In any other way than
Swaying in the wind
Hay hair shining in
Sunlight less every time
The dustbowl hits
Rags around lumps,
Stakes, rakes
Make for inadequate
Facade of waking
From afar well placed,
At ease, maybe
Somewhat untidy,
But balanced, stable
At a distance, listening
One might even hear
A raspy voice whispering
Wind to wood,
Promises of movement
Mistake a hollow stare
For vigilance
But with senses obsolete
Inertia well-rewarded
Mere being never sufficed
But for here and now
Sep 17, 2015
Sep 17, 2015 at 11:32 AM UTC
an assembly or
better named
a clump
of multifarious flotsam
presenting its untidy self
on a recent passing
streetcorner..
a hesitating photo records
a drifting pinecone
centering a stained
and shredding newspaper
a broken sharp stick
red rocks of scales and shadings
flecking dried green leaves..
order imposed by
framing and shaping of
the sidewalk corner..
might other forms emerge
with a focused patience?
a partial headline reads
...sound without the wires..
news of expanding connections
outside a material realm?
headline seemed embedded
in thick advertising bulk
announcing a continuing
culture of material weight..
much else of red and green..
the centering pinecone
occasional pineal symbol of
higher dimension entry..
somehow rightly here
in the dark center
of this mess
this a brief experiment
not yet for most an answer
a question now of mining
finding patterned varieties
in large nature's trove..
patient visions residing in
gathered fragments
if gathered they be..
expectations of more
in what persists
of this and that in
time... :)
Jun 13, 2012
Jun 13, 2012 at 11:03 PM UTC
"The elephant seal is an unsightly creature.
I heard it today on TV
Then a special on smart and wonderful dolphins
Who never would wish to be me"
"All this rubbery ******* I use for a face
That my mother just says she adores
Is a hideous masking of elephantine proportions
That nobody else could afford"
You're not ugly, oh dear elephant seal!
You are mountains more graceful than that
Don't ever wish you were a rabbit
A turtle, a dog, or a curious cat
So a parrot can talk,
But it gets him in trouble
And a hamster is cuddly
But untidy--makes his home in the rubble
Sure, you haven't got fur
but you haven't got mange!
You're spick-and-span as your ocean
Your sea home-on-the-range
And your nose is real big
But you've never been nosey
You are much too polite
To make others un-cozy
I have watched you go swimming
You're majestic as waves
And you love to explore
All the watery caves
You have beautiful eyes
And I think you're just swell
Look, someday, you'll be happy
You'll be so proud as well
"Well I guess I am funny
I like to make friends
I've gotten good at catching squids
And other popular trends"
See--that's just the spirit!
You're as magnificent as any
But what makes you so great?
You're more humble than many
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 2:09 AM UTC
[On my birthday]
At low tide like this how sheer the water is.
White, crumbling ribs of marl protrude and glare
and the boats are dry, the pilings dry as matches.
Absorbing, rather than being absorbed,
the water in the bight doesn't wet anything,
the color of the gas flame turned as low as possible.
One can smell it turning to gas; if one were Baudelaire
one could probably hear it turning to marimba music.
The little ocher dredge at work off the end of the dock
already plays the dry perfectly off-beat claves.
The birds are outsize. Pelicans crash
into this peculiar gas unnecessarily hard,
it seems to me, like pickaxes,
rarely coming up with anything to show for it,
and going off with humorous elbowings.
Black-and-white man-of-war birds soar
on impalpable drafts
and open their tails like scissors on the curves
or tense them like wishbones, till they tremble.
The frowsy sponge boats keep coming in
with the obliging air of retrievers,
bristling with jackstraw gaffs and hooks
and decorated with bobbles of sponges.
There is a fence of chicken wire along the dock
where, glinting like little plowshares,
the blue-gray shark tails are hung up to dry
for the Chinese-restaurant trade.
Some of the little white boats are still piled up
against each other, or lie on their sides, stove in,
and not yet salvaged, if they ever will be, from the last bad storm,
like torn-open, unanswered letters.
The bight is littered with old correspondences.
Click. Click. Goes the dredge,
and brings up a dripping jawful of marl.
All the untidy activity continues,
awful but cheerful.
2.8k
O generation of the thoroughly smug
and thoroughly uncomfortable,
I have seen fishermen picnicking in the sun,
I have seen them with untidy families,
I have seen their smiles full of teeth
and heard ungainly laughter.
And I am happier than you are,
And they were happier than I am;
And the fish swim in the lake
and do not even own clothing.
2.7k
1976:
black boy, black boy,
we shot you --
nothing left
in your small, shiny black shoes;
your tidy school uniform
2013:
white boy, white boy,
we will not shoot you --
nothing right
in your big, broken black shoes;
your untidy school-form --
instead, we will not teach you
white boy, we will not teach you:
English is for black schools --
Madiba, Madiba:
the jacarandas of Pretoria are dying;
the mimosas in the bushveld
have taken the Acacia tree's name
and beneath the soil,
the roots of South Africa are still
growing, exactly the same?
Dec 8, 2013
Dec 8, 2013 at 3:26 PM UTC
About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.
2.3k
Christina
was by the tuck shop
in the school corridor
in mid morning recess
don't eat
too many sweets
I said
got to watch
your figure
she was with
other girls
who giggled
I thought you watched
my figure anyway
she said smiling
of course
I said
she bought
a couple of Wagon Wheels
and she left
the girls there
and walked with me
along the corridor
bought one for you
she said
I took it
and said
thank you
we walked further down
until we came
to the gym
and sneaked in
one of the doors
it was empty
so we sat
on the one
of the benches
by the wall
didn't have time
for breakfast this morning
she said
my mother
was in one
of her moods
and I couldn't
put up
with her moans
so I came to school
early so now
I’m hungry
well have
this Wagon Wheel back
I don't need it
I said
no you have it
she said
why was your mother
in a mood?
I asked
she said my room
was untidy
and that I do nothing
about the house
and is it
and don't you?
I asked
it is
she said
and I don't
so she gets
all moody and moans
Christina bit
into the Wagon Wheel
and I ate mine
sunlight poured
into the high windows
of the gym
making patterns
on the floor
voices from outside
echoed
around the walls
after we had eaten
our sweets
she said
we have time
to kiss don't we?
I guess so
I said
she leaned in
and kissed my lips
and I kissed hers
putting my arms
around her waist
just then
a prefect came in
one of the doors
and saw us
and said
what are you doing
in here?
you should be out
in the playground
or on the sports field
not in here
so we sighed
and went out
of the gym
and along
the corridor
the prefect shouting
at us from behind
our backs
but the kiss
still lingered
on my lips
warm wet and soft
and the prefect
didn't feel that
I bet.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
Lizbeth stood in front
of the tall mirror
inside her mother's wardrobe
she was wearing
a short black dress
her hair was tied
in a bun at the back
I stood watching her
uncertain why
we were in her parents' bedroom
and why she was *********
her mother’s clothes
hanging on hangers inside
I looked around the room
a big bed made tidily
a chest of drawers
a built in cupboard
a picture on the wall
opposite the bed
of some country scene
and above the bed
a huge crucifix
made from wood
with a plaster Christ
look at this one
Lizbeth said
I looked at her hand
taking out a long red dress
she held it up
then put in front of herself
and turned to face me
what do you think?
it's a bit gaudy
I said
shall I try it on?
no I can see
what it would
look like on you
I said
she sniffed it
she must bathe
in **** scent
Lizbeth said
she did a spin
holding the dress
against her
how do I look in it?
she's taller than you
it'll fit her better
I said
not so sure
Lizbeth said
hold this
I held the dress in my hand
she unzipped her black dress
at the back
and pulled the black dress
over her head
and stood there
in a white bra and *******
give it here
she said
and taking the dress
she put it on
her own black dress
was on the floor
here zip me up
at the back
she said
I zipped her up
at the back
watching the straps
of the white bra disappear
as I zipped her up
she turned on the spot
and looked at herself
in the tall mirror
well? how do I look now?
well at least
it's longer
than your own black dress
I said
it came to her ankles
she looked down at it
yes too ****** long
she said
unzip me Benny
she said
I unzipped her
seeing the strap
of the white bra
come back into view
she pulled the dress
over her head
and put it back
on the hanger
she stood there
in bra and *******
how do I look now?
undressed
I said
do you like me
like this?
I feel kind of
uncomfortable
you standing like that
I said
why do you feel
uncomfortable?
what if your parents
come home now
and see you like this
and me here with you
and you in your underclothes?
she smiled
guess they'll feel
uncomfortable then
she said
I picked up her black dress
best out it on
I said
now?
yes now
my parent's bed is over there
all made up and fresh
and waiting for us
she said sexily
I stood holding
the black dress in my hand
where are your parents?
out some place
when will they be back?
don't know
best get your dress on
and out of their room
I said
what about my room?
the bed's smaller
and unmade
and the room's untidy
but we can still
do it there?
I heard voices from downstairs
is that them back?
I said in a low voice
Lizbeth pulled a face
**** me yes
let's get to my room
and so she put
the red dress back
in the wardrobe
and shut it up
and we rushed across
the landing to her room
and shut the door
behind us
I looked around her room
it was as she said
untidy
the bed unmade
books
LPs
soiled washing
over the floor
and the curtains unopened
that was kind of close
she said
yes
I said
downstairs the voices
were loud
and a row seemed
to be going on
but Lizbeth seemed unconcerned
standing there
in her white *******
and bra
holding the black dress
gazing towards
the unmade bed
but I had other problems
swimming around
inside my teenage head.
Jul 6, 2014
Jul 6, 2014 at 4:13 AM UTC
If a tale need be tattled,
the snawky Snawk would arise.
With its snickley tongue of arsenic blue,
and loathsome gamboge eyes.
To the King of the stickley Snicklers,
the Snawk would spill his talk.
But scuttlebutt was all t'was,
for he was but a snawky Snawk.
Might you ask
who am I be?
I am a jawky Jawk
who talks incessantly
of the snawky Snawk,
with his snickley tongue,
and his breath of kyarn,
and Beelzebub dung.
You see I knows of him all too well
and well he knows of me.
Invidious brothers, one of the other,
same Mother both have we.
Now the snawky Snawk spins yarns
so dark and thick and odious.
One might find his fatuous canards
to be though flatulent, commodious.
But If ye be a gawky Gawk
of the snawky Snawk beware,
For his loathsome camboge eyes
can squinny a ribald stare.
To your knees his gaze will bring you,
you'll tell all the tales you know.
Then he'll tattle them to the Snickler King
and off to the headsman you will go.
That is, unless, you know the ballad
the Snawk is most offended by.
'bout the frowzy blowzy stable boy
with only just one eye.
He lost his eye in a snickering match
twixt The Snickley King and he.
But got the best of the old nabob,
for he could cachinnate you see.
He did cachinnate and aggravate,
till the old King did concede.
The stable boy was the better of the two,
his tongue cut like a snickersnee.
For the frowzy blowzy stable boy
was not able to tell a lie,
nor could he mince his words with honey,
of the truth he could not hide.
And if one day you find yourself
in the land of the quidnunc kith.
Shun the snickley Snicklers,
and their sniggering King forthwith.
But if ye meet up with the stable boy
though untidy he may be.
Dare not tattle of a soul,
he'll let fly his snickersnee.
And remember well, the ballad he sings,
of the King he did do down.
Drink in its waspy strain and keep it nigh,
lest the snawky Snawk cometh 'round.
Jan 26, 2013
Jan 26, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
I am sorry mum
for everything,
For who I am,
For what i've done.
I am sorry mum,
For everything,
For what im not,
What I havent done.
I am sorry mum,
For staying away,
For being with friends,
For being far away.
I am sorry mum,
That I am ugly,
For what I wear,
For the state of my hair.
I am sorry mum,
That my opinions are wrong,
That I spoke without asking,
For the things that I know.
I am sorry mum,
That you think I dont care,
That I have upset the family,
That they never wanted me there.
I am sorry mum,
That you couldnt love me,
That I wasnt normal,
That other people like me.
I am sorry mum,
That I have expressed things,
That I have dropped things,
Caused a mess in your home.
I am sorry mum
That I wanted to study,
That I liked being outside,
And that I looked untidy.
I am sorry mum,
That Im an embarrassment,
Have caused so much shame,
And that I cause you pain.
I am sorry mum,
That im always a disappointment,
Showed you my photos of Africa,
I know now that I shouldnt.
I am sorry mum,
That I didnt have the right friends,
That I didnt wear enough make-up,
That I read about Science, not fame.
I am sorry mum,
For being vegetarian,
For picking out bits of meat,
In front of everyone.
I am sorry mum,
For when I didnt know what i'd done,
And you had to stand on my foot,
Or pinch me hard on my arm.
I am sorry mum,
For going walking,
For not doing house work instead,
Or finding something else to be done.
I am sorry mum,
For my work with charities,
For my love for Africa,
For feeling there so free.
I am sorry mum,
For having weird phobias,
And letting you down,
By mentioning it to others.
I am sorry mum,
That I struggle with Maths,
For being dyscalculaic,
I know this is bad.
I am sorry mum
For causing you sickness,
And for not being there,
I know it looks like I dont care.
I am sorry mum
For upsetting others,
Being the cause of all problems,
And hurting my brother.
I am sorry mum,
For my choice of work,
For the places i've been to,
For not always putting you first.
I am sorry mum,
That I made you so angry,
You had to hit me in the face,
And I made you go to bed unhappy.
I am sorry mum,
That I was quiet in school,
That Claire was my best friend,
That we were both quiet in school.
I am sorry mum,
That I chose Scotland,
For moving far away,
It cannot be forgiven.
I am sorry mum,
For my musical instruments,
I know I dont play them well,
That I gave you a headache instead.
I am sorry mum,
That I played the violin,
At my brothers wedding,
For you- ruining everything.
I am sorry mum,
That i;ve never been good enough,
That I always let you down,
I am just never good enough.
I am sorry mum,
For speaking about family,
For letting you down again,
And the family.
I am sorry mum
That I struggled so much,
You had to put chilli in my mouth,
As I couldnt do my homework.
I am sorry mum,
That I went "home"
That I let the **** happen,
That I spoiled your "name".
I am sorry mum,
That I do not love you,
I have cursed myself and tried,
But I cannot love you.
But I still hear your voice,
And it tortures me still,
And the thought of your anger,
Still gives me chills.
I am so sorry mum,
That I am a failure,
But I am no longer "Emma"...
...I am "Nomkhumbulwa"....
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 8:24 PM UTC
The tube lift mounts,
sap in a stem,
And blossoms its load,
a black, untidy rose.
The fountain of the escalator
curls at the crest,
breaks and scatters
A winnow of men,
a sickle of dark spray.
2k
staying the night
up high
in rainclouds
& I feel safe now
when I look down
the wide world
is so small.
we are all
tiny specimen
divinely dissected
subdivided into
lively sections
by wants by fires
by greed by needs
& secret desires;
one nation
under god’s feet
tired slaves perspire
unnecessarily
for possession
& obsess over
what they each acquire.
it is you, it is I,
and we are
frighteningly alike.
my attention’s quite untidy
all the time
my mind gets redirected
it walks like hell
& talks like heaven.
I am not well
I never have been.
but this hex is a blessing,
it’s too **** precious.
we are spilling
into the ocean
over the edges.
The Land is dead and
has been, days now.
I find it kinda pleasant &
I wonder if
they’ll ever
get around to
disinfecting the nest
of decaying flesh,
before it infests the rest,
y’know, the ones that got left.
rot is a pox
spread by proxy
& is not bonded
by neither
lock nor key; that’s like,
**** what you got
**** what you be
**** what you thought
what you think
what you see.’
**** you,
**** me,
**** everyone,
**** everything.
it’s lovely, it’s lovely.
I even think it’s kinda funny,
I laugh at nothing.
Oh, the irony
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 7:05 PM UTC
In a pornographic poem
ee cummings wrote
may i feel ,
Fell the nicest of the rhymes into
Brooks of sholas
Untidy caveman and lady in water
Heard the words in the streams
Though evaporated few from the stream
There stood ee Cummings on the banks
With the inks for liquid state
Somewhere he again stood
With the inks for gaseos state
May 18, 2018
May 18, 2018 at 4:37 AM UTC
Looking for the words
the exact words of prayers
in several agnostic pages
with untidy, scattered phrases
- blindfold yourself like
how you're used to all this time.
In the backyard
of your six feet layers
of loneliness
interrogate the dogs,
like when you breathe in
the happiness.
Assemble
all the words.
Lament.
Express yourself
like how you make love
to the dark, feverish heartache.
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 9:18 PM UTC
in a dark autumn forest, five creatures
strangely glow, cold peaked ears are blue,
rhythms of thudding, scudding boots
full of youth, synchronized they run,
outlined in neon, nearly covered in fur,
running amok in the hungry dark.
what do they search for in the dark?
all keening, these tempestuous creatures.
what propels them? what makes their fur
stand on end? faces an oxygen-less blue
as arms are locked and strong legs run
with the heavy monotony of feet in boots.
driven by laughter and labored breath, boots
thunder up dewy hills, disturbing the dark
loam underfoot, disheveled as the wind runs
through and into and throughout these creatures,
and the trees, and the strange aura of blue
surrounding a juggling man with hair like wolf fur.
he is levitating, has eyes like a burning fur-
nace, is manipulating boxes of light, wears boots
that make him seven feet tall, his is the blue
of martyrs, of imagination sacrificed to dark
forces, alight like clicking live wires the creatures
tumble on, finding a new reason to run
toward a long, narrow, white hallway they run
across an empty street, a nearby raccoon's fur
bristles as they break all boundaries, these creatures,
all sharp claws and fearless teeth and stomping boots,
assault the stillness of closed doors and early dark
morning eyes just beginning to distinguish the blue
of the sun's prologue, a deep and melancholy blue.
charging the hall doors, they dance and thump and run
down the shadowed interior, adjacent rooms dark
but for the lights of the lonely and static cat fur.
on wooden floors the cacophonic burst of boots
rumble like wild animal's hooves, here come the creatures!
and as the sun illumines dark corners in orange and blue,
through untidy mists these creatures continue to run,
all flailing limbs and matted fur and brawling boots.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 3:15 AM UTC
Judith took me
to the derelict cottage
just off the wood
in the Easter recess
from school
she opened up
the back door
and into the kitchen
with its smell
of damp and decay
it's been empty for years
she said
my sister and I
used to come here
and pretend
it was our own cottage
smells horrible
I said
ignore the smell
she said
pretend it's our
own cottage
and we have
just moved in
after marrying
when did we marry?
I asked
after we left school
she said
smiling
she walked into
a larger room
with wide windows
looking out
onto a large
overgrown garden
we could grow
some of our own food
she said
looking out
the window
I looked at
the hanging wallpaper
and a damp patch
on the ceiling
and our children
could play out there
she said
what children? I asked
when did they come along?
after we married
she said
I don't remember
I said smiling
you will
if you pretend better
she said
moving through
to another room
at the front
I noticed a space
where a picture
must have hung
because it was cleaner
than the rest
of the wall
I like this room
she said
this is where we will sit
and have our TV
and radio
and the children
can sit with us
and we can cuddle them
I nodded playing along
let me show you upstairs
to the bedrooms
she said
so I followed her
up the creaky stairs
her green skirt
swaying as she walked
three bedrooms
she said
one for us
one for our boys
and one for our girls
she stood
in the front bedroom
looking out
over an untidy hedge
onto the road
this is our bedroom
she said
turning around
looking at it all
our bed can go there
she said
pointing to a wall
on the left
and we can have
a dressing table
and dresser
the room was empty
and smelt
over by the right wall
was a pile of ****
some one's been here
and dumped
I said
probably some *****
or hobo
she looked
at the ****
and said
who's dumped
in our bedroom?
I laughed
it isn't our room yet
pretend
she said
I pretended
the **** wasn't there
and we went
into the other bedrooms
and she said
this was where
such and such
will be
and out of the window
the overgrown garden
seemed vast
with an apple orchard
to the left
she touched my hand
and squeezed it
we will be happy here
she said
I looked about
the room years after
the cottage smelt ranker
and she was dead.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 2:16 AM UTC
The train would leave in ten minutes
He came up to the window where I sat
And looked at me
With his hungry,
Longing eyes
And I at him
With a sudden rush of charity
And helplessness.
He must have been my age
Maybe younger!
With his eyes still seeing mine
He slowly bent down
And picked up his kettle
Which lay on the box full of glowing coal,
And he poured me a cup of tea
In an earthen cup.
He never asked if I wanted it;
Only stretched out his weak arm
Covered by an untidy rag
As if pleading me to take it
As if knowing that I would.
And all i could do was take it.
Then,
He stood there
Biting his lip
And staring at me
And my clothes
And the novel that lay on my seat
And the packet of biscuits beside it.
Catching his eye,
I offered him the biscuits.
First, his hands rose
But suddenly backed off.
He shook his head
And looked down.
Pride wounded.
I looked at the cup in my hand
And then at him
Thinking,"Did he make it himself?"
And then he smiled at me
As if saying "Yes!"
I felt a pain urging in me
And my throat was choked
I wanted to curse this heartless mob.
Wanted to do something,
Anything!
To help him.
I sat there wondering a thousand things
What did he eat everyday,
If he did manage to eat at all
Where did he live?
Did he have a family to look after and take care of?
Or worse..
Was he all by himself?
The engine's alarm brought me back
And I saw him
Still staring at me
Unmoved
Steady
With haunting eyes
That howled with pain
With pleads
And dreams..
And were yet, so hollow
Someone gave him a coin and whisked him away
Asking him to vanish
But he stood there
Staring blankly at me
We hadn't spoken a word
Yet he had become a friend
In just ten minutes
It seemed as if we had been pals forever
I smuggled out my wallet
Stealthily
As if I was committing a horror
And I stretched it out to him
Silently asking him to take it
He looked at it
And then back at me
I nodded
And he hesitantly accepted my gift
Who knows how much it was worth
Pocket money
Of a few months, perhaps
Then the train began to leave
He stood still there
Gaping at me with eerie eyes
A tear running down his thatced skin
His figure getting further as we moved
Moving away as the train carried me away with it
Standing on the platform
Where people came
Paused
Drank his tea
Threw some coins at him
Smashed his cup
And moved on
Banishing him into oblivion
'Drink it.. Or it will go cold'
My neighbour nudged me back to present reality
I looked out
There was no more of that station
Or him
Then I turned back to the man ans sighed
'I don't drink tea'
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 11:31 AM UTC
I want to have
lunch
of all meats and veggies –
can someone cook
and put them all
on the table for me?
I want to eat fine
at a table of ebony
with silverware
in King Louis XIV style –
can somebody procure them for me?
I want to dine
in a Hall of Fame
Queen Cleo style
with singers and slaves
and manacled leopards
at my feet –
Hey, who’s there!
get them all ready for me
I want them all in a
Grand Palace like Versailles
not in some petty lowbrow
Château de Malmaison -
so can someone get it ready
by today eve, precisely 5?
I want to eat in peace
with no noise
and braying donkeys
so - Hey! can someone
shoot that rabble outside
unkempt, untidy
and always wanting free meals off me!
Aug 26, 2011
Aug 26, 2011 at 3:07 AM UTC
In secret
Words prepare dialogue transporting emotions like pilots
With no mercy words turn around and get messy
Placing Vaseline on dry throats speaking levy
Lips on skateboards sniffing the ground for reality’s ride
Electrifying plots against blurry words with
no physical basic thoughts thinking dialogue cravings
Untidy tiding plots buried in baritones hurried to hire imaginary thoughts
With no mercy things get messy
Stainless inks get messy
Poetry comes in speed bumps
Never the less poetry comes in speeds
Bumping speed bumps
Bump all slumps
Bluffing word bumps
Bump all stunts
Puff them hard till words provoke gumboot sounds
Bump all ink pumps and thirsty thumbs
Speed bump conclusions jumping resolutions around
words spoken in gibberish gigabytes per seconds smelling leverage
Amplifying televised revolution on repetition far from average
Paralyze those walking eyes
Bumping rhythms
Dusty broken chests serving overcrowded greeting lines
On solo mode
Flirtalicious solo chaotic modes
Bumb connections around chairs warmed up by bums
Speaking the same womb and rhythms
Brothers and sisters chained up in pairs and bums
enslaved by messy word poetry speed-bumbs
Words get messy with no mercy on lip bumps
Those messy words camp behind bushy brains
Rail track through lips with no vibrating mercy veins
Affiliate with true bones
Crossbones carrying history's forgotten side bums
Instrumental bones
Stinking hip hop bums speed flossing word stunts
Words dig up chaos with no mercy
Armed with no rounds
Pounds stolen before two rounds
Sheriffs secretly scared of their own uniform sounds
Shortlisted words saving society's bums
Words are just messy and profound
a.s.
Jul 17, 2014
Jul 17, 2014 at 9:54 PM UTC
life is untidy fragile *****
escaping gradually
in instant beginning
life stings curiously small
timid vastly
open flutters
life
newold
life abruptly coiled
in the precisely fragrant mess
of each young thing
nice, tall beautifully muscles
deft unclean
that struck by sunlight shake
loose shimmering deeply
(
like serious approachable foil)
and though for straightening endlessly
still curls
(half small languorous )
'gainst the mortal stuff
in
toomuchclothing
swaggering with tight comely
L I F e
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
Ingrid sat on the brick wall
of the bomb site
her hands in her lap
her untidy hair
held in place
with wire grips
the plain grey
cardigan and dress
had food stains
here and there
you sat beside her
in jeans
and bought for you
cowboy shirt
the Saturday film
matinée
just seen
suppose I'd best be home
Ingrid said
before Dad gets back
he doesn't know
I went to the pictures
and he'll say
it's a waste of money
but it's only 6d
you said
surely he wouldn't
begrudge you that?
she said nothing
but stood up
and brushed down
her dress
best go
she said
wait a while
you said
let's buy some chips
before you leave
I've no more money
she said
I have
you replied
patting your jean's pocket
*********
the 6 shooter
toy gun
hanging
at your waist
best not
she said
if Dad sees me
he'll go off
the deep end
she stood there
half undecided
chips with salt
and vinegar
and maybe
an onion or two
you added
giving her a look
your head to one side
she bit her lip
as she fingered
her cardigan
but Mum said
not to be late
Ingrid said
sometimes
they throw in
a slice of bread
and butter
you said
especially for kids
if you give them
I'm starved look
she smiled
her hands going
into the cardigan pockets
what if he sees me
go in there?
she said
he won't
you said
he couldn't see
the end of his nose
without getting dizzy
you said
anyway he might not
be back until later
she shrugged
and then said
ok if we're quick
and so you stood up
and walked her
up Meadow Row
and across the road
to the fish and chip shop
and bought
2 bags of chips
and onions
and 2 slices
of bread and butter
because you both gave
that we're starved gaze
you walked her back
down Meadow Row
eating in silence
she eating ravenously
her fingers busy
her mouth opening
and closing
once you'd finished
and you'd stuffed
the waste chip papers
into a bin
by the grocer's shop
she said
thank you
that was scrumptious
and she kissed your cheek
and walked off
and across
Rockingham Street
towards the Square
at the top
by the entrance
with arms crossed
grim face
Ingrid's father
stood scowling
standing there.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 2:51 AM UTC