Climate Change

Fangs grind, skin flakes
the tide rises,
false teeth, crows feet
the tide still rises,
you were there, you let it be,
the tide rises,
I am here, why should I,
the tide still rises,
oil burns, laughter lives,
the tide rises,
children grow, talking ceases,
the tide still rises,
fangs grind, skin flakes
false teeth, crows feet,
babies born, mothers die,
all beneath the same old sky
the tide floods,
You were there, you didn't care,
I was young, I didn't dare,
We are here,
We can help.
The tide remains.

Hello,
So recently my technology has been rising against me, but I'm thinking of building a new site that should keep everything in check. In the meantime I've been using my blog on Tumblr if ya fancy a tumble (too much cheese). I'll get it fixed anyway, thankyou for all your lovely comments xx

Home

My home is empty,
wherever I stand I'm blind.
I've never lived in this land.

Fifteen and I got to say yes to the first boy who asked,
two months later and I made him cry.
I could never understand why
they didn't want to get out of this place.

This is home?
'This is home',
I've never felt compelled.
I've always seen my area
as a place I simply dwelled.

It's not that I don't love those within this isle
It's just I'd hoped there was more to see.

But what person doesn't have a home?

Is it just me?

The right thing

I've loved a thing,
not your eyes
not your lips.
I fingered the motions
from hair to hand
watched words tumble behind ears, again,
danced down my cheek

I've loved a thing,
half smile in hide
it slipped up my mind,
you only loved the thing.

I've loved it to death,
strangled the acquittance-
pulped the organs dry.

I have done the right thing 

Repris sur le jardin

I fear my explanations
poisoned at the nub
speak with such lips
to my misfortunate one-
take care of me, take care of me
though you’ll never know how-
I’ll take care of me,
before the round becomes spiked
with the thorns she grew;
mine never shed the forest floor.
I fear my explanations
are dreams I can’t amount to
are themes without war
and therefore no reasons to stand for.
I’ve got a body in water
whilst my own mixes in,
skinny fingers are like toys
grabbing baby face
searching for the things to destroy.
Take care of me, I’m in the garden again.

et.

Elle chante pour les libellules.
Counting flowers.

Peace

I couldnt be in a place

Where my skin signals advantage

Taken

I couldnt be in a place

Where my sex signals advantage

Taken

I couldnt be in a place

Where my hair signals advantage

Taken

I couldnt be in a place

Where my accent signals advantage

Taken

I couldnt be in a place

Where i exist

As i am taken

And returned

With no signs of advantage

Taken

Just my thoughts

My beliefs

My soul

Your body.

Describing Brautigan

I tried to describe you,
but I ended up describing them all. Sideways on, face glances: my cheek's then the ceiling’s, reiterating the stars of your tongue.

Eye’s, lips- somehow all those colours and shapes can sound exactly the same. Individuality lies only in my memory, the inn keeper to your reflection. You couldn’t be more wrong, you couldn’t be more dealt with, yet it’s your’s I think of when I read this poem
that has no meaning to me at all.

____________________________________


This poem is inspired by another by Brautigan called "I tried to describe you to someone" ( http://www.flickr.com/photos/emilyw_tbs/2193909590/ ).


I'll leave it at that- quite a few people have said they want to know more about what or where my poetry has come from before, so, it's not much maybe but I guess it gives more of an insight if you  want to read Brautigan as well, also just because he is another poet and might be worth a read :)

SM x

Tinmen

Tinmen bake pig hearts
for women who want to starve
he creaks when he bakes

Gorgeous Creature Who resides in my belly

The gutters run to one mouth
strumming pitfall
these golden dragons
cementing bile
and hum the prisoner deep within
I am him.

Leaves mesh calling bones,
and I am not a fool
in these rains,
the structure drowns.
Within skin and thumbed slices of ligaments
her hands are climbing
to scream, to dance, to kill,
and I
unable to walk without legs
have only this bitten quill.
To seek locked-
whether my eternal includes death or
if it will let me away.

The importance of being stubborn

When I die I want you all to know I'll be living-
I do follow the bands one leg backwards.

Right before I wink off
I'll think "that's all?"
well, the only reason it wasn't sooner
was due to the fabulous excuses
you made for my brain.

If all's the same
I can hope to be
smiling greedily
croaking "I was right!"

Inside Closed Palms

Combs for paint pots or syringes for bulbs,
Somewhere mingled cuts
recover infection,
drinking air-
the liveable side.


Anger-


will.


Inside closed palms,

In the movement

I miss my bracelets

they fleck noses as they grazed and swift hair
the movement of night owls,
I'm in the movement,

I'm in the movement no more.
I miss my bangels
braided tangles, and dirt gritting clean
teeth on the skin of your knees,
the dear's nocturnal
and her smile puts devils and angels at debate
from her winged movement,
I'm in the movement,
I'm in the movement no more.
I miss a solution
of a vice, melting plastic hands smoulders
but into holders of all that's nice.

The littlest hearts burst with colour the dragons
couldn't train to roar,
always in a movement.

Slowly they vanish

She's meaning to take
but never gains without grip,
slowly they vanish,
She is meaning to take it
but there is nothing to gain.

Watching men

Warriors don't need thoughts
just forgiveness
and stamina.

The dripping paint
comes to quill
historians spiel,
we listen to power.

Where can we find the warrior
that takes the words
and makes them drip
before our saliva drowns us?

Doggy Night Terror

Do not whisper things
catch me, that catch me.
Not wary things
seize me, that seize me.
Be grown to
hiding, that hides her.
Thrown under
tyranny, killing times
killing times killing times
equilateral triang-u-lar
ordinance taking covers
keeping meat warm,
flesh worn in the winters clap.
Do the tongues
silent lips for palms kiss?
Cracking jaws of my hands
to break amends from
Winston's midnight puppy,
tucked up,
no whisperings to things
just sleep, let sleeping.

Down fall the creatures

Eye kept on spider,
elegantly cruel,
till eyed the hourglass
spitting kisses on ears.

Homeless web
stain, retain
that eye kept
on such a spider.

Keats Doors

Come, wait
I'll wait no more
the stars are cut glass
curving early eyes.
Come, wait,
my soul wants no needs
no tiptoe the dye on sheeted floor,
come, wait,
my dissolve is to hesitate
to lean for the beckon.
Believe in unreachable
and that's all it'll ever be.

Middle Beginnings

Emptiness is the future
which we can colour
as much as we wish.

My day,

My day is not young
my day is not old
my day is not buried beneath the soul.
One day you will find it
and it will speak out to you
"good morning, good noon, good night,"
then explode with flight
ecstatic you'll affix your sight,
whilst dusk brings tidings
and dear day will disapparate,
perhaps to a far corner of some parallel.

Messy fragments scattered
along your weeping smile,
lickable memories for a fond friend
upon distant isles
of the same galactic supermarket.
My day, some day.

Hands

Hands cope worst
bound with charge
of we nestled
amongst the diamonds.
My hope is my enemy
my hope is my all
one day I will fall six feet
and my hope shall be small.