March 2012
28 posts
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February 2012
57 posts
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You are my nightmare
In summer, you rest
uneasy in the morning light.
In darkness you gather me
from the cold cobbles
as I hiss and whine at
you, my nightmare.
My, my, my.
Is it that you are
mine?
My nightmare of my sleep?
As I gulp down the
red rich liquid?
Mine to be had, to live
with?
To live in.
You are my button-less shirt,
my dress that rides up,
my lipstick smear,
my...
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Start making sense. Disjunction is dead. The fragment, which rules poetry for the past one hundred years, has left the building. Subjectivity, emotion, the body, and desire, as expressed in whole units of plain English with normative syntax, has returned. But not in ways you would imagine. This new poetry wears it sincerity on its sleeve…yet no one means a word of it. Its been grabbed, cut,...
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Partners in Memory
There is a distant place that I can picture you in.
A place full of long afternoons and daisies.
There is a vague look upon your face as I talk.
There are songs that my record player plays,
I sometimes think I recognise them.
I share with you the low evening blue,
The dancing tops, milk bottle earrings.
They said you moved in next door to the house I once lived.
Outside the house they...
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What It Would Be To Not Be A Woman…
Philippa Perry in The Guardian today writes of gender dysphoria, a condition that challenges the gender nature assigned to us – and, as Perry draws attentions to, our children.
Perry explores the cliché of ‘I’m a woman trapped in a man’s body’ or the reverse, in a way that questions whether as a society we should be more encouraging of our children that express a confusion of their own gender...
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“Well I have moved
And I’ve kept on moving
Proved the points
That I...”
– Caledonia - Paolo Nutini
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I wish, dear Christ, that I could leave him behind, like a forgotten letter I never brought a stamp for lying on my desk, never to be read - but I can’t. For a reason too hard to fathom into fine words dancing swiftly across the page, I cannot.
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“As digital writing and reading develops further into future you might need to...”
– Sara Lloyd
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“‘For authors at the outset of your careers developing a web presence and...”
– Sara Lloyd - ‘A Writer’s Place in a Networked World’
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“‘The temptation
To take the precious things we have apart
To see how...”
– Must I Paint You A Picture - Billy Bragg
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I Put A Spell On You – The Railway, Winchester...
The Railway is deceptive to the common person who comes through the door. With traditional wooden beams, low ceilings and a tidy bar, but in the far corner hangs a sign that reads:
‘Ladies and Gentlemen Keep Going This Way To…
Dr. Strangelove’s Burlesque Discotheque.
Le Freak? C’est Chic’
in typography probably designed by a local art student with a flash MacBook and a...
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Whiskey With Water
In the cool moonlight I stand aware
Of morning stirring from its deep slumber,
You, your face painted like fine lusterware,
Lay with your eyes holding faint sombre,
On the edge of the blackberry water,
That glistens dark purple like my fresh bruise
Blooming as he knocks back the firewater,
Coming down the pathway singing the blues,
At the still fountain, we cower, waiting,
The stars...
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“‘Remember how we used to party up all night
Sneaking out and looking for...”
– This is What Makes Us Girls - Lana Del Rey
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“‘In the morning I’ll be with you
But it will be a different...”
– Skinny Love - Bon Iver
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“It seems I’ve stepped over lines, you’ve drawn again and again,
But...”
– How To Be Dead - Snow Patrol
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A Memory
In the morning I watched her glug the thick, yellow cat milk into the bowl and bend, tilting her leg outwards, but the cat wasn’t interested.
Later on I waddled in, rabbit in arms, my feet and legs bare. They shouted and ragged. He hit the table. He hit it again. She shouted and I waddled into the middle of them.
It was the only time I saw my father raise his hand to my mother, although I am...
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G.P.S →
Global Poetry System is a Southbank Centre project to explore and map the poetry of the world. It’s based on the idea that poetry is all around us, from gravestones to graffiti, from birthday cards to blogs, in the landscape and in our memories. GPS invites you to take a fresh look at where you are and find the poetry that inspires you. Photograph it, video it, audio record it or write it down -...
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In the gardens you will find a trail of bare footprints, amongst the neatly shaped ferns. They weave in a pattern of dew, of frost, left behind by girl running half naked.
That was me.
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The Gardens
Stone, icy, violet and blue toes
Creeping allows the night to hold you, and me
If we are, near the water.
The dark, cold, cold pool that lies in wait for my bare
Flesh to touch surface and intertwine in blue cheer,
Blackberry blood flowing out from a crack
In the waters edge, the still bricks that cradle
The ripples and contain them.
The gardens are still.
An old man is sat straight in a...
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We Can See The Stars
The stars were fading. The small glints that has buried themselves seep in my mind began to slip away after the second hit. Between the galaxies I gazed down at the red, raw track marks appearing on my decaying body, my rough lips soaking up their blood. We had come to this darkness to create life, space, and light but instead I see your mind turn to dust. First I saw your sweats, then the...
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They Told Me
Wine dripping from stained lips,
Laughter at midnight, a
memory, a memory,
Eyes gripped shut, holding onto
the memory.
Black, white, grey
Finger nails and lipstick.
Nude, red, I gasp
In this moonlight there is an animal,
‘There’.
White flesh flashes in
the pale car beam
Unwrapping the skin, skin
Fat, wide skin in the night
this night, not the person I thought
I could be, liberal,...
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