Friday, March 31

Too close



Come up here
Close to me

Close

So I can see your face
So I can smell your skin
And see your eyes

Looking at me.

Closer

So I can feel your breathe
Hear those words
You speak not

Yet.

And I'll come closer too

So close
You wouldn't be able to
See my face
Or my eyes
tightly shut

Or that flaming mouth
Which now feels cold and blue.

And if we could only
Pull close enough
To melt away the masks

And smile with our eyes
At the sweetness underneath.

Or shall we just
Rip them off
And wince

At the ugliness
we knew we would see?



The painting above is Rene Magritte's 'Lovers II' (1928)

For a poignant piece on that and the NY subway (by Frank McDonnell) read
  • sanity starved
  • Thursday, March 30

    Nobody home

    One still tap
    dripping steadily

    One black wrap
    flung lazily

    Gathering dust on a forgotten floor.

    One small crack
    on a picture frame

    An empty pack
    of fags to claim

    For no one at the shuttered door.

    Delirious TV
    crackles on

    Empty freezer
    rattles on

    Wet window panes look out for more.

    Nothing changes
    No one speaks

    Silently
    they all grow weak.

    Till one blue day
    They start to fray

    And wear away all stiff and sore.

    No ones's coming
    No one's there

    Don't waste time
    Don't stand and stare.

    Fix the plumbing
    Stock the fridge
    Pick the clothes up
    Build the bridge.

    Wipe the windows
    Mend the crack
    Turn off the TV
    Get your life back.


    Notes: If you want to know if he crashed or survived, read
  • discharge
  • and
  • White
  • Tuesday, March 28

    Waiting for the worms

    Midnight hour
    And the lights are low
    The air is still
    And the feet move slow.

    Sounds of darkness
    Smother all
    Wait for the worms
    To gently fall.

    See them crawl
    See them maul
    The memories
    In that sunlit hall.


    Let them grope you…gingerly
    Let them lick you…tenderly

    Feel them creep up in a flood
    Feel them feed on flesh and blood.

    Close your eyes and let them in
    Offer up your every sin
    Make them gnaw you deep inside
    Feast on all you had to hide

    Till all that’s left is brittle bone
    And your senses - turned to stone.

    Watch them leave then, fat and smug
    Not one left to loathe or hug.

    And you scream, you scream, to have them back
    You fight till all your muscles crack

    And then you crumble, and at last you fall
    Knowing they left you nothing at all.

    Monday, March 27

    Play time

    Grubby little boy
    With a brand new toy
    Rolling around
    Breaking new ground.

    A new toy
    Full of light
    A new toy
    Shiny and bright.

    Playing hard
    Playing soft
    Caressing it
    Holding it aloft.

    Wrapping it in mud
    Rubbing it clean
    Shaking it fast
    Painting it green.

    Chasing in glee
    Pinning it down
    Laughing out loud
    Watching it frown.

    Through the rain
    Through the frost
    Holding it close
    So it wouldn't be lost.

    Throwing it down
    Kicking it blue
    Calling it names
    Yet stroking it too.

    And little did he know
    That whatever he did
    (after all he was just a kid)
    It would never play
    In quite the way
    He wanted it to.

    And one fine day
    He threw it away
    Tired of this game
    That had no name.

    And when it came back
    To burn him black

    All he could do
    Through the pain
    Was watch it go
    Wildly insane

    Looking on in wonder

    Still looking

    Not knowing

    That all along
    He'd been playing

    With thunder.

    Saturday, March 25

    Out there somewhere

    Huge wide world
    Spread out before me
    Lying at my feet
    Waiting to set me free.

    Acres of sea
    Calling to me
    Ripe rich land
    Taking my hand

    Concrete beauty
    Catching my eye
    Leading me on
    To a plausible high.

    Bright eyed people
    Watchful cat
    Teaching me this
    Teaching me that,

    Pushing me out
    Of a deep blue bout
    Shaking me now
    Showing me how.

    Playful patterns
    Roll in my head
    Sundry silhouettes
    Speak in my bed.

    Bookshelves beckon
    Hope in the air
    Sweet promises
    That strive to be there.

    I hear them
    Know they're out there

    Somewhere

    and yet

    and yet

    I cannot see
    I cannot let them
    Reach for me.


    That world out there
    So full and fair
    Smiling at me
    And do I dare

    Smile back?

    Fix the crack
    Try again
    It's faith you lack!


    But in the end
    I skip away

    Tell them to just let me be

    For I know

    I know

    The world out there
    is not for me.

    Thursday, March 23

    For no one

    Thought I'd try my hand at love poetry for a change!

    Something bright,
    Just a trifle trite
    I think I might
    Just feel right.

    And what would I write?

    About that first unexpected kiss
    That look I often miss
    That soft eloquent touch
    Silence, that said so much.

    The laughter and the light
    The frolic and the fight
    The warm deep glow
    As we merged soft and slow.

    Stop.
    Right now.
    You don't know how.

    You never did.
    So drop the lid.

    And speak no more
    Of that mask you wore
    That flame you bore

    as no one's whore.

    Tuesday, March 21

    hey, thats no way to say goodbye

    After a long night gone by
    After the passion runs dry
    After a warmly ebbing high
    Long after
    We stopped asking why

    We roll back
    Into that cosy sack
    Like Jill and Jack
    Waiting to crack.

    And drink in the sweetness
    Of an hour of weakness.
    Drunk on a wet wet world
    As the sea outside swirled

    and asked

    Would you know me tomorrow
    if I looked in your eye
    if you passed me by
    if I made you cry?

    And you smiled and said
    You make me see red
    Turn my heart to lead
    Wish that I was dead.

    And you make me want to

    Read you
    Feed you
    Heed you
    Yet, bleed you

    And you make me want to

    Fight you
    Slight you
    Incite you
    Even bite you

    And when you do
    Try to be true
    And you look up at me
    Hoping you see
    Who you wish me to be

    I'll be mocking sweetly
    as I set myself free


    As I push you away so gently
    And crush your dreams
    Tug at their seams

    Till they come undone

    So much fun
    I couldn't run
    Stay and watch

    Watch you wildly moan
    and bruise flesh on stone
    Watch you draw blood
    a sweet searing flood

    Watch you wear me down
    As I step back and frown
    Annoyed
    Unharmed
    Not the least bit alarmed.

    As you look on now

    Too stunned to ask
    Too bitter to bask
    Too hurt to know
    Too weak to let go

    And I can laugh out loud
    And feel so damn proud
    That I can beat you
    Defeat you
    Maltreat you

    Even forget you.

    As I walk out quietly
    and kill the man
    I tried to be

    For a while

    For that one gorgeous mile
    We walked in style

    Together

    and I have to tell you

    I won't come back
    even to watch you smile.

    Black breaking through

    Sunday, March 19

    Calm

    Calm today.
    Like a wave too lazy to roll
    Like a bell too full to toll.

    Calm, like a breeze that's sleeping
    Calm, like the dew that's weeping.

    Every sense, every pore
    Quiet now, can't ask for more

    Every breath now feels so sweet
    Resting now, those restless feet.

    Nothing black, no empty street
    Just a warm deep heartbeat.

    Close as hell, a soft deep shell
    that binds and soothes and keeps me well.

    Nothing uttered, nothing lost
    No hurt, no fear, no thorns, no frost.

    So calm now, like the big blue sky
    So calm that I would never cry

    I know not if I live or die

    Calm

    And won't you ask me why?

    Thursday, March 16

    Hold on

    Hold on
    To that one last streak of day
    Threatening to disappear
    In a blaze of frightening fire
    That no longer
    looks the picture
    you always wanted to click.

    Beautiful sunsets
    Are but precursors
    To a bloody night
    Which leaves you gasping
    For that elusive whiff
    of new air
    You can't seem to find

    Leaves you in the throes
    Of that same lost fight.

    And isn't it wonderful
    How the light
    That wouldn't shine in your eyes
    Is out there somewhere
    Making good
    As it should?

    Of course
    As it should.

    So hold on to it
    Don't let it go
    Cling on for dear life
    Let it know

    That although you never cared
    You needed it
    If only to destroy
    The night's dark ploy

    To destroy you.

    Wednesday, March 15

    A day in the life

    This is my life
    And its your life too.

    Sitting at my keyboard
    Making it come true.

    Boats on the harbour
    Passing me by
    Kids in the playground
    Making me sigh.

    Coffee in the morning
    Coffee at night
    Plough through the day
    Quake through the night.

    Scan through the words
    That others have spilt
    Marvel at worlds
    They've carefully built.

    Turn on the TV
    Devour the news
    Shrug in dismay
    At those facile views.

    Answer the telephone
    Pick up a book
    Patiently wait
    For the pasta to cook.

    Launder the linen
    Clean the ashtray
    Compose a poem
    My very own way.

    Time for a break
    Cookies to bake
    Vacuum the carpet
    Though nothing's at stake.

    Wait for the doorbell
    that never rings
    Look for the bird
    that never sings.

    Hunt for that letter
    I never received
    Reach for the one
    Who always deceived.

    Back to that screen now
    Cosy and warm
    Lending me solace
    Keeping me strong.

    Its all I need
    Its all I do

    This is my life
    And its your life too.

    Monday, March 13

    Someone somewhere

    In a darkened room
    In a bright blue gloom
    Someone somewhere
    Is weeping.

    In a bold red place
    In an arrogant face
    Someone somewhere
    is laughing.

    In a cold bleak home
    Where only shadows roam
    Someone somewhere
    Is praying.

    In an orange mess
    Of sweet success
    Someone somewhere
    Is celebrating.

    In a crackling fire
    Of wasted desire
    Someone somewhere
    Is burning.

    In a glow of hope
    With baby soap
    Someone somewhere
    Is crooning.

    In a stash of dirt
    Penniless and hurt
    Someone somewhere
    Is begging.

    With a stroke of luck
    Making a buck
    Someone somewhere
    Is jumping.

    With a cracked lip
    No water to sip
    Someone somewhere
    Is sinking.

    With a ripe rich roast
    And joys to toast
    Someone somewhere
    Is grinning.

    With a black broken heart
    Ripped slowly apart
    Someone somewhere
    Is dying.

    In the clear sunlight
    and all through the night
    Someone somewhere
    Is living

    Believing

    Smiling

    Making love

    Making believe?

    Saturday, March 11

    One more down- a small tribute

    Tom Fox was killed in Iraq. His body was found on thursday.
    Not many people heard about it perhaps. Not as high profile. After all religion complicates issues.

    Religion or otherwise, he was there, we were not.

    He was in Syria too and and...
    read his blog
    sometime.

    Long way home: Part IV



    The bed was a sea of whiteness
    Far from the purple shore
    The world was a swirl of brightness
    As he beckoned it for more.

    And no it never loved
    Never let him in
    Never calmed his puzzled mind
    Never let him win.

    Whose world was this he lived in?
    Whose clothes were these he wore?
    What tubes were these inside him?
    Whose mess was on the floor?

    What chains were these that bound him?
    Who's fighting this bleak war?
    Which cage was this they put him in?
    Whose hell was it he bore?

    He knew not why they shunned him
    He knew not why they lied
    He felt the pinpricks day and night
    Long after tears ran dry.

    They stuck on him a steel crown
    They strapped him oh so firmly down
    Then let that crackling current flow
    And hurt him deep and sharp and slow.

    Hard cold faces
    Pale blank eyes
    No one heard
    His silent cries.

    Set him free
    Oh let him go
    He's just a child
    That did not know-

    Your rules, your wiles
    Those names, those games
    You wanted him to play so right.
    He'd lost before he learnt to fight.

    So look at him now
    No hair, no care
    Soul stripped bare
    A sightless stare.

    Kick him hard
    While he's down
    Hold him under
    Watch him drown.

    Its our world
    He'll never fit
    That strange sublime
    Loveable nitwit.

    Thursday, March 9

    Long way home: Part III

    All is still.
    Not a spot on the hill
    No goblet to fill

    So fight if you will.

    The walls are walking
    The garbage talking
    Crackers soaking
    Pictures croaking.

    Foaming flowers
    Flaming fog
    Fevered fish
    Flashing frogs

    Flickering, fading
    Fumigating
    Fractious feeling
    Freewheeling.

    Eyes rolling
    Hands swelling
    Feet won't move
    Stuck in a groove.

    It looks down
    Whips you around
    Grins wickedly
    Drowns you in brown.

    And you frown
    And you squint
    And you struggle

    To catch that glint

    In those cold steel eyes
    That mock and pry
    And accuse,

    But never ask why

    Thats your mirror
    Your eyes
    But not you
    It lies, it lies,

    It lies.

    No ones coming
    No ones humming
    No ones drumming
    Inside your head

    Anymore

    She's long gone
    Trashed and torn
    Bathed in scorn
    While you lie

    Frayed and worn.

    And in the end
    No more paths to bend..

    Your perfect pain
    finds a life

    Beyond the rain
    Beyond the stain

    of madness.

    Wednesday, March 8

    Long Way Home: Part II

    It came tapping on his window
    It came knocking on his door
    It came banging on his brain cells
    It was screaming out for more.

    It would snake in through the keyhole
    It would roll in through the pipes
    It would storm in through the chimney
    It would rage and roar and gripe.

    The more he tried to calm it
    The more it sucked him dry,
    The more he held and stroked it
    The more it made him cry.

    And everyday he heard it
    Yelling out his name,
    And every night he let it in
    To stake its knife edged claim.

    And bit by bit it bled him dry
    And left him on a frenzied high,
    Yet every time he shut it out
    He'd curse and crave another bout.

    Till one fine day
    It made no sound
    It came to him
    All chained and bound.

    Laid its head down
    On his chest
    Kissed his mind
    And made it rest.

    I watch them rock in silence
    I watch them knit so close
    I watch them blindly waiting
    For a sun that never rose
    .

    In a land that knows no colour
    In a land where nothing grows.

    Long way home: Part I

    Pushing past the plodding elephant
    He made for the meadows.
    Nervously nudging the naked night
    He clutched its shadows.

    Moving faster, stumbling now and then
    He searched in stifled silence
    For the resurrector's den.

    One world was all they had
    While he had four
    Twist and shout
    Count them out loud
    Go seeking some more.

    One for the home he painted black
    One for the woman he couldn't crack
    One for the friends he never knew
    One for the work he couldn't do.

    One more, just one more please
    Now begging softly on his knees
    For all those people in me
    I have to set free

    For all I wanted to be
    So passionately


    One corner he could hug in peace
    and those raging demons appease.

    Just one corner, please?

    Tuesday, March 7

    Crack It

    Nothings working.

    Not the macchiato
    Not the gooey Godiva
    Not CSI, Joey, Panorama
    Nor Wodehouse either.

    Its one of those days.

    Not Lawrence, nor Larkin, nor Lear
    Or the wafflemaker here
    Not Chopin, not Ella, not Jagger
    Not even erotica or lager.

    How much longer?

    Not Nietzsche, not Ginsberg, nor Jung
    Not bratwurst, olives or lung fung.
    Not Hamlet, not 'Cats', not Rada
    Nor the Guggenheim or Prada.

    Will I get any stronger?

    Not Harrods, Camden, or Soho
    Nor yoga, pilates, flamenco
    Not even Woody Allen
    Not Chardonnay, Chimay or Sheridan .

    Wondering if I should take a walk, climb a hill
    or simply take a pill.

    (Puff steadily on captain black gold immersed in deep thought.)

    I've got it.

    Had the 'down' and 'across' confused.
    It all fits now.Perfectly.

    My confabulating crossword puzzle.

    Monday, March 6

    My first murder

    Then...

    Curled up dainty creature
    Breathing soft and sure
    Nestling near, so soft and warm
    Unfailingly pure.

    Trusting, touching, bonding deep
    With every drop of blood,
    And every bit of air I breathe
    Is water for the bud.

    A tiny, funny, silent thing
    That claws at every sense
    And threatens all you thought you were
    Each why,wherefore and whence.

    No fuss, no fear, no strife
    Looking forward to a life.
    So helpless and so small
    All of two inches tall!


    Made me so proud
    I could sing out loud
    Made me so scared
    To believe I cared.

    --------------------------------------------------------
    By the cold and religious we were taken in hand
    Shown how to feel good and told to feel bad.
    Tongue tied and terrified we learned how to pray
    Now our feelings run deep and cold as the clay.
    And strung out behind us the banners and flags
    Of our possible pasts lie in tatters and rags.

    (Your Possible Pasts -The Final Cut, Roger Waters)
    ---------------------------------------------------------


    Now...

    The writing's on the wall
    No time to stall
    Waited long enough
    Shutting out the squall.

    Thought it would be easy
    Just a little bit queasy
    Do the needful
    Clinical, painful...

    They do it all the time
    For a poem that won't rhyme
    For a future
    They know ain't worth a dime.

    Nothing I can give
    Nothing I can do
    No way I can save
    That lovely luminous
    Lump of you
    .

    And yet it lives
    Still touches
    and tells me

    it forgives.

    And will you?

    Even remember to forgive?
    --------------------------------------------------------------------------


    Gustav Klimt. (Austrian, 1862-1918). Hope, II. 1907-08

    Quick Notes: A pregnant woman bows her head and closes her eyes, as if praying for the safety of her child. Peeping out from behind her stomach is a death's head, sign of the danger she faces. At her feet, three women with bowed heads raise their hands, presumably also in prayer—although their solemnity might also imply mourning, as if they foresaw the child's fate.

    Sunday, March 5

    Hush

    Tenderness can be simulated
    As can concern.
    Romance can be orchestrated
    At every turn.

    Friendship can be formulated
    As we all learn
    Relationships terminated
    Crash and burn!

    And all things must pass they say
    So why waste a tear
    But did they know how lost you feel
    without it all near
    ?

    For no matter just how false they be
    they still belong to you
    Possession is a state of being
    That cuts your heart in two
    .

    Friday, March 3

    Stop me

    Flitting through a fretful day
    I try to lose my mind
    Grabbing at a grainy thought
    To stir this heart of mine.

    And when it won't suck up to me
    I screech, I stomp, I sigh
    And swelter through some sudoku
    And let it pass me by.

    Tapping on my keyboard
    Make letters dance and lie
    Picking up the pieces
    Of another night gone by.

    And when the words won't come to me
    I find a deep dark hole
    And bury in it lovingly
    Torn pieces of my soul.

    So when the hours search the light
    And all is black and gold
    I'll be sinking out of sight
    With stories left untold.

    Wednesday, March 1

    Not just yet

    She'd been there before. Oh yes. Not once, not twice, but over a few lifetimes.
    Or at least what felt like that. Dying many times over.

    Playing Viola (albeit with less patience, and no monument),
    or Lady Macbeth (which was harder given her water conservation philosophy)
    or Ophelia (now that required way too much medication),
    Desdemona (well, almost, and at least it helped her figure how dumb and dangerous they could be)
    and Juliet too (never again, she didn't want them to think she was dumb, now did she!).

    Well perhaps it was time to dump Shakespeare. Time to play Delilah.
    Now what if the man in question is bald?
    (Lets assume he isn't for the moment and move on).
    What if she didn't need the money?
    Ok. Dump Delilah. Too many loopholes.

    Whats safe, easy, and trendy too?

    I know. Play Samantha. (Kim Cattrall in 'Sex and the City' for the uninitiated).
    I know its going to mean a tummy tuck, a boob and nose job at the least, along with some wallet-busting shopping trips (lucky your last lover had a shoe fetish and a bank balance to match).
    Oh and don't forget to pick up Locker's 456 page book (you guessed it-'The Idiot's guide to amazing sex') and devour chapter 7 before advancing to the Kamasutra (careful not to pull a muscle) and some of the trickier websites which may seem a lttle daunting at first.
    A largeish mirror is essential to practice moves and pick lingerie that comes off easily, so your not left in a twist at the wrong moment.
    And sorry I'm digressing, understandable though isn't it?

    Returning to the heavy stuff (heartbreaks and how to heal them, or was it how to hate them? )-remember, being Samantha means acquiring a whole new vocabulary on dates, and you have to learn to hold that steel seductive smile through well tuned husky grunts in bed (there I go again, but its important to get it right and play it well!).
    If it hurts just show more teeth and yell louder (spit his name out ferociously from your system- a surefire turn on), but don't lose the triumphant shake of the head, even if your neck aches.

    Its not as hard as it seems, it can be quite pleasant.
    You can always use your nails in case you happen to start liking him. You don't want him coming back now do you? That's going to be no good for your tough armour. None of those weak familiar whispers ("does he..., just a little perhaps?".)

    Cultivate your cool to a few degrees above freezing. Keep your eyes steadily away from his face. Those eyes aren't softening for you, its just his hormones at work. He can't help that irresistably vulnerable 'lovin look'. Never get fooled. Shut your eyes tight and focus on pouting sexily. Minimise the mouth to mouth, and not just because you have smokers breath!

    Are you ready for this? Think of the scores of Tiffany bracelets and that view from the penthouse suite you could have. Worth the effort?
    Oh, you say Samantha fell too, did she? Ok think again.

    Work backwards perhaps, drop the role model thing and just go with gut instinct.

    What would make you feel really good?
    Wreak sugar sharp vengeance on their consciences? Hmmm. And if they don't have one, then on their marriages, relationships, whatever. Drop an effervescent gem into the office gossip box and watch it glow and spread. Such simplicity, those old tried and tested ideas.

    Is that all you want?

    All the best then, and let me know, in case it doesn't work, I'll contact some of my mafia friends. They are incredibly chivalrous. (The milk of human kindness flows freely among them). Just as a friend though, you do realise it won't guarantee you another life or no more deaths?

    But then again, you can sip your champagne and smile fondly at the thought that you took them down with you- and you're all still together, partying at hell's door!

    I have to leave now. I can see your feeling better and won't jump.
    No not just yet. Call me in case you get close to that edge again.

    And even if Jesus forgives you, I won't.