Archive for April, 2011

The Whatnots

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on April 27, 2011 by dc

The whatnots
And somethings,

The words that carved
Themselves into trees,

Sodomised karaoke
And the death of the yo-yo,

The chewing gum that powered
The thoughts of the nervous,

A biscuit tin filled with
Slack grammar and flies,

The used tea bag skin of corner shop dullards
And weekends filled up with small talk and coke.

Tattoos on the cankles
Of single mothers gone wild,

Vitriol spat into gutters unseen,
The dreams of the shipwrecked,

A loose way of describing
The fluff from heaven’s pockets,

And a mindful trimming of diarised blather
Stitched on the lips of the thumb generation,

Their whatnots and their somethings,
The sounds of cans being kicked.

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White Walls

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 22, 2011 by dc

When the white walls breath
You shrink a little inside
And speech is a myth

That Dirty Old Fly

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 16, 2011 by dc

It could test an elephant’s patience,
Move a sloth from its tree
Or buckle a train wheel,

It’s like counting old scars,
Dictating bad news
Or burning a daydream,

And I feel like that dirty old fly
In that filthy hotel room,
Butting my head against the window,
One,
Two,
Three times.

It’s a cyclical world,

I lie on the paving stones
Groaning.

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A Battle Of Doubt

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2011 by dc

I keep waiting for these naysayers
To piss on my bonfire,

These dying breed nihilists
All hooked on warped shadows
And old dead dog dreams,

Filled with afterthoughts,
Carrying apocalyptic maps
And whispering Sartre,

Echoes and echoes
And echoes down
Tunnels and tunnels
And tunnels.

Here I stand in the light,
Clothes of fire,
A devil in the flames,

Looking to pass on this crown,
Never wore it
And still it weighed me down,

Still it reflected
The moon
And the truths
That I’d borrowed,

The sorrows and horrors
I’d scattered.

Tomorrow
I’ll wake up
With synthesised might,

Dry as a lab bone,
With a futurist flight,

The glory of science
All dischords and dirt,
Will stride my steps forward
From bed to the earth.

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An Awkwardness Frozen

Posted in Poetry with tags , , , , , , , , , , on April 4, 2011 by dc

So cold like a whisper
Through a shroud
Or the touch of a branch
As you enter a forest,
A scratch
Down the neck,
A tingle as the breeze
Tickles blood.

Ah you, yes you,
The Post-Thatcher mean streak,
The rainbow of blues
And an awkwardness frozen,
A face fattened by wealth
And dogged with spite,
A rainfall that scars,
A sweetness pretending.

Suspicions like the leaves
On slowly browning trees,
Autumnal hatred
Falling and scattered,
You are a single bead
Of sadness expanded,
But to pity you
Is senseless.

Where some have come
To plead approval,
You disband
Rays of hope,
Your head
Turned eastwards just slightly
The clichés of snobbery
Spinning.

Like a wave of heavy crows
Blanketing the sky
You are the horrors of pithy
Exploded,
Your lies are like whispers
At sparse, hollow funerals,
Your eyes are the grumbles
Of spite.

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