In the tangled thatch of nakedness
our thorns collide,
reprise,
each succinct rhythm of lotus and locust,
every sweet breathy kiss caught in the vibration of their wings,
the angels I mean,
not the crows on a wire outside my window,
calling and crawing to the emptiness.
Blood soaked cotton wool,
my last memory of you,
in your vulnerable glory,
in your feathers chased by...
Read More
our thorns collide,
reprise,
each succinct rhythm of lotus and locust,
every sweet breathy kiss caught in the vibration of their wings,
the angels I mean,
not the crows on a wire outside my window,
calling and crawing to the emptiness.
Blood soaked cotton wool,
my last memory of you,
in your vulnerable glory,
in your feathers chased by...
Read More
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
huck:
thank you sir. 
i've seen that vid before... ah yes, on the Vulture Culture myspace? good stuff.
very cool picture of your pa. happy sixtieth to him.
how's life?
i've seen that vid before... ah yes, on the Vulture Culture myspace? good stuff.
very cool picture of your pa. happy sixtieth to him.
how's life?
vasilisa:
where are you? I miss your poetry x
It's a long time since I was here,
empty and full of wine,
contented to never speak a word
or smile back into her eyes.
Did I forget that I never had you
before I had you?
That I'd lived a whole lifetime
before I fell into the sparsity of love?
Meaning I befriended the idea,
tapped into the energy,
bearding daily,
trailing his bent...
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empty and full of wine,
contented to never speak a word
or smile back into her eyes.
Did I forget that I never had you
before I had you?
That I'd lived a whole lifetime
before I fell into the sparsity of love?
Meaning I befriended the idea,
tapped into the energy,
bearding daily,
trailing his bent...
Read More
y:
Thanks for sharing. I didn't know my little mind-wandering would evoke such responses.
I miss my Grandad, but at the same time I don't really feel like he's gone anywhere. Sometimes he feels more 'around' than he did in life.
I only have my two grandmothers now, though one of them is probably about to be put in a home because she just can't see to herself anymore. A home is a last resort and a horrible thing to do to an elderly relative, but you get to the point where it's the only option.
"the toothsome blowjob hum"?
I miss my Grandad, but at the same time I don't really feel like he's gone anywhere. Sometimes he feels more 'around' than he did in life.
I only have my two grandmothers now, though one of them is probably about to be put in a home because she just can't see to herself anymore. A home is a last resort and a horrible thing to do to an elderly relative, but you get to the point where it's the only option.
"the toothsome blowjob hum"?
silveronthetree:
I like that a lot though I`m having a problem with the word Reaper.
Just my 2 cents as they say.
You never answered my question about the film, how did you make it a film with so much of the characters `thought` in there.
Keep well
Just my 2 cents as they say.
You never answered my question about the film, how did you make it a film with so much of the characters `thought` in there.
Keep well
My bed is too narrow.
I chased you on the tails of an ambulance,
a macabre dream furrowed in chance,
petulance,
reticence.
I swaddled you in the hot Summers' down,
each curling fibre a perfume of sound.
our kisses on the cusp of love's sweet brevity,
sharing Winter's chill, it's a good job I thought on to bring some tea!
So sincere we were
as...
Read More
I chased you on the tails of an ambulance,
a macabre dream furrowed in chance,
petulance,
reticence.
I swaddled you in the hot Summers' down,
each curling fibre a perfume of sound.
our kisses on the cusp of love's sweet brevity,
sharing Winter's chill, it's a good job I thought on to bring some tea!
So sincere we were
as...
Read More
VIEW 13 of 13 COMMENTS
huck:
"This struck me like a public speech, a rousing of the masses to rebellion, to open their hearts, I was on my feet ready to pounce after reading it!" = best response ever! the wonderful thing is i would never expect anyone to react in such a way to such a grim poem, but your enthusiasm does make sense! the crucial moment for me is "nobody could want to admit all of the above feels perfectly natural";at the time i was really only expressing the throes of metamorphosis, and that i knew i had to take it in all my stride... anyway, i'll shut up now. thanks dude!
the wonderful thing is i would never expect anyone to react in such a way to such a grim poem, but your enthusiasm does make sense! the crucial moment for me is "nobody could want to admit all of the above feels perfectly natural";at the time i was really only expressing the throes of metamorphosis, and that i knew i had to take it in all my stride... anyway, i'll shut up now. thanks dude!
silveronthetree:
Well we are all very6 different, but many things unite us too.
What would have freud said?
What would have freud said?
I lay down inside the maddened throng,
an orgy of succulent and youthful flesh
turned grey and watery in the pale facade
of an age passing into light.
the hooks of every faux-pas are
the jewels in my crown,
my crowning glory,
the polemic
softened by the succumbing of years on my belief,
so here it is (will be) that I integrate my death,
wilted...
Read More
an orgy of succulent and youthful flesh
turned grey and watery in the pale facade
of an age passing into light.
the hooks of every faux-pas are
the jewels in my crown,
my crowning glory,
the polemic
softened by the succumbing of years on my belief,
so here it is (will be) that I integrate my death,
wilted...
Read More
huck:
ah, that rhyme at the end is just delicious 
the lyric posted on my blog is actually by Creston Spiers; it is the song Pinocchio's Example by his band Harvey Milk. my transcription is an approximation, as he "sings" it in such a slow baritone that it is almost incomprehensible...
the lyric posted on my blog is actually by Creston Spiers; it is the song Pinocchio's Example by his band Harvey Milk. my transcription is an approximation, as he "sings" it in such a slow baritone that it is almost incomprehensible...
vasilisa:
hey how are you? not spoken in a while (completely my fault, I've kinda retreated into myself) how was your nye? x
I am edifice to your black coffee,
I am sacrament to your bleakest sunrise,
Yet still you seem to want,
you seem to desire what you so easily and readily discarded,
The ribbons of the scar you left inside of me,
yes,
you lay upon me like a burying gown,
the softest of all cloths,
ironic as the goosed flesh of death has no need...
Read More
I am sacrament to your bleakest sunrise,
Yet still you seem to want,
you seem to desire what you so easily and readily discarded,
The ribbons of the scar you left inside of me,
yes,
you lay upon me like a burying gown,
the softest of all cloths,
ironic as the goosed flesh of death has no need...
Read More
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
huck:
another goodun you son of a bitch
merry christmas etc
merry christmas etc
If this is fate then I can live with it
but if this is the work of fairies and elves
flitting, fucking and flying between
the guy ropes of a circus tent on an autumn dawn
then I object.
I'll be damned if I let them dictate to me,
I'll certaintly not take it laying down.
The holes in my sock let me know I...
Read More
but if this is the work of fairies and elves
flitting, fucking and flying between
the guy ropes of a circus tent on an autumn dawn
then I object.
I'll be damned if I let them dictate to me,
I'll certaintly not take it laying down.
The holes in my sock let me know I...
Read More
y:
I'll comment on this in the UPC.
Here's the poem I wrote when I was 10/11:
The Blaze.
A broken bottle
on which the sun reflects
the reflection hits a dry leaf
it smoulders
and catches fire
a gust of wind
more leaves alight
the fire engulfs a tree
smoke blackens the sky
a flock of birds fly off
the dancing flames grow higher
more trees are engulfed
a squirrels home obliterated
all that's left
smouldering trees and dead animals.
It's not the best poem and I don't know how much 'help' I had from teacher. It was done in primary seven when we were doing a project on fire. We were told about forest fires.
Your one is much better, I think.
Here's the poem I wrote when I was 10/11:
The Blaze.
A broken bottle
on which the sun reflects
the reflection hits a dry leaf
it smoulders
and catches fire
a gust of wind
more leaves alight
the fire engulfs a tree
smoke blackens the sky
a flock of birds fly off
the dancing flames grow higher
more trees are engulfed
a squirrels home obliterated
all that's left
smouldering trees and dead animals.
It's not the best poem
and I don't know how much 'help' I had from teacher. It was done in primary seven when we were doing a project on fire. We were told about forest fires.
Your one is much better, I think.
y:
Ta
Who's the lassie?
Who's the lassie?
Just a little cheeky one I wrote when I was twelve or thirteen for a school project.
Hello little mouse,
your nose in the hay,
this barrowing field
is yours to while away.
and lo,
in the meadow your maker called your name
as you played in the poppies on mid-summers day.
Hello little mouse,
your nose in the hay,
this barrowing field
is yours to while away.
and lo,
in the meadow your maker called your name
as you played in the poppies on mid-summers day.
y:
That's so cool. I'll have to fish out the only poem I wrote around that age for you to hear.
geisha_girl:
shame about the pics from the ex-even when you are over them they seem to find a way to come back and haunt you...
Have another drink!!
Have another drink!!
Costly exemptions of enmity lay as broken twigs,
pen caps and hymns across the beardy barrowing hills of Devony land,
rolling and doughing with little classes of goat,
caught hairy in a trap of love,
under a pint glass,
freedom freely raping away,
non-chalant,
dreamy,
blissful,
gleefully harmonising squeaks and squeals
with a bitter snatch of jellied eels.
Jealousy reeks upon a quick vicar en...
Read More
pen caps and hymns across the beardy barrowing hills of Devony land,
rolling and doughing with little classes of goat,
caught hairy in a trap of love,
under a pint glass,
freedom freely raping away,
non-chalant,
dreamy,
blissful,
gleefully harmonising squeaks and squeals
with a bitter snatch of jellied eels.
Jealousy reeks upon a quick vicar en...
Read More
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
y:
I think the saying is - those that can do, do; those that can't, teach. As sayings go, it is a good un.
y:
Don't know Caravaggio's work too well, but what I've seen doesn't hit the right note with me - too slick!
So we sat,
all footy and wrestly,
so nestly and beastly,
unfeasibly penitent and cowardly.
won't you sleep with this version of me?
More burned than you'll ever know,
the cache of towelling catching
your blood dripping onto our lonesome baby toes.
greeny pinky fingers linger,
webbed and abreast of the sour churn of hops left to stew in the kitchen.
they linger on the...
Read More
all footy and wrestly,
so nestly and beastly,
unfeasibly penitent and cowardly.
won't you sleep with this version of me?
More burned than you'll ever know,
the cache of towelling catching
your blood dripping onto our lonesome baby toes.
greeny pinky fingers linger,
webbed and abreast of the sour churn of hops left to stew in the kitchen.
they linger on the...
Read More
y:
Another good un. i love the words "lonesome baby toes".
huck:
why wait? Pan's Labyrinth is out now, dude; should be all over London...
this is the best poem of yours so far. intricate diction with optimal clarity.
with so little to tell you and so much time / what can I say to fill these moments with anything other than lies? - somehow i relate to this but i'm not sure why; it's as if the scene rouses a discarded memory ...
this is the best poem of yours so far. intricate diction with optimal clarity.
with so little to tell you and so much time / what can I say to fill these moments with anything other than lies? - somehow i relate to this but i'm not sure why; it's as if the scene rouses a discarded memory ...
had such a fantastic weekend, went to tg on sat night and spent sunday having a 'quiet day' ie, rolled up in my duvet w helen sitting in her blanket listening to bobby dylan and not letting anybody speak at full volume