the final smell of roses
late autumn wind
trams clank machinery and
waft bygone ages at me.
I’m thinking about excess
consumerism
all those Black Friday bargains
unwanted
shelves full of unread library books
piles of fallen leaves
and where does snow go?
no… not those last three.
when our needs are met, we look to art
we’re shopping instead
The things we can’t say
but do
the way
I’m thinking about you
but I know
it’s not good
to be stood
on a precipice
or at the edge of a dark wood
and the sirens call me
longing
pining
to jump
into their entwining arms
“Fuck it all up”
they sing in whispery cries
How will you know
if you don’t try?
Might get
your heart’s desire…
It’s all fake
a sham
I can’t make
any argument stand
and yet
that tickle
of breath
of possible
mischief
is the flicker I need
to continue
this speed
fuel
for my self-stoked flame
burning through my days
when my heart’s on the wane
it’s lame
but I need something to blame
or just
keep me sane
This is my latest spoken-word experiment – thanks to everyone who has offered support, advice, feedback and coaching. Especially those of you who have gone above and beyond – you know who you are! 🙂
Soundcloud link if you can’t see it above: https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/sirens
Saw her last night
she only had a mike
instruments lost
mid-flight
Didn’t stop her flight
of words
raining down
Mighty
She said we’re all sick cos
we’re ignoring the plight
of so many we might
help. In fact
we cause
the wars
with our claws
for oil and spoils and reality shows
where real-life’s paused
And you know what?
She’s right
I was blown away by last night’s Kate Tempest show in Zurich. I didn’t take any photos so instead I’ve used a pic of hundreds of cacti at Zurich’s Sukkulenten Sammlung, which I also visited yesterday. Disclaimer: while this poem is obviously a homage done “in the style of” Kate Tempest, last night was the first time I’d seen her spoken word stuff live or otherwise. The live performance took things to a whole new level, of course. And, while I would say my poetry style is often not dissimilar to this, I very much hope my own style is still my own!
No borders
Sans Frontières
Ohne Grenzen
Let there no more be
Criminals of geography
Set them free
Those refugees
Is that Anarchy?
Let no more customs taxes
Be used as palm-waxers
But patch the cracks
Where company fat
Lurks in loopholes instead of mending train tracks
Human beings being
Disallowed for fleeing
Government regimes
Punished twice it seems;
they didn’t want to leave
Open the gates, cut the cord
Move free, back and forward
Stifle stupid laws
Smash established orders
No borders
Here’s one I prepared earlier… I wrote this poem a while back and tried submitting it to a few poetry journals. However, no one wanted to publish it (for various reasons) so here ’tis. It’s also a little something to keep Clairevetica ticking over as I’m doing NaNoWriMo this month so I won’t have a lot of time for blogging! Plus, I needed to use this perfectly-suited photo I took. Hope you enjoy it, and wish me luck on my emerging novel. Oh, my novel? A feminist sci-fi set in post-apocalyptic Switzerland, thanks for asking!
When women quietly tell
how they were raped
or that thing he did
without permission
“I froze
I fought
And I just lay there in case
he did something worse…”
She was drunk when she told me
but she wasn’t back then
even if she was
it shouldn’t have happened
I went home and I cried
when she told me, quietly
that haunted look in her blue eyes
sometimes
made sense
And I wanted to mother her
more than ever
so
we had more wine
and I did nothing much
just sat there listening in case
she said something worse…
I went home and I cried
holding her story inside
hoping pain could be cured
even slightly
by being spoken and heard
Photo: Peter John Maridable via https://unsplash.com/photos/tRJtLQ8p1fU
The heartlines that stretch
like yarn
like vapour trails
like ink from your pen
winging its way
in a letter you sent
like a lit road at night
seen from the sky
that jewelled line of bright
beaded with light
like blood from a scratch
or a virtual smile
from you to me
across the miles
This poem was also published on The Drabble on 29 October 2016. 🙂
It’s poetry day
But my aching eyeballs mean
I write nothing good
A national day
In Britain or the US
So I guess I should…
Not today but soon
When my eyes and soul feel fine
I’ll write something good
Blue mountain water
Black-backed like lead paint or
Ash in the sky
An old school-desk painted over many times
A clean sort of grime
Watercolour liquid, semi-opaque
The silt of millennia
Ancient clues in aqueous solution
We splash like young fools
As the earth revolves
Cradled in the bowl
of a mountain so old
Our tiny joy
A fleck against
All ecstasy and angst.
The black in your blue
I know it’s me too
The picture he gave me
Words that came through
Firefly times
All our past lives
Constantly strive
Never-forever… abides
Oh my narrow-wide mind
an always-restless bride
Reflected in
My blue-black eyes
I hate days like today
Just want to get away
Trapped under glass
A bug on its arse
My mind poured like fizzy beer
Over and around life, but nothing’s clear
I’m sure when I awoke
I had purpose, that choked
Crisp autumn afternoon, sunny
Should be sweet like honey
But it’s sticky, holding me back
Feeling flat as a tack
My legs are so long
My strongs are so strong
spontaneous poetry this morning from my 5.5 year-old
clairevetica 