Skinny's thread

I felt violated after reading one of the poems on DS, so I felt the urge to run over here and purge my mind of that poetic garbage that floats up there. So thank you skinny for being out here. For knowing and sharing what poetry is really all about....

 

Aw Kitten. I read the one you meant!! Well I'm glad I can serve some charitable purpose!

 

Yesterday's broadsheet
pours history
into the carvings on my table top.
They remain undeciphered.

This ball and mirror
accuse me
of wrenching them from safe, dusty antiquity.
They stubbornly cloud and mist.

The sudden enlightenment
you gave me
melted these wax seals.
I cannot talk to angels,

even though you whisper with me nightly.

 

Your obsidian stare
tells me
I must cut out my too quick tongue.
I must round my shoulders,
curl my spine,
and slink away defeated.

Your lashes
flirt like the nine cat tails
that cut my back in peacetime.
My split tongue
lashed at you and cut as deep.
My Eve, you taunt me with your ignorance
and I spark

then die inside.
Embers of frustrated fire
remain, lie dormant, simmer.
You will tease too far again.
And I will again
tear the air, torment you.

Serenity will settle on you,
as now.
You bolted the doors inside,
became a pacific island,
suddenly free of timelines and laughter.

I quiver. Regret.
Bite back the air I tore
until I puncture my own cheeks.
The embers fight one last battle behind my skin,
under the obsidian stare,
that condemns me to this crawl.

 

The horizon looks quite firm today.
A solid barrier,
reminding me how far away you are.
A wall where my dome of sky ends,
trapping you outside
and me in.

It's experimental.
A new day is born.
From my viewpoint in the glasshouse centre,
I bear witness to the mundane,
the ongoing
the business-as-usual.

My spyglass elevates each building
to renewed status
in its brief sweeps.
Each window glanced upon
winks back, glorified.
Curtains flutter in this new limelight,
gape, revealing tonsils at the back of yawning mouths
which greet another morning languidly.

My spyglass measures weather.
The morning sun will not stay long,
scientists note,
but long enough to con commuters
into shirtsleeves.
Rainclouds loiter round the edges,
coming from somewhere beyond
like marauding Scots.

I can do more than note reactions
to morning
and weather.
I can snoop the corridors of the Executive,
peruse the folder marked
For My Eyes Only.

I can count the traders
one by one
off the train.
See the markets begin their chaos
as the City tumbles to life.

But I can't see far enough away.

The river sweeps in and out
throwing dappled photos
of infamous landmarks
into the sky.
My spyglass pounces on a ripple.
Debris or dolphin? I can see that!

But I can't see you.

 

I want to put saffron fingerprints on your brow.
Every time it furrows
I need to be reminded that you've welcomed my claim,
allowed me to brand you
and that I needn't panic.

I want you to sign your tomorrows over to me.
Every new day that breaks
I need to be reminded that we share it,
that yesterdays, todays and forever are one
and that I needn't panic.

I want to spray your coat indigo
every time you leave.
I want it to be visible across continents
so when I wake and when I sleep I can see it
and I needn't panic.

I want to waste nothing of you.
Every time you shower
I will sweep up your debris and hoard it all
to rebuild your comforting form in your absence.
To remind me I needn't panic.

 

I am wearing the shoes
of the wild bunch,
the good time girls,
the glitterazi gigglers,
for one night only.

I can spurn
the uniform of intelligence,
to fit out in sparkle.
I can pose
and swagger
and flick
in the masquerade.
I can wiggle
despite the headache.
I can hobble
and cripple myself
for the sake of a party.

I told myself.

I queued
dancing
hopping from blistered toe
to elevated heel.
I entered a cavern of noise
and swallowed.
I stood
observed
smiled
and was ignored.

My grimace grew
with my blisters.
My hair
disobeyed
strict styling orders.
I remain ill at ease
with convention.
This popular pastime
is as alien to me
as my books are
to tanning salons
and nail bars.

And thus,
my riposte
to the individual
was lost.
The imposter was spotted,
highlighted,
mocked,
and castrated.

Last seen fleeing painfully.

 

Lets raise this up from the bottom of the page and let me say how much I love Tag! :sunglasse

A certain someone found this 'disgusting'?
"Every time you shower
I will sweep up your debris and hoard it all"

But I think its sentimental...

 

Sentimental is what I intended it to be!! Besides shower debris would smell nice, surely....

 

oh god...i know that all too well right now...you took the thoughts right out of my head w/ this one...

i love reading your poetry skinny...i always have...you are so honest and true to life...you make people feel your words...when i read ur poetry i feel ur emotions and experience them with you...and your style is so refreshingly unique...i havent had time to read all of your poems yet...but trust me i will...never stop writing and thank you for this tread...

 

*blushes* thanks Skyfire! Can I take this opp to plug "kitty's litter"...if you like my work you'll love hers too.

 

i just liked this line. i'll read more later, but i have to go to work at the moment. i usually don't bother picking through these huge threads, because i don't like to have to fish through the commentary, but some of the stuff i've read from you is just plain intrigueing. (sp?)

~river

 

Thanks, river- from you that means a lot. And don't despair about the commentary - there's not actually that much! Thanks for taking the time.

 

Aww thanks for the plug skinny

Soooooooooo sad...fabulously sad, if there is such a thing.
You reign supreme over this kind of poetry, it's a pleasure to read over again.

 

This severed branch,
my memento,
once held me,
fed me,
told me stories in the air.
Solid vines twist beneath the skin;
such power,
pulses in my imagination.
Digits count my lashes,
as I clutch this wrist,
that comes to life
in warm embrace
or lies still and gorgeous
in my box.

And you, the one armed man,
roam across the cobbles of Europe,
run the desert across one palm
and swim in circles.
When I beckon,
you feel phantom fingers
beyond the thumping stump.

 

scattered
sensible conversation.

extinguished
part-smoked cigarettes,

licked
nylon calves

dampened
dry clean only dispositions.

 

Well you already know I like Momento...

Scattered Showers I don't quite get...sounds like a bit of 'life cynicism'. But I do enjoy each line by itself.

You know now that I've read just the 2nd line of each "stanza" I get a feeling of an office or not...hmmm

"dampened
dry clean only dispositions." This stumbles me!

 

office feel is right....I watched people huddled under a ledge on their fag break in the rain... you need to include the title to understand each couplet, so: Scattered showers dampened dry clean only dispositions, dry clean only describing the suits they're wearing and also a starchy, at-work kinda mood. Helps?

 

Yeppers!
Thanks

 

So, sailor.

These trinkets
appease the wild woman
who chained herself in faith
and watched you leave.

Full use of the pretty asset
assured
with dainties and darjeeling
for the duration
of this disembarkation.

So, sailor.

You encrusted
the land locked damsel
in spoils of the earth,
rolled her doughy skin in sugar crystals
wrapped the pastry morsel
in banana leaves
and devoured.

Smiling, rummaged
through the war chest,
brandished spoils of exploration,
told tales of daring
and creatures and smells.

So, sailor.

Snoring now,
bobbing on calm water
in Indian heat.

The wave of sea-shanties passed,
my cliff base sucks shingle
in hesitant calm.
Slowly counts the rock pools,
gathers them motherly.

These are the shared memories
where mountain bulk nurtures
the sea salt jealously.

So, sailor.

Here's a supply of gentle flavour
for you to lose
in the spice
of foreign ports.