Skinny's thread

I can't help but smirk a hearty chuckle, as I think: "Pasiphae".

much love

 

You seemed to have the whole thing weighed off.

We sighed on entering, while browsing, and departing,
into the warm breeze, that carried you a view of the succulent sea.
We listened to the lap-lap of caressed shingle and the tabby's morning groom,
shaded our eyes from the glare of whitewash, and revelled in the arms of your shady cave.

We wrapped and unwrapped trinkets,
left our dirty, city thumbs on the crime novels and romances doing the rounds.
We held shoulders by antique erotica and dashed to discover herbs and wartime heroism.

The postcard rack was a montage of paradise.
Our envy bounced off the spine of your Clancy, ran groundwards down the leg of your chair.

We asked you something.

You, who had it all weighed off.
You, Houdini from the sceptred isle rat-race.
You in the wisdom of your sunsoaked retreat,

knew nothing.

 

Here's a ballad to arousal,
my fanfare to long lost feel.

But - alas!
Can't sing!
No melodic partner for my clumsy footwork.

Perhaps I'll plot the return route in champagne corks
and we can stumble around in the dark together.....

I am too busy planning your welcome home,
to notice you when you are here.

 

There is fluff in the Southern distance
but the turquoise scars scored there
are not Aegean promises.
They are summer scandals
pausing for effect
over the naked shouldered paparazzi,
soon to blow over Westminster, and be forgotten,
as quick as every English summer.

 

Oh, these winds of heaven, dancing to the pulsing heartbeat of a beloveds' return. Growning, hither, in silent arrangement of hair and a smoothing of the gold satin sheets. Gathering a absent longing for your presence. These lilies draped, over a crytstal clear vase, spread my perfumed longing.

 

erm...double posted...trying to delete....la la la

 

Opprobrious monuments
remind us of lost Gods,
of our need for succour, through
birth to death.
Only Man, the Intellect, has pillaged truth, made
raindrops of venom fall and scald pine needles.
Oily, poison clouds of arrogance
unveil the
serpent's truth.

 

Maudlin air
in this carriage. At the next
station I'll change, swap over, run to the end of the platform, regroup.
At Morden lies freedom and breeze, the chill as the escalator claws upwards, but for now we've
no air, no space, just sweaty collars and nostril hairs scared.
Tin of fish. I'm a haddock.
Heat and fish don't mix. Seriously, this
rolling stock isn't fit to send calves
over to the continent. You'd never be allowed!
Politicians say it is improving.
Yes. Of course it is.

 

Naked, clutching curtains at my throat
I wave goodbye to the taxi's rearlights.
Night time is lonely.
City lights
open up evening secrets through their
morse code.
Pressing my face against the glass,
oval smears that vanish quickly. Fascinating.
Orange street helps
pass the hours. Forehead against the pane.

 

Darling,
Ever wonder why obsession comes so easily to me?
Velvet between my
open thighs is part of the answer.
Under you,
reality takes a nap and I am
evermore in
Dreamland.

 

The editors at Skyline have chosen one of my poems as a finalist in their autumn poetry smash, so here's some shameless begging that you click on the link below, register and pick "That Dolphin is Just Like my Heart" as the clear winner!! Puh-lease....?!

http://www.skylinemagazines.com/phpBB2/

 

I really liked devoured mucho; it was simple, erotic, and one image that lets your mind roam free with the story between the lines. Two thumbs up from me!

Also, That Dolphin is Just Like my Heart was wonderful! Ya got my vote...

 

Noxious fumes of reminiscence
linger after the mist of revery,
wondering just what it was that

changed.

Formulate a morphogenetic bliss?
To insist upon one more kiss
and find you have wasted your

time.

Move on with the world,
before the world moves on
without you, absent within you.

much love

 

Thank you Fulmah!!

 

I love the scope of this work. On the third verse I see "who opens the curtains each morning, whistling." tell me about your choice of 'knocks on."

 

Thanks Sylvanlightning....I chose knocks as opposed to opens for two reasons :

1) because the morning sky does not open your curtains for you, you open them when it/she comes a-calling. I like the image of the workman arriving, marking the start of a new day, either knocking on the front door or ringing the doorbell, and someone blearily letting them in....that's what I wanted to protray with that line.

2) I can see you might have concern about the sound and physical nature of "knocks" , but I intend the curtains to be representative not just of fabric drapes at the window, but also the hangings of sleep inside your head...the morning sky is the alarm clock that penetrates your skull to wake you.

Does that help? Thanks for reading!

 

I can see myself - look - just under the surface!
My face is distorted because we can't stop laughing -
My insides are lined with pebbles!

How the sun smiled,
when Marj spilt tea on her cornflower frock
and the Italian sergeant helped mop her up!

There are daisies here, tall as cattle, and
grass seeds that stick to your hemline and stockings.

And the lake! Standing on this fragile bank, I see
fine-boned girls in fine-boned boats,
their parasols flirting with this playful breeze,
the buttons on the uniforms of their companions
furiously signalling to space:

all is well, or
mission complete.

We must join them, Marj, on the boats.
Bring your Italian, quick, and let's be pirates!

Is there an ettiquette, an order of procession
for embarkation? A way of stepping in modestly
in this breeze, and around the grasping hands of this infantryman?!
We're in - don't wobble! Giggled screams
and cast adrift.

To the island! We're Crusoe, perhaps!

The Italian and Marj are getting cosy, so I'm left to row.
We need a flag.... and rum.... a parrot.
I'd like a line. We could fish for sharks
and when washed up, light a fire and live forever on the beach!
We'd build a shelter from leaves and twigs, and wear grass in our hair,
sleep under the stars.

The searchlights wouldn't find us there beneath the trees.
No more bump and burst of shells, or rattle of disturbed mortar.
No more wards and beds and the screams when
the ambulance headlights pause outside the window.
We could keep the Italian whole and the bandages white.

Shake these thoughts away! Time is not ours to waste.
Now we've reached the island's shore,
young lovers, recently acquainted, browse bushes for a patch of silence,
and I smile, content.
And the summer house is lit and lively!
Come on you two! I'll race you to the tea and figs

 

I love it skinny!!

 

"I have carefully burrowed myself
into the sand and scrub,
I am well dug in, camouflaged, comfortable.
I have allowed the elements to give my armour a tan."


the comfort of protected isolation.. so real and immediate are your words.

 

Inspired by a derelict abandoned tank...hence the title