Biography
Welcome.
I'd like you to consign me a writer and not a poet. Poetry instigates verse and structure, clearly my recollection with these is not apparent. I embarked young and infused streams of consciousness and sometimes active writing to my rag, hoping for devastating effect.
And on 2nd November 2008 I gave up writing poetry.
Samples
Watching Her Undress
The allure of rose hip oil and La Perla.
Lull me to her pillow.
Possible amalgamations of clothing discourage her.
I'm comatose by reflections of splendour in the mirror.
Such an envy I have for the mirror.
A voyeur
An imaginary acquaintance
Scrutinized how she's grown.
To an extent, an impostor.
She
Is careful to the point of self consciousness
I
Am careful to the point of excitement.
Royal flush.
Inhale, exhale.
The boiled peach of her stomach
Shows a glow of after love
Do you love me, she enquires
Revealing silk.
A glint in her eyes.
Of the demeanour about to befall.
For my innate nature,
I arrange myself, into the chasm
Of her true devotion.
Breaking The Bread
On a freight train, we toasted our beginning.
Our triumph from our anguish, our long cold anguish.
We laughed at our sorrow and madness, happiness was then a minority.
We wore a tie on Sundays, with no place to go.
Patent shoes and suspenders, dressed on the day of rest.
The consistency of saddness amounted to quiet cursing at meal times.
Ayin kafin yan - our best Yiddish.
On release, cheers and jeers.
Petty repentence as the staccato cries
Sirens hush, while cheeks they blush.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Last blog entry
Posted on Tuesday 11th November 2008 11:22 pm
I
The love I once originated
still reverberates
The existence is the pain,
a victim, only of situation
The love I still hold,
Is inclusive
The situation was raped
Rudely forced
The pain is the tear on
The violet dusk and an echo
On dawns royal sky.
The memories fragment indifferently
The face is a hero,
She’s not found on a a coin,
Or a note, not stamp
Or metal carving
But inside a torn muscle
Displayed on a tapestry
In the
Serenissima
For I am no hero,
I do not coexist with her
She has become my Elizabeth
Unswayed by my passions
The terror caused screams,
Eyes to fall, open, open
Close, close, roll, roll.
My eyes sing a sad sad song,
Number one, on the news,
Dressed in a wooden suit,
Futile existence, unprecedented
time, sniff sniff,
snuff snuff, sniff sniff snuff
snudd snuff
snuffed.
Previous: Peppered By The Beat Generation
View or make comments. (1 comment)
paul
Wed 4th Jun 2008 22:47
Thanks for your comments on old Doc Curio - it started as a Halloween joke!