Friday, March 18, 2005
A poem for today
Today is not the greatest
for I feel sick and in need
of the buttery Turkish pancakes
that an autistic boy gave me once.
My mother climbs in the roof
with a torch and a brush.
There she finds birds amongst
the dust and pink bats.
When mum leaves the house
I will make Turkish pancakes...
I'll get the recipe off the internet
and if I can't, I make it up.
for I feel sick and in need
of the buttery Turkish pancakes
that an autistic boy gave me once.
My mother climbs in the roof
with a torch and a brush.
There she finds birds amongst
the dust and pink bats.
When mum leaves the house
I will make Turkish pancakes...
I'll get the recipe off the internet
and if I can't, I make it up.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
A rough draft of a poem for yesterday
They say that I will find you somewhere new
but I don't think you'll move from where you stand.
A curse is on me, surely, for I planned
to kill the things dividing me and you.
These things include the borrowed and the blue,
and circles hewn in stone, and grains of sand.
A living Kentish oyster that you threw
into the Medway with a shaking hand
has travelled all the way across the world
and found me sitting on a shore alone.
I shiver in my seaclothes, plans unfurled,
And crack the oyster shell with hands of stone.
I swear that I will never love again
and then come gusts of thunder, bringing rain.
but I don't think you'll move from where you stand.
A curse is on me, surely, for I planned
to kill the things dividing me and you.
These things include the borrowed and the blue,
and circles hewn in stone, and grains of sand.
A living Kentish oyster that you threw
into the Medway with a shaking hand
has travelled all the way across the world
and found me sitting on a shore alone.
I shiver in my seaclothes, plans unfurled,
And crack the oyster shell with hands of stone.
I swear that I will never love again
and then come gusts of thunder, bringing rain.
Friday, March 11, 2005
Friday I'm In Love
Are you the driver on your own road trip,
or the passenger on someone else's?
Sometimes I feel like a back seat driver -
giving unwanted directions and
being chastised accordingly.
Perhaps I should get on his bike -
to feel the wind pressing against my face,
not to mention flat hair,
and cheating death on a corner.
Is that preferable to my car veering off the road,
stuck in a ditch and the RACV engaged?
What am I talking about?
I don't even know how to drive!
or the passenger on someone else's?
Sometimes I feel like a back seat driver -
giving unwanted directions and
being chastised accordingly.
Perhaps I should get on his bike -
to feel the wind pressing against my face,
not to mention flat hair,
and cheating death on a corner.
Is that preferable to my car veering off the road,
stuck in a ditch and the RACV engaged?
What am I talking about?
I don't even know how to drive!
Monday, March 07, 2005
A poem for another Monday
I'm tired and admired and wired and I've cried and tried and spied and I'm lonely and only a one trick pony and I'm baking and I'm taking the money-raking media circus often quite virtuous silly and worthless wagon outta town
