Thursday, April 21, 2005
From Elsewhere, With Love
The secrets to our love
Lie in clues hidden under ice.
Words on paper written in Latin
Curses etched in copper,
folded and thrown into springs.
The springs must have frozen over.
When the sun comes out years
from now and a million tourists
shed their coats and scarves
I'll find you swimming in the river.
We'll ignore the art of war and
nouns of the sixth declension
and you'll play music, laughing at me
like the blonde American woman
who once cooked the most
delivious food you ever tasted.
Lie in clues hidden under ice.
Words on paper written in Latin
Curses etched in copper,
folded and thrown into springs.
The springs must have frozen over.
When the sun comes out years
from now and a million tourists
shed their coats and scarves
I'll find you swimming in the river.
We'll ignore the art of war and
nouns of the sixth declension
and you'll play music, laughing at me
like the blonde American woman
who once cooked the most
delivious food you ever tasted.
Monday, April 11, 2005
A Poem for the Insomniacs
You don't know this yet but
There's a tiny window into my soul
I wait for you to climb in and sit with me
I watch you through the crack in my wall
But you never get here
You stumble and fall
You get waylaid
Sometimes even lost
I wonder when will it be my turn
When do I get to be the one
There's a tiny window into my soul
I wait for you to climb in and sit with me
I watch you through the crack in my wall
But you never get here
You stumble and fall
You get waylaid
Sometimes even lost
I wonder when will it be my turn
When do I get to be the one
Sunday, April 10, 2005
A women's magazine
I thought that posting
a recipe for Turkish Pancakes
in a thread about student unions
was so so po-mo
and ironically beatnik
But then in a dream I realised that
a woman in the 1950s
had won letter of the week
in a women's magazine
for doing effectively the same thing
and that she was probably
far more cutting edge than me
with her pastel pinafore
And I, with my stupid black boots,
just ended up looking like a
random female adrift in the
radiation-zone that we call
learning for life.
a recipe for Turkish Pancakes
in a thread about student unions
was so so po-mo
and ironically beatnik
But then in a dream I realised that
a woman in the 1950s
had won letter of the week
in a women's magazine
for doing effectively the same thing
and that she was probably
far more cutting edge than me
with her pastel pinafore
And I, with my stupid black boots,
just ended up looking like a
random female adrift in the
radiation-zone that we call
learning for life.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Lady Macbeth
For I am not like Lady Macbeth
For my crying may be heard before I am seen
For my sadness is a sea into which other people throw their nets
For my laughter is a hymn, and a sad one
For my hunger eats itself in desperation
For my mother coldly took life from its hold
For that life was not a miracle but an equation
For I have life, which was borne of sacrifice
For my sacrifice will not create a life
For my irresponsibility equals life
For life is a trick
And I cannot find the joker.
For my crying may be heard before I am seen
For my sadness is a sea into which other people throw their nets
For my laughter is a hymn, and a sad one
For my hunger eats itself in desperation
For my mother coldly took life from its hold
For that life was not a miracle but an equation
For I have life, which was borne of sacrifice
For my sacrifice will not create a life
For my irresponsibility equals life
For life is a trick
And I cannot find the joker.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Temptation Waits
I bask in the moonshine
Her glow is my daylight
I am a vampire
Fear me run from me
Thoughts abuse me
Breaking me taking me
Places I can't remember
I'm scared to sleep
My dreams burn my skin
making me coarse
Blood hot hot blood
I want to taste the others
what will happen to my insides though?
The only thing worse than this sadness
is the loss of hope
My landscape is a wasteland
of thwarted intensity
Her glow is my daylight
I am a vampire
Fear me run from me
Thoughts abuse me
Breaking me taking me
Places I can't remember
I'm scared to sleep
My dreams burn my skin
making me coarse
Blood hot hot blood
I want to taste the others
what will happen to my insides though?
The only thing worse than this sadness
is the loss of hope
My landscape is a wasteland
of thwarted intensity
Sunday, April 03, 2005
Night thoughts of Russian dreams
Sometimes I wonder what I would be like if
my name was spelt with a 'k' instead of a 'c'.
Would Monika be capable of changing the world?
Or would she still be pushing thirty;
but with a Kaz or a Krystyna screaming for their dinners.
Her dreams unfulfilled, but not really, as she would never have had them.
Had her name been spelt with a 'k' instead of a 'c'.
my name was spelt with a 'k' instead of a 'c'.
Would Monika be capable of changing the world?
Or would she still be pushing thirty;
but with a Kaz or a Krystyna screaming for their dinners.
Her dreams unfulfilled, but not really, as she would never have had them.
Had her name been spelt with a 'k' instead of a 'c'.
