Wednesday, 3 June 2009

Thirsty Scholars - Justin D Dooley

we, harbourers of wild aspirations,
drunk in subterranean drinking dens.
red raw throat cries of illumination
by golden light of flickering candles
in wine bottles, wax dripping onto tables,
ice crackles and melts into warm whiskey.

we, sots of a wasted generation
viewing the earth through pint glass monocle.
high definition dreams spewing from mouths
with our eyes red as the surrounding brick.
our thirsts satiated with cheap liquor,
we knee jarred swagger, blag paths to nowhere.
our anaesthetized minds float, swirl skyward,
our words smash sink in stormy purple seas.

Summer Paradelle - Anyonita Green

“I know I am but summer to your heart.”*
“I know I am but summer to your heart.”
Southern: hot and sticky, blazing sun
Southern: hot and sticky, blazing sun
I know I am southern, hot and sticky,
but summer to your blazing sun-heart.

Or English and damp, dank and cold
Or English and damp, dank and cold
Almost an autumn of sorts, preparing to die
Almost an autumn of sorts, preparing to die
Almost preparing to die, dank and cold
Or an autumn English damp and of sorts.

Still, you come to explore what lies like territory
Still, you come to explore what lies like territory
And coils back at your touch—wavering, shy
And coils back at your touch—wavering, shy
You come to explore what coils back like territory
And still lies at your touch, wavering, shy.

I am hot and sticky, damp, dank or cold,
and, to your heart, almost an autumn territory.
Southern and still, blazing sun coils, wavering at your touch.
I know you like summer lies.
Preparing sorts of English shy, come back
to explore but what, and to die?

* a line from a sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Crows at Lochranza - John G. Hall

He stutters under the weather
air tumbled and wet, a feather
fall, a fossil fern, a living coal.

He calls in the lichen skinned trees
swings down softly, rips up a heart.

He is night without stars, ink without paper,
sin without soul, miner without pit, is crow.

He can be shiny blue in his Sunday best, but
he prefers horizontal rain, toppled bins, and
the little windfalls of golden eagle chicks.

A black bearded sky pirate, a flying anarchist flag, the devil in drag,
a spit of ink from a death warrant, an iron filing pulled towards sin,

a blot on the landscape, landing mob winged, familiar with witches,
neck deep in dead lambs, crisp bags, and the shortbread of tourists.

The Means Justifies the Ends - Michael Wilson

there was madness in my method
a tiny thorn in the chink of my armour
where you left it
knowing full well it would begin,
a postal chain of thought
that would lead me back to you

now the songs sing more clearly
all that time dusted off the notes
you were one of the black keys
there to divide the life i lead
sharp or flat it
it all depends from which side
its looked at

you told me
the other side never made much sense
that it was the means that justifies everything in between
but I've seen the white walled daylight
and the sun would fall easy for me
if I could believe an ending still exists
you should use this moment
to realise now is not all we have

Midnight Masque - Affia Mustafa

Soon the room is dulled down
The masques become apparent
As the orchestra take their places
Music sheets absent from stands
The violinist’s bow glistens gracefully
As he begins to play the first note
The imagined conductor, raised arms
Begins the nights entertainment

Gowns flow across the floor
Sweeping away settled dust
As the tapping of dance shoes
Accommodates the faint music
Coat tails hang limp in wait
Hands held out, gloved, holding masques
Eyes meet across distances

So my eyes search for the familiar
As the gentle swaying begins
The Gown folded neatly around me
Revealing pale flesh above
Glowing beneath the candlelight
Flickering in shadows between time

I spy that ruby, Deep Red
Set high in a band of Gold
Decayed through time, heritance
Beckoning me forwards, hypnotising
As your fingers close, pushing
The Red Ruby becomes prominent
Catching the flicker of a flame close by

I see you longer
As you sweep behind the column
Snaking around unnoticed
As the flames hold many secrets
The masques conceal identity

I feel a sudden rush of air
Warm as though from your lungs
The flame so kind beside me
Flickers once more, then darkness.

I am surrounded by you
The music continues unknowing
I feel your warm fingers close
Trail down the nape of my neck
Follow the loose tendrils hanging
Gently caressing, releasing me

You take hold of the lace
Dark against my skin
You pull harder than expected
And from my hand it falls
What concealed my only secret
I turn sharply in your direction
In that moment I see truth
As the music haunts my thoughts
Your eyes fall deep into me

Taking my hand you lead, I follow
Into the moving bodies with time
Each beat and stroke of a string
Guiding them in perfect unison
We fall into place, a perfect fit
As your steps show me the way
Paving a path destined for me
You teach me the art of seduction

So gently does your Ruby Ring
Stand aside from my dark gown
Black interwoven with forest green
With a spot of blood within
Where your eyes pierced my soul
You move in closer yet
Seems you are not satisfied
With a mere dance with a gentle lady

As nature would have its hold
I hear it gently whisper in my ear
Telling me of actions yet to come
A warm flush creeps up from within
I lower my gaze, rest my tired head
As though intoxicated from sounds
You see this as your opportunity
My flawless unscarred skin awaits
As you pierced my soul deep
Your lips lock and you begin to take

My breath expires into you
Un-deterring you from further action
Keeping you enticed, your hold quickens
As does the striking of strings
Pale ivory keys, decayed with time
Punctuated pleasantly with Black

I feel your power pushing me
The cold stone against my bare back
Your life forces now coursing through
My once unscarred mind, body & soul
Yet it seems this is not enough
You pull away, quickened breath, unsatisfied

I seek solitude in the dark
Now pleasantly surrounding me
Attempts to regain composure
Soon falls short, unfulfilled
I feel you force me further

Your darkness now comes closer
Freezing my ability to repel
You seek to fulfil your desire
And from the pulsing of the music
My blood pulsates through that vein
Each beat mimicking the cold plucking
Of a string tied taut between poles
Which like a predator your gaze falls upon

You move fast, forward
Seeking your nectar of life
And the physical piercing of skin
I hear it break, bringing pain

Gently using your tongue
Guiding the pain away
I find pleasure in your action
Like the embarrassed maiden
My gaze turns away
As you drink your fill

Finally satisfied you heal me
Leaving not a mark to tell
But a drop, almost a shadow of your Ruby
Sits silently above a tender breast
Holding onto the column for strength
As my blood now runs smooth
Intoxicating you with innocence

Bowing low before me in gratitude
Your hand finds my velvet masque
Raising your head, eyes searching
Place it gently in my hand
A promise of a future meeting
A token of what has been

The Rushes - Richard Barrett

Put the light on in
the afternoon / don’t turn it off.
They have come from
the past say the
cut and collars.
On new build estates / overspill
housing. Friend said
there’s a growing wave / re
- newed interest in
alternative analyses.
Inevitable nostalgic twinge.
So-called technological advances
/ half-way accomplishing
a subduing of nature.

Winter and shaved heads.
The tangle of motivations unpicked.
More difficult still when
considering the unknown of
cultural. Nothing but impressed.
I will sponsor you
£50.00. Can be done online.
If targets aren’t met
in this office your team-leader can
A photo for the blog / not taken
/ reasons wanted uncertain. In
Chinese buffets she gets some funny looks.
Talking and writing rejected.
No longer considered of much worth.

Colourblind - Andy Nicholson

I got registered as colourblind
When I was 6.
I got told I would struggle
With pink’s and grey’s
When I was 6.

I got told I would struggle
Telling blue’s and purple apart
When I was 6.

I got told I would
Never become a train driver
And lots of other jobs
I had never
Heard off
Back when I was 6.

So I became a poet
And now get words mixed up
Instead of colours.