... more personal than i remembered...

So. I wrote some poetry. Most of it I'm not finished with (and probably won't be for a good few years, so don't hold your breath), but the worst ones are done, so here they are.


Nidiculous
Young are altricial (nearly naked and helpless) and nidiculous (confined to nest))

Unprepared, he struggles
from the egg, uncertain
unstable
unfeathered scrawn

he stretches moist ligaments
in awe at the chill
and the shaking pain
of his own calls
all blood
and bones
exposed.

He realises, of course, that plummeting
from his nest is no escape,
and he appreciates
that he cannot feed himself –

in fact, the eggshell
(scribbles
spots
blotches
and marblings)
is enough of a distraction

and so he survives –
too conscious to do more
than examine his own,
broken, remains

and he wonders, Nidiculous
as he can only be
whether that makes
him ridiculous.


Pink Soda Dust

Your own gestures are filled with the breaths I give you,
the spiralling dependence of my uncertainties
filling my absence and the utter abandonment you
should feel. Time and space would accommodate me –
leave my mind alone! Or jump through,
splashing the dreams in which you
would threaten, to find the ones where the sky
would fall around us, broken, as our sleeves
fill with pink soda dust and we’d fly away.


Entwined

We clung together under the primroses, breathless
like a Kaufmann movie, his pupils
showing me the ‘you got the love I need to see me’
fall from grace, Butterfly & Co painted arms.
His voice squeaks like Pluto, every day
is a daydream, recycling lilacs in comparisons.
Who do I ‘need to see me through’, who has that?
Whoopee, No I won’t No I won’t ‘ain’t
what it seems.’ My hands twist in sugar
memories click click shut and we’re gone.


Answering anger

In maths class I scowled
through every lesson for fear of the pupils
not daring to look around at the dark eyes
too scared of answering anger. It was only
when I met them on my terms,

with the sure knowledge of music,
that the equations of their friendships
expanded to bracket me, and they remembered

when I rebelled against the teacher
stopping me from listening to music,
the beats reverberating across the classroom,
and solely my ears catching the tune.


Numb

Drunken solstice
and I’m being a princess in your arms
like the one the bull kidnapped
and ran away with through the oceans.

You’re my sea-shook swimmer
trying to keep up with the bronze arches
of my arms echoing waves.

Our water-mediated embracement
is sharp as scratches, like birds
flinging fragile flight to twist in windows.

Later, there’s salt on your skin
as I teach you to breath,
warming your chest with my unshuddered
sighs, our feet broken in green swords
bodies hijacked and numb.




annnnd
finally, I just started following this blog:
http://jwallphoto.blogspot.com/
because of this picture: