Can I tell you something about some friends that I don’t have for a moment?
I’ll get back to my work, I promise, in a moment.
They were all smart. And they’ve all got into university I think,
Even that girl who got an E in her French AS
And all of the girls that boy I really liked
Went out with once are
Much more beautiful than me
And I could say that they were just like more beautiful versions of me but they weren’t
__ea’s in to Oxford now and I don’t know what ____ia’s up to now,
I see her walking down the pavement connecting my house to the town
now and again. I don’t know where she lives
I don’t know any of them
but I know of them
and maybe they know of me
I met them once
It was maybe my most favourite party of all time.
Years and years ago
and just because I liked some
dumb older boy
at another school
They do not know me yet I smile as if they do
I smile at them as I pass them on the road
I smile at them as they do well and they make me
Feel in ways and things and shapes they may never be told
Thank you to you all for being the good life I haven’t had
Though I suppose that I’ve got mine
They bug me all the time
I bug me all the time
And I suppose that I’ve got my own life
I suppose I’m happy
I’m glad they’re happy
That’s if they’re happy at all
I suppose that I don’t know
the words used like tools to fit the shape the past has made.
a pattern here a pattern there. that’s why we have mathematics.
every little word a hint of irony as I can see an inch or three
past what i mean - pretentiousness or sweet complacency?
Yes, make it fit. That’s what we humans do,
In sex, in our work, and the toad goes on
And it finds itself catered to as our insides
Close in upon it, creating a mould to fill
With melancholy should it even die.
but that is just one view of some “developed world” as if it
matters; I can see the sight for distaste but I can’t see the well
that it comes from. Latinate and Anglo-Saxon
Try to be you! Try to be nat-ur-al! You need
Some-thing to put on your forms for future
"Incarceration in the system" (I call it Oxford
University (and so does everybody else;
What is wrong with the common use of things?
Some may say complacency - for what we must
Is seek to the bottom and the root of all
Things and all meanings)) but in all of this we get so lost and
if you didn’t think so already (if it…didn’t…drive you…mad)
and if you didn’t think so at this date then it’s not too late.
#poets on tumblr
I was a whole buzzing tree
Lands were farmed but far before myself
The unrequited glee, the ricochet,
intention, promises, and mindsight
Without hindsight -
The big blank
canvas, the fruit
spoiled, laying on
the ground to be
devoured to be
recession of the
death-eaters who need us in the end
And I hadn’t seen the point; I had to shower, I had the paper
And my palms were crinkled, but young. Was I sour,
Was I sour-ing, or do my looking-glasses turn their uses
On to houring, a mystery if they’re turning, and
For ever, and
For ever, and
whose arms would I run and fall into
if I were drunk
in a room with everyone
I have ever loved."
ssh it’s a secret present (but it’s not done yet)
Seamus Heaney and one of my favourite line breaks — “Great chiefs and great loves / In obliterated light”
Doing my homework in my pajamas, my house-coat
Shells at the seaside, inter-dispersaries of a conscious flight.
And there is so much conversation in the waves.
And there are so many different ways, and all just
trampled-over footprints, permanently stocked to clay.
Why won’t you notice me? Grass and bumble-bees
Clobber over, surely, just as much as humanity.
And of course I am one among many;
One great blade of a sword, one alien,
or a comrade, and a son of a gun? Life
is “and/and/and/and/and” says the poster
on the wall of George’s English mobile; “and,
not if." But can it pretend to be a hand
to hold synecdoche, sickle and hammered-in
metonyms…and I so badly want it to be summer
And oh it’s Fucking Wednesday tomorrow, again,
And I say so because of the fact of the real practicality
I want you to get down on your knees! I want you
I’d say you were my medicine, if you were priced.
Grazed and viced, viced to the edge of a table
in woodshop - a window the frame for the visions
of frustration. And toying. And playing. And breaking
And anger and breaking down into tears and bursts and blights,
pulling parts of my material rag around my legs
as I imagine the bleeding, and will other bleeding to stop.
I cannot hold it in. I thought that I heard you laughing,
I thought that I heard you sing; but that was just a dream.
The skies drift. The focal star can see me, past the glass.
I wonder if it wonders what I think. I wonder if I wander, too,
Thifting, without getting a hold on that irrelevant drifting,
I hold on to any hopes, I suppose, of making it seem worthwhile.
It’s hurts to
No way to put it,
tense pre teens
Couldn’t tell you
Of the ease
There was none
And there is all but
Here is my ex ta C
The sound of vocals twisting and
Tumbling over the side of a clay cliff
Gay spiffs thicken the gummy muck
Wade wade wade onwards wade
Piecing it together…
Struggles of flavour in the water.
I saw three fragments of a coast
Cracks in the defenders of the sea
And seabound birds that take off
One by one, in a line
Unwitting and vertically, but knowing, and knowing
To me, they are unfathomable
in their intention;
Unknown by the sand, their eyes
Are the high tide, perpetual,
And framed with the mass
And the size of the concrete, tatty and loose and rough,
And falling apart, at the mercy
Of anguish and fire and blood.
It would be cruel
I have no choice
And my consequences
Myself, a fool
All I’m allowed
I was washing my hands and one of my bracelets broke
and the pretty beads washed down the drain.
some remained, but even so I cared not much
for either or the other end of them.
was this the bracelet you said you liked?
"it’s like the brightest colours, but it’s still black
but the most interesting shades in the light.”
I just scraped a few up and put them in the bin:
they stuck to my fingers. I washed the rest away
to their holy land. “What if we could naturally
read others’ minds?” We’d know then who was
dead, I thought. Quality of expression, yes,
but lots of screams, or not. If we knew,
#last bit was fucking stupid sorry guys
you are not inferior
in any way i do not know
how to say or make you see what i see
and shouldn’t you just be with her?
you are not one to say what you wanted
your bones too pretty to pick
and i told you all the fears i had of my own
some reflective broken promises, old lusts
and recurring lashes of reminding myself of the past, and all.
all the sky enclosure
like a book with paper glass
and papier mache
windows of mentality,
where i see the sun glow and islands burn
with flames that spread and dance and turn