poem
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Finally, you’ve found me. No, sorry: I don’t have all the answers. The ones I do – hoverboards don’t exist. Yes, you grow even taller. You become taller than even Father. No, I’m still single. Yes, you get to buy Power Rangers CDs. Yes, there’s still Pokémon, and yes, Ash still hasn’t won the league.
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Lying on the communal bed miles from home and desperate, I bash myself into other conversations, extend earphone tentacle smuggled under sock; laughs at the cover, I swear it’s good, track 14, I listen to it in the shower at home, more laughs; friends whose names I’ve forgotten ask what it’s about, I try to
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on the elevator she steps aside, lets others into the gantries first. she hasn’t seen a mirror in years: in the dark, she feels about her shape, is satisfied with being. what was her name? she knew it was a saint’s. it just had to be. in the dark she swallows even without being asked.
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I. I was the first, one of the first. But you know first one’s a fool. Who’s gonna get in line? First one to go, first one to fight the way. We lived in the throat of death every day. Where you’re criminal because of who you are. “These people ain’t gonna do nothing for
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“Tomorrow wears yesterday’s face.” – Flavour text from ‘Conjurer’s Closet’, Magic The Gathering Warily the doors creak as I am reaching into the ether again my hands are billowing in the current of adrenaline and shivering like kites caught in trees I am reaching in to bring out magic trickery (n.) the practice of deception
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You bottled message parlor woman. You crackled knuckle. You tremulo. I am divining josses in your will. I am folding you into a boat. I am paying Father to take a short trip. To look elsewhere. Oh, you cloud of jade. You page of filled out crossroad answers. You wreath of drawers. You little wreck
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First of all, throw what you don’t need. Do not recycle – save this poison from the Earth. No more travel brochures, guides, photos. No more newspaper clippings of dream destinations. Those only breed silverfish. Next, make a commitment. Never let clutter in again. Do not let it stay. Do not let it set. No
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written for Alt Txt – Experimental Poetry workshop, conducted by Desmond Kon Title taken from Rainer Maria Rilke’s The Sonnets to Orpheus, No.18 14 fixed words (although I guess I should have shifted stanza 1 to make a spine with stanzas 2-4) Should come back and edit this some day
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When the curtains fall -that’s it. Well, everything ends eventually. So, there isn’t any real meaning to it. No extended metaphor. The only conceit is mine. The story just ends, its characters, presumably, not having learnt any better, and people may or may not like the ending. That is OK. Personally, I’d rather the
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pause for thought – one mistake begets another. A treatise on compulsive lying: how one wears long sleeves even in summer, how one nods along to the rhythmic ritual of “yes, I am fine.” No. Break the glass – this is not just an emergency this is real life. Real in the sense that there
ugly stage 