Tag: #poetry

“i was sat” means to sit, you were sitting / badia brand tears in the box kitchen

my mum used to always give me a row for saying ‘i was just sat there when….’ ’no,’ she would say, ‘you were sitting. earlier you sat down, then you were sitting. sat is the action,’ and i would say, ‘ok anyway so i was just sat there and then the doorbell rang so i just ignored it. and that’s why i didn’t pay the window cleaner.’

i eek out my whole being in the dance from blue to green / a witching hour meltdown throws her halo from my bed post

i hate primary colours. way too bold for my autistic vision. i’m a soft summer poet. i live between the gaps, and my favourite gap is the teal puddle between blue and green. i guess it matches my eyes.

and the second line is a reference to ‘every morning’ by sugar ray – every morning there’s a halo hanging from the corner from my girlfriend’s four post bed. you know how sometimes in an argument you know you are wrong, but you wish you were right?

in the words of marcellus wallace, ‘that’s pride, motherfucker.’ so fuck pride. now repeat after me:

‘in the fifth, my ass goes down.’

when was the last time you admitted you were wrong?

going home, i see the most expensive chocolate bar i’ve ever seen, heard of or read about

this is an almost exact quote from success (1978), by martin amis. a spiv serves terry the biggest whisky he has ever seen heard of or read about. explains that everything he owns fell off the back of a truck. i can’t actually find any evidence of this quote online. and i haven’t bothered checking my copy. chat gpt came up short.

can you verify my quote from memory? if anyone can give me a page number, i will write a variation in their owner and gift the copyright. like a blogspot picasso.

and if you are a fan of the amis literary family you will be delighted to know that martin’s father appears later in this very stanza.

the love epochal – stanza 4 – the time is nowish

from snowy summits are mountained limbs of venomous frogspawn
here is to the life pudendal
blessedly unaffected by format rigidity.
going home, i see the most expensive chocolate bar
i’ve ever seen, heard of or read about
and in a fog of lousy vibes await an operative positive.

i eek out my whole being in the dance from blue to green
a witching hour meltdown throws her halo from my bed post
an irrepressible exhibit from the sex museum
the smell of our first kiss flutters by, a primal sense datum

i turn my snout at regret—the danger made it meaningful
while my teenaged self-destruction echoes on (and on)
a storm steals my ride so we climb pint eat and breeze (and on, and on)
it’s better to be generous to the best of your means (and on, and on)
(and on and on and on and on and on)

an intractable issue that we must address,
and i guess the time is nowish
how can you not trust me after all we have been through?
is this the end for me and you?
no and today is so much better than yesterday
infinitely, nice things are nicer than nasty ones
so i push through the pain in warm air for a buzz later
savour the flavour of copper coins on dry tongue
screw a shelf on, climb the wall, nacho un [] upable
then a day indoors with the bug and drive
a lurgy day in bed with that sunk feeling
but the incessant mind plays the hits as usual.
and the bin’s full / again i rely on a well meaning soul and forgive myself.

ineluctable loggerheads with events diaristic
i wrestle you onto a future plane
style glistens on surf with the setting sun
and we act like we what we do is demonstrably normative
but life as it is now only exists as it does now
and the future and the past are a million moral universes

laser quest pivot to armpit sweat and nervous stutters
give a dude a fish and you’ll win favour and patronage
teach him angling and your monopoly will be lost forever

you advise your charge by bringing her advice
you license your obsession by granting it licence
“i was sat” means to sit, you were sitting
badia brand tears in the box kitchen
i was sleeping when the rascal slipped in on a bonnie mission
you give notice, it’s official, the last issue
i’m doing my homework so you can take me with you
but the poison in the fang must be expunged
or the course will be hellenic, terminal, explosive
let’s not let bearable be the enemy of good
if you don’t keep a diary, today is a good day to start

we borderline roll with the blows and try to process
you can’t control your body, but we hope we can live with it
repeat my mantra: i’m working so i don’t have to try so hard
jump through the hoop, dont look, and stoop under the loop
are two bunnies a good omen? or was it just a dusky lamb?
i scuttle home sick in the night, not ready to be seen like this here
and an astral month ends, mess everywhere, a solemn verdict awaited
please god let all the good souls revel in forgiveness

have you tried the toblerone, stupid child? / i have a theory my anti car philosophy is not strictly environmental / but because i was in two major car crashes before i was 10 / different, but the same

i have always hated cars. noisy. smelly. wasteful. ugly litter on the streets. horrible signage in hideous colours. potholes. smelly garages and petrol stations. aggressive drivers. speeding. trying to kill me on my bike. polluting the planet. and they keep getting bigger. complicated to drive as well now they don’t seem to have keys. get in the car and press buttons and levers at random until it turns on. most of the inside of the car is a computer screen. seems safe.

it’s the end of the month! so there will be a new release tomorrow – april is here, the time is now…ish

how do you feel about cars and climate change?

always leaving, never gone, tomorrow never will crystallise / the turncoat, former scapegoat, grasping for a banknote / but there is no antidote. / we hereby shall rely (on the good souls who forgive us)

i was enjoying being a firebrand revolutionary from the manics reference yesterday and carried on with some lefty hyperbole. i hope you don’t mind!

do you consider yourself to be a left-wing firebrand?

a hotbed of fervour, preachers on manic street / indigent, indignant and surplus to requirements

manic street preachers was the first band i saw live and will always low key love them. what’s not to like about welsh weird glam rock marxists. men in dresses talking about dialectical materialism. would recommend. so as a little tribute i put some manicsy sounding left-wing angst into the poem.

what are your favourite rock bands?

once again i chop chillies then piss and my dick burns / i count the first lambs of spring and dig a few hills / fitments suitable for various screws, but none of this massivity / a sombre lover, indolent turbo, fresh strain spring clean shower interrupter / a plan for mouth and fingers, mutuality of idyll desire

i don’t know how often you touch your genitalia after fingering hot chilli peppers, but really one time should be enough. so why does it keep happening to me?

do you have any self-injurious habits?