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  1. Strange Famous

    Strange Famous it depends on who is looking...

    Location:
    Ipswich, UK
    The sea crept in against the night,
    Against the wind, like time itself or like
    The ebb and flow of your heart.
    A red and black scarf discarded on the back seat of my car.
    And my hand wrapped up in masking tape.
    I was walking along the beach, the
    Moon light was half hearted, like a dream
    Of something manic and wild observed in third person,
    like a handful of broken glass
    You just let fall to the floor.
    With or without you or me or anyone who could even understand
    What we were, the sea comes in and goes out
    And I'm driving home with my car half
    Full of your stuff. And I keep asking myself
    these questions as if they where rhetorical:
    Did I really love you, or just the idea of you?
    The ugly dark green sea, the sand blown up in my face...
    But if I sat in my drive way, listening for the first signs of rain,
    If I could make time go backwards
    What difference could it make?
     
    • Like Like x 2
  2. Chris Noyb

    Chris Noyb Get in, buckle up, hang on, & don't criticize. Donor

    Location:
    Large City, TX
    I'm not a poetry person.

    But I'd like to this thread take off.
     
  3. kramus

    kramus what I might see Donor

    Glad you kept writing SF.
    I had some thought about your poems being inside-out pearls - the rough grit wrapping beauty - but it drifted like dreams do, and smoke.
    Thanks.
     
  4. Strange Famous

    Strange Famous it depends on who is looking...

    Location:
    Ipswich, UK
    Standing on a brick wall, not much more than 5 feet up,
    And yet feeling like I was balanced
    on the edge of infinity
    Dark shapes flitted amongst the upper
    branches of the poplar tree's in the distance.
    The air was pleasant with bonfires
    Nearby but out of sight.
    The sky was such a beautiful, turkish delight, shade
    of red. A swarm of midges just to be right.
    I can't help but feel that even back then
    I must have felt some echo of the loss I would feel now,
    Holding that image in my head. Maybe more than a half a lifetime in,
    And always spinning somehow further away
    From any kind of sense of home.

    Slumped on damaged a bed, three quarters drunk
    My heart beating out of rythym, the ghosts of old murderers
    Shuffle back and forth down the alleyway
    They peer into the bathroom window, eyes shocked but unspeaking
    Unsmiling, viscous, mouths.
    I keep telling myself, I'm not afraid, that
    If I clench my fists and my jaw, and stare at the point just
    Below his chin, he wont dare kick in my door.
    And the damp and neglect and bitten down rage
    Roil around in my head, as I drift off to sleep.
    I couldnt care less if I die in my sleep
    But I'm so scared of nothingness
    At the same time.

    I was walking three steps behind a girl who was older than me
    My trainers sodden with dew, carrying my left leg
    Slightly, but just for affect.
    To our left ran a mere, and a bank of great yews, the
    Air felt brittle, timeless, neither hot or cold but somehow
    Thin, expectant, passive; I wrapped my right arm in her's
    Self consciously and tried not to shiver.
    I talked on and on, she laughed and moved closer, I thought about the last time
    We'd been to bed together, and I felt that kind of
    Overt self awareness you get when your half drunk too early
    In the day, and you have to go out; I felt
    I ought to be happier, and I thought how I would never
    Be a father. The great old house loomed before us, another kind of life
    I couldnt imagine for myself. She wanted to see the Folly.
    The way the sun shined through those tree's, gilding them with silver, put my in mind
    of my childhood, the loss of what was, and was not replaced.
    I hated my father. Maybe I wont ever love anyone.

    I was sat at a desk, an old office chair, a ream
    of computer paper unfolded in front of
    Me, drawing out magic spells and football games.
    But they never worked.
    You can't stop what's been started, you can only divert
    Yourself, or your life, or chose the things you wrap around
    It. All I ever wanted
    Was everything.
     
    • Like Like x 1