Woman - (Incomplete Idea)

Shied away from lazy sulphur streetlights;
away to dark with the other spiders,
where damp brick-corner waits,
grates to ease her back
and shadow seeks to comfort,
until
wheels screech
and she's up again - clutching
poison, like a life machine - stumbling
through the pristine-silver city,
unaware of it all
but the poison peddlers -
their warmth and blight
and the sting of the cold outside.

Upcoming Project and Thanks

I'm currently working on a little project - a poetry book. I hope to progress further with it steadily, and hopefully finish it at some point in the future!

I'll still be posting poems on here regularly, but perhaps not quite as regularly as before. So if there's a little gap in my posting, please keep coming back, because I've not given up;
I'm simply dividing my time between revision/exams, book designing, and writing.

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I'd also just like to say thanks to everyone who's visited this blog up until now - I really appreciate your comments, and it's so reassuring to know that people like what you're doing! (It's also reassuring to know that some of you like my work enough to make repeat visits.)

I suppose a quick summary of all this is, thanks for visiting and I hope that I can write enough to keep you coming back!

Insult

He stood at the graves
in silence, abhorrence,
while the wind whistled
in his ears
like an insult,
to those he'd lost.

The wind;
the insult,
coiled up the sky,
then snapped it back as
thunderous laughter - taunt
to his futile stoicism.

He found his throat -
found it void of
all but guttural noise,
and gulped it back down:
the swelling of eyes and heart
amongst the rain,
as the sting drowned out the depths.

The Order

i)
The Killer

sprinted, silently.
Dressed in night, he outsmarted his prey;

     he turned and vaulted -
     took the fence.

Resistance ignored him, gravity too -
no order he couldn't obey.

     He fumbled for the shiny dagger-blade,
     felt no handle for retreat.

He drove it, twisted, split the flesh;
screams began, the
blood ran.

It shouted, squealed,
and clutched the wound:

The victim reeled
and gulped for air
- only to find that none was there.

It watched, fell, and prayed,
as the killer saved the day -


ii)
The Victim

was careless to
skulk
in the night;
but he'd made the wrong friends,
- made the killer fight?

     he turned and vaulted -
     took the fence

Victim picked up the pace
- a good sprinter too -
but not good enough
to win the chase.

The victim was wrapped
for the winter
and walked, never ran,
but made the exception

for the oncoming man,
who

     fumbled for the dagger-blade,
     felt no handle for retreat.

Killer drove it, twisted, split the flesh;
and the runner reeled; revealed
the bloodied wound.

He watched, fell and prayed,
as the killer slipped away -

Queen

I bring you an apple,
shiny fresh sin -
a blood red kiss
to meet your lips.

I aim to take the eyes you stole,
that stare at you while I wither, old.

I bring an end
to your good looks
and empty smile,
your life - a crook.

It's all downhill from here,
no doubt,
you've had a bite;
now you're out.

You're no challenge to my beauty;
now you're cold, and
still -
I'm old.

15 Minutes at 15

The blogging poet, Billy Jones, just featured a post about me on his 15 Minutes of Fame section of his blog. Entitled 15 Minutes at 15, it features one of my poems from this blog and gives me great hope for the future!

Thanks again Billy!

To visit the post, follow this link; I'm sure you'll find something else on his blog that interests you there:

http://bloggingpoet.squarespace.com/bloggingpoetcom/15-minutes-at-15.html

Enjoy!

(Soldiers)

The soldiers left.

They didn’t run, flee,
simply they walked;
shrouded by false civility.

I watched them stretch away
from my house -
where I remembered playing
the games of young children,
in bleached yellow days.

I remembered the rules they had set
- my brothers -
for playing those games
defunct now,

as the yellow sun met
the soldiers, in mud on the hills;
in the distance -
a line of death crawled
away from the wreckage