Painted London backdrops and inside handholding
Let’s do a bit of inside handholding
And something cultural as the rain
Begins to drop.
Swirling pictures and butterflies communally
Satirized in long queues nipped past and
Waited out. I feel cyclical
I feel light headed. A diamond encrusted
Day and a cow head straight from the butcher.
You are the perfect companion
You bring smiles to my entire self
And false sentiments towards
Paintings too hipster are made more
Bearable to the point of fun.
Lets go outside and hold inside
Hands. No Hype.
Saturday, 14 April 2012
Poem 106- Deathly Butterflies-Some Year 5 Style Acrostic Poems ( With The First Guest Poet of The Month Ezra Burke)
Poems inspired by a day out at the Damien Hirst exhibition.
Hero of mine since two days ago ( now not so much)
Instantly recognizable, but sometimes deceptive
Rotational like life itself
So worth the hype…possibly
Typical
By Ezra Burke
Doubt your mortality
Awful and deadly…boring
Mime your emotions and stunned faces
Insight faith with wings then paint it
Ever wrapped in deep and dark thoughts covered in dots
Never again dear Damien, never again
Horrific images of innards
Insides of pharmacies plated with honey coated in platitudes
Room after room designed to tell your friends of the cyclical culture you’ve seen
So Damien you’re obsessed with death…get over it. We all die and what..
Tomorrow the National Portrait Gallery instead?
By Saskia
Hero of mine since two days ago ( now not so much)
Instantly recognizable, but sometimes deceptive
Rotational like life itself
So worth the hype…possibly
Typical
By Ezra Burke
Doubt your mortality
Awful and deadly…boring
Mime your emotions and stunned faces
Insight faith with wings then paint it
Ever wrapped in deep and dark thoughts covered in dots
Never again dear Damien, never again
Horrific images of innards
Insides of pharmacies plated with honey coated in platitudes
Room after room designed to tell your friends of the cyclical culture you’ve seen
So Damien you’re obsessed with death…get over it. We all die and what..
Tomorrow the National Portrait Gallery instead?
By Saskia
Monday, 2 April 2012
Poem 105- The rules of the game
The rules of the game
For some the rules of the game are incredibly
Clear
Waiting is natural
A part of the code of practice
To intimacy, to love
For others however, passing the countless hours
Is a task too huge, too lonely, too sour
Too personal
Hours alone no word of kindness or affection
To hold on to.
Why do we subscribe to a system that keeps
Us in a perpetual state of inadequacy
Proving our stamina to those who either
Do
Or
Don’t
Want to pass the hours next to us
Clothed or otherwise
The distance between days judged by
Friends and lovers
All with fresh and simultaneously stale
Advice on how to last in the everlasting
Abyss of saved up banter, goodnights and
Xs.
Your worth is not valued on the amount of beeps
Your phone makes
Your smile should not be condensed in to a little
Yellow icon
What is the moment their name flashes up on your screen
In comparison to the quiet embraces and the banter
Continued day to day, in person, with people, with yourself?
No text, no pain – breathe and use your brain for new attempts
Connection that doesn’t depend on signal.
For some the rules of the game are incredibly
Clear
Waiting is natural
A part of the code of practice
To intimacy, to love
For others however, passing the countless hours
Is a task too huge, too lonely, too sour
Too personal
Hours alone no word of kindness or affection
To hold on to.
Why do we subscribe to a system that keeps
Us in a perpetual state of inadequacy
Proving our stamina to those who either
Do
Or
Don’t
Want to pass the hours next to us
Clothed or otherwise
The distance between days judged by
Friends and lovers
All with fresh and simultaneously stale
Advice on how to last in the everlasting
Abyss of saved up banter, goodnights and
Xs.
Your worth is not valued on the amount of beeps
Your phone makes
Your smile should not be condensed in to a little
Yellow icon
What is the moment their name flashes up on your screen
In comparison to the quiet embraces and the banter
Continued day to day, in person, with people, with yourself?
No text, no pain – breathe and use your brain for new attempts
Connection that doesn’t depend on signal.
Poem 104- Unspoken words covered by a storm
Unspoken words covered by a storm
Passion plastered over by the dank, dark
Drive towards a stupid goal
Save me from my mania
As all rationale slips from my plan
As I seek to test
Walk hard to a warm place
Not in to the vicinity of my insanity
My madness does not belong to you
It is not an ideology to which you should subscribe
As a means to spend time close to me
It is something to rebel against as the
Rain soaks through our clothes
And the farce
Of happiness we continue to promote
Despite your immense sadness and damp
Shaky breath as I stride away in to the blur
That pours from my mouth and the sky
As you run along beside me
Hauling your music, your kindness and your
Pride.
It’s a shame
It’s a shame
It’s a shame
It only snaps
When power corrupts
And you forget how to say yes
And I forget how to say thank you
For your perfection
Passion plastered over by the dank, dark
Drive towards a stupid goal
Save me from my mania
As all rationale slips from my plan
As I seek to test
Walk hard to a warm place
Not in to the vicinity of my insanity
My madness does not belong to you
It is not an ideology to which you should subscribe
As a means to spend time close to me
It is something to rebel against as the
Rain soaks through our clothes
And the farce
Of happiness we continue to promote
Despite your immense sadness and damp
Shaky breath as I stride away in to the blur
That pours from my mouth and the sky
As you run along beside me
Hauling your music, your kindness and your
Pride.
It’s a shame
It’s a shame
It’s a shame
It only snaps
When power corrupts
And you forget how to say yes
And I forget how to say thank you
For your perfection
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