Beelzebub and Doughnuts

Pigmented argumentation akin to
breathing ice fired earth.
My freshly anointed disfigurement all powdered out,
self built subterranean sanctuary, dividing at the seams.
Like two old weather-beaten mill stones
round and round in circles we grind.
Past is past you always say.
Let the ripples fan your waters edge
plug the doubts and come to bed.

Deflated
you always do that.
Tossing me ad-hoc into the beaten protesters drawer.
I recall the ever growing tally of points recorded.
How noticeably, noticeable still NO
recognition accredited to me.
I wonder –
why do you sleep with your mouth wide open
and your eyes half shut?
The want to stuff a doughnut in your face –
causes me to smile.
Just a small private celebration a fleeting
parting, of the lips.

It lodges profoundly – hurt always does.
Though I don’t imagine I’ll ever leave.
I have no magic carpet hidden deep within
my sleeve.
You are my hunger pangs a gnawing nightmare
constantly eating away at the same old flesh –
You sleep whilst I conspire in imaginary flights
my Beelzebub ever snapping round my heels.
Is this what you and I are really all about?

Poppy 2013 ~xx~

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Waiting…

Ghostly blooms
fallen on the wings of night
touch the whispers of silent lips
standing proud white gown covered
flowers and lace –

 

waiting
waiting
waiting

Waterfalls of wisteria gracefully
hang; as if no secrets to share
always the bridesmaids never
the bride – sweet hanging heads
of tears they hide –

waiting
waiting
waiting

Held in breath, blow not
the winds of time
mantle clad bronze curls, all undone
they cast you by – not to
give the eye – no crime she –
accept in splendour far out done –

waiting
waiting
waiting

Pure in gypsy roots to roam
hedgerows, gardens she has sown
scent maybe, she tempts the air
Beauty on the eye – for
freckled faced is she –

waiting
waiting
waiting

For tastes in love they come and go,
we choose our hearts then seeds we sow.

Poppy ~xx~

Empty Spaces…

Gone – as are all our plans uprooted.
Fragile poppies now blown dispersed.
He promised me sunsets over
leafy trees, ever vivacious pink goes red.
I laid me down, skylines of drifting molten affinity
I still found breath  – violets of pride
to lie with passion, side by side.
I awoke my love to find you sleeping
no tremor from within.
My left hand traces vacant spaces
pain suffocating depleted veins.
Embers dead – past caring
empty the soul, leaving the body
cold –  stagnant white earth.
If I offered up my existence
could I  procure, your rebirth
for one parting  kiss …
Terminal regrets drown remorseful
winding rivers; as they take their course
they must.
Cold the bed – to lie my head – me
this women who you perfected.

 

Poppy 2012 ~xx~

Linear Lines…

I considered you my lover
spread the bridal sheet – white
beneath the pillow
In foreplay always the gift of tongue,
calloused fingers – nails bitten to the quick.
Linear lines of velvet chairs
scuffed marked – children of
little care.
Question – are you dressed
to impress or startle.
Aunts tongues wagging
great debacle.
Sun danced – the King in splendour
rain soaked picnics – shrunken crocheted
skirt.
Play the jester how you wish
hum your tune until it hurts.
Smiled over the cracks
with cosmetics – is what I did,
whilst I sticky back plastered the split.
Frozen rabbit head lights gripped –
the pied piper has let his magic slip

lace

Spread the bridal sheet white…

Bed Space To Let…

You created me
cut out folded paper
flocked pattern – bird in silhouette.

I crushed crimson your vagaries
Rendered redundant
your flaking effusive generosity.
Stripped you back bare
to the man who now cries himself to sleep.

When was it ever  chiselled in stone
that we should  erect foundations
Leave me spacious blank walls
same suitcase – different hall

Never to be unpacked
no offers accepted…

Poppy January 2013

case

 

Still one of the best writers ever.

Dagda Publishing

plath

Welcome to our Weekend Poetry Readings, where we find a classic poem read by the poet. In doing so, by presenting the poem in the words of the poet, we hope that something new is conveyed to you, the listener.

This week, we decided to share some Sylvia Plath with you. Plath’s importance in the field of literature is undisputed, and in her short life she burned brighter than most. Credited with advancing the genre of confessional poetry, she is perhaps best known for her autobiographical novel The Bell Jar, written shortly before her untimely death in 1963, and two collections of poetry, Ariel and The Collosus andOther Poems. Posthumously awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1982 for The Collected Poems. Even though she is gone, her words, and here, her voice, live on.

So take a minute, sit down, and enjoy this piece. One of the…

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The Taste Of You…

I taste you.
Mouth watering wild strawberries; on this most
delicious of afternoons.
You smile –
I laugh
fizzy wine – has us flat on
our backs.
Heck it is so damn hot –
kicking of my shoes
the short grass delights between my toes.
I feel like a child on a picnic where
all the rules have been removed.
Refusal to enjoy is not on the menu today.
Staring up, at the palest intimate blue of sky
with not one single cloud, to spoil the view.
I watch a plane –
hanging there, lifeless, as if about
to suddenly drop.
Can’t quite decide if it is over us or not.
Nevertheless I wave and blow them a kiss.
Being next to you makes me feel
heady – like a giggly school girl on her
first real date.
You pull me close
we meld, like two
pieces of hot buttered toast.
Warm breath – alluring breeze carried
on the kiss I present to you
‘Let me tell you something’ I whisper
‘Tell me’. You say’!
But we neither speak another word.
I taste you, sweet wild strawberries.
Palpable silence, echoed only in the picking of
two lovers bones…

Poppy January 2013

berry

Boys That Die…

Plateaus of splashed frenzied poppies
uprooted about your knees.
Rampant delusions dramatic of colour
hard faced delirium, breeds termite high uprisings.
Daddies perfect soldier – Mummies screwed up little boy.
Caught between the battle fields whilst still playing
with your toys.
Strung out whitened daisies –
Sunday’s fervent sabbatical.
Bayonet yourself a Sunday roast.
Give toast to all mankind.
Basement hate spread Belsen thick
Enfield to the head – pull the trigger
young man your dead…

Poppy  ~xx~ January 2013

boy

 

Love’s Philosophy

I include this for no other reason
than I am in love with the beauty of its words…

The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle –
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea –
What are all these kissings worth
If thou kiss not me?

Poppy 2013 ~xx~

No Endings…

Turn to your side and face the day
with me.
Let it remain – that it may never be
our last.
For I offer you the man – never just a part of him.
If this unbearable tenderness of love,
should one day come undone.
Look not to how or where I fell –
for I would ask of them not to tell.
Keep this as our parting gift
Let me think of you not in some
cold empty room
where light, nor laughter, lifts the gloom.
If my days should be fashioned in rain,
let not my nights cry unanswered for your pain.

Yesterday my observations
caught me snowdrops
pristine new life of fresh.
– Who I asked
could want to spoil such innocence of life
so I made myself a pact with God.
I shall bare my arms with all restraint.
Chalk no notches for each and every life
that I am forced to take.
If he in turn,  shall keep your presence near.
Spare me one less victim of this bloodied war.
Release my heart from that of which
I justifiably  fear the most…

Poppy January 2013

boy