My new poems

Hi!

There are probably poetry threads of mine floating about all over this board and i really should merge them as a good moderator.... Umm, but I haven't written anything in months, and having just started again, I thought I would make a new thread.

I'm a little rusty so it may take some time for these poems to become more structured and coherent But here's one!

Essay of Delayed Response

I may have asked for solace
in an unknown year,
of which I cannot cite myself
in the body of this text.
It is long gone.
I am between work and sleep, smiling-
An antidote comes
in red pen.

I may have been the antithesis
of inner peace,
from where lines to elucidate this
I cannot find.
They are long gone.
I am not broken, begging a response.
I don't require correction
anymore.

There will be new words;
my antidote.
A healing response
to all that is gone.


Sarah xx

I wrote this poem for Martin and never showed it to him so I hope he won't mind me posting it :-[ I just stumbled on it today again and i quite like it ( )

On Action

So we are getting married
In one year.

I squint at the cover of the
Penultimate ‘Die Hard’

(128 minutes)

I have always been a peace-lover
With a penchant for pencils

And paper-backs-
No aptitude for action.

(98 minutes)

But an admiration
Of your graphics

The lyrics on your c.d. covers
Like unpretentious poetry.

(62 minutes)

I think of a bullet’s reflection;
An echo of power yet harmless

We have the same symmetry-
Our eyes on the film

(14 minutes)

My head on your chest.
The incongruous last line

Alive on your memory;
Matching my satisfied smile.

(End)

Sarah xx

Quote: TinyShine

I wrote this poem for Martin and never showed it to him so I hope he won't mind me posting it :-[ I just stumbled on it today again and i quite like it ( )

On Action

So we are getting married
In one year.

I squint at the cover of the
Penultimate ‘Die Hard’

(128 minutes)

I have always been a peace-lover
With a penchant for pencils

And paper-backs-
No aptitude for action.

(98 minutes)

But an admiration
Of your graphics

The lyrics on your c.d. covers
Like unpretentious poetry.

(62 minutes)

I think of a bullet’s reflection;
An echo of power yet harmless

We have the same symmetry-
Our eyes on the film

(14 minutes)

My head on your chest.
The incongruous last line

Alive on your memory;
Matching my satisfied smile.

(End)

Sarah xx

I didn't know you had been writing stuff lately, and I live with you.

Good film reference too

Hang on, you didn't write that in the middle of watching a Die Hard at some point did you?!

Siren

Sirens will brandish
their syllables
against this rural respite;
Unsheath tongues of excitement
More rampant than tears.

The news will be switched on
at one.
Victims names disclosed
on a brisk walk to town
at two.

"Tra-gic", "Aw-ful", wail
The sirens of the town,
Searing with a sympathy
Of archaic phrases;
Dust upon graves.


The curtains will be pulled
at ten.
Lights out on a dark day.
See the house-lights throbbing
at number 22.

Sleep-less, si-lence.
The siren drones on.
Its insensitive rythym
plodding, like well-wishers
at the door.

Sarah xx

Unmade


In a familiar hour
my unmade face will conjure up,
alter and smugly present
an inscrutable expression.
You, perplexed, will reduce me
to the matter I am formed with,
teasing out an unknown artefact.

When it is night,
I will trowel through our schemas,
I will scour our hands for new finds-
Creases you have encased in a fist
like an elusive mystery
for a knowing scavenger who
returns to a state of unknowing

As though knowing
is the pinnacle
of one expedition,
peering into
an unmade hour.

Sarah xx

Countries

When I awaken
to an alluring azure, peeping
petulantly through rented drapes,
I will beseech you with
6 a.m. urgency
to whisper “There are no countries”

I will always be home.

And although allured,
I will proclaim it ugly in all
its strangeness; quaint walls slumped
in enveloping slants,
a triangulation of my fatigue.
You will mumble, “This is not a country”

But a room with my belongings,

With which I am kindred.
Portals of an upbringing, now dense
amongst items I did not choose,
their textures recede
against my touch.
You insist, “The world is our country”

But it is wide; wide as my eyes.

Sarah xx

This is really just a bit of a ramble which I wrote in 5 spare moments...

On finding a highlighted book...

I saw perfection in a novel,
I claimed it as my own.
Fluroscent yellow passages
in all of their irrelevance.

Little things we take for granted,
bigger things we don't expect.
And I want it now.
Oh my impatience....

Things may have mutated.
They may be beautiful,
like cheeky cracks in fresh cement-
unsure if they are welcome.

I saw perfection in a novel,
I created it for myself.
Risk assessment counts for nothing
when you are bored

bored

bored.

Sarah xx