Better believe it.... Sorry for my prolonged absence and lack of posting on here. I wanted to take a few weeks away form this, write some more poems (ones which are worth sharing), meeting up with mates and....playing FIFA 17.
To make up for this, I'll be posting some of my favourite poems I've written over the past month. Here's one I want to share because it ties in splendidly well with today :) Hope you enjoy! You nuzzled into my fresh stubble Whilst remnants of hardened toffee Nested in the crack of your lips. Our eyes following the flares heading sky bound Until our necks jarred back, upon crackled impact. But then the late autumn frost Took grasp of our spines Sending them into numb spasm. We drew to the conclusion That now as the hour to perhaps retreat To the warmth indoors.
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Aha - another song lyric that I have tried to convert into a poem! A silly one to spruce up your Tuesday morning. Please note that this is not based on real events...
A scorching 31 degrees, I stand here alone. A European paradise compared to back home. A suitcase and guitar in hand Hunting adventure on foreign land Soon I’ll be stripped down to the bone - left naked in Rome. In early siesta hours she caught my eager eye. Her coffee skin, her LA smile left me mesmerized Her words I couldn’t understand It all came clear when she took my hand And down some streets nobody knows to get naked in Rome. She then force-fed me some chardonnay That she had smuggled from Calais But wait – no tannins in its taste- Her glass doesn’t look the same She cackled as I passed out on the floor. Woken from a drugged up haze-I’ve been out cold for hours. My clothes and cash have been removed, my sweat now tasting sour. My limbs are all that I have left To get me out of this sodding mess I’m penniless, nowhere to go, stuck naked in Rome. If you enjoyed this poem, and I hope you did, please leave a comment or give it a like and share on Facebook or Twitter. You can also check out all of my other poems here. Two posts on a Tuesday? Yes indeed - to make up for my poor blogging last week, I thought I'd share a blog post AND a poem. Here's one that took a while to conjure up, but once I did the first stanza, it was written in minutes. If you want to to make me feel like doing backflips around my living room, please do share this poem and maybe give it a like or comment. Thanks for being patient!
The coca-cocaine parties The weekend spews at 10 The cycle of sleeping and shagging Repeats itself again The brown, the crack, the weed, the smack The remedies of her world Are a far off cry from the glamorous life Promised to the matchstick girl A head of hair thatched upon Walls of weak foundation The chic new style to fill the aisles And sweep entire nations. She’s Bambi on ice in a dress so tight It would make your mother hurl But we live in a time where all women pine For the look of the matchstick girl The big old Pappa Razzi Guard her every step From the same hold-hand fanatics That crave her vinous breath The punks, the queens, the teenage dreams Who buy their love with pearls Stick close to her side and somewhat abide They’re friends with the matchstick girl. The Sunday evening voicemails The daily text of pain From a desolated mother Who begs to see her again. The pleas, the cries, the tears don’t dry While apologies unfurl For the sins, the aches and major mistakes Made by the matchstick girl. Whey - I'm back. Here's a poem a wrote a while back after deciding to have a play-around with free form style. I feel the poem kinds of explains itself. Don't forget like, share or comment if you particularly enjoyed it.
I see him With you In this iron clad embrace. His eyes Scanning your drives and pathways. His fingerprints Forcing ink Within your shivering sides Overwriting all emotion. His branding sinking in. It kills the current in those deadwood wires, The what-could-have-beens and dreams within - Hacked by hardware overload. And you show no remorse, No joy. Not even a shimmer of warmth Nothing earthly sprouting from your manner No pounce, no chase to brighten your soured eyes. You can’t just stand there - It barely makes you mortal. I’ve tried to salvage what’s left. Hell, I can’t arouse you From this hibernated state. But heaven forbid, Find yourself a fortunate friend Whose touch would set your soul alight again. And to here's a friendlier kind of touch. For nostalgia's sake. A short and sweet poem I wrote about the morning after the night before. And lying in - I could use a lie in right now. Where's that bank holiday gone again? Don't forget to like, share and comment!
you’re a snuggler a tangler a logistical link of limbs that end up intertwining with mine you kick me over some of the duvet in the gentlest of gestures and fester in the filth of your little sister’s linen as the full moon sheds shame on our backsides. but as the sun scowls through the window that frames the four post you wrap yourself in the sheets like a sushi roll of biscuited bitterness you natter to the bedbugs the only ones who’ll listen to your curses whilst me? I’m basking in the warmth of a Sunday scandal. P.S. Did you know that I have a Facebook page now? Why not swing by and give it a like? You'll get the latest on Words Badly Woven and exclusive vlog updates every Sunday. |
So you're hereGreat stuff. Feel free to have a gander at my poetry and blog entries to the left. If you want to know why on God's green earth this page is here, click on the 'About' tab up top. Archives
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