They who dance while washing up,
They whose hands are never still,
They who never say no to a cup of tea -
It goes against my will,
But the solemn Jeff Buckley fan down the hall,
Oh to be the size and shape of she,
Needs the most help of all
Even when dressed as a Christmas tree.
Hours pass slowly as freight trains in the night
At the nurses' station when the children cry,
but when trailing home on tired feet
Early in the morning, there to greet
Is a warm-hearted Westerner with a smile.
They who play hockey,
They who smash cups,
They who argue but soon make up,
They who shoot pheasants,
They who drive cars,
Or get into punch ups outside student bars,
They who are laughing,
They who are sad,
All inhabit the world
And make it less mad.
But what of the houseplant at the end of the hall?
Always so quiet, grows best in the cool
And damp of the harbour.
Well, plants don't grow much at all
Unless they have sunlight and laughter
And learn how to play pool.
So, what do you do when all about you things are falling down? What do you do when you think that the most important moment of your life is going to be marred by other people's dramas? What do you do when two people you care about seem intent on tearing each other apart, and putting their fists through toilet windows in January? The answer, for me, is to write. Writing does not solve any problems, but ma
This poem is for all the people I have met so far, I can only write about a few of you, but I've tried so hard to immortalise what we have made for ourselves here at university which is, clearly to me at least, no less than the first step of many towards a new life. A life which may be dimmer than before, at least on paper, but which will maybe set alight our minds. Well, in some people's case, I think it'll be more like the glow from a cigarette butt, but it's a start!
Hopeful.
Saturday, 31 January 2009
Saturday, 17 January 2009
Southmpton In The New Moon
Firstly, I would like to say Happy New Year to everyone, I hope that 2009 is loads better than 2008 was for you all.
Secondly, I would like to apologise for being a boring git for so long and not posting anything. My creative wires have been cut by the advent of a lot of revision and househunting for next year.
But there are a few things I've come up with. I think that what was missing was the sense of time that I had back home, that I'm missing here. The sense of time to do things, to think things through and chase your own tail just for the fun of it. I can't do that here. I can't step back from things and assess them, can't take a day off, smoke a cigarette and watch the clouds, because I'm embroiled in my new life, totally. I love it though. I love being part of things. But its not good for poetry.
Actually, I've never attempted to seriously write a poem while smashed. I'll have to take a look into that. I hear there are some benefits to drinking Snakebite for five hours straight. LOL. And don't worry, I actually am laughing out loud as I think of this. I must look like a loon.
So as the title of this post is Southampton In The New Moon, ther must be a poem of the same title coming up, yes? Of course. Recently I longed for isolation, so at five minutes to midnight I left my room and wandered down along roads I'd never been down before. I can't remember which route I took, but in Southampton all roads lead to the sea, so I ended up outside of Southampton docks. I couldn't go down to the seafront because of the grumpy guard in the security booth, so I sat down in front of the Guildhall and wrote this. It may be of questionable quality seeing as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning when I penned it, but see what you think.
Some people like to dangle their feet over the precipice,
Some people are scared of the noises construction sites make
When there's no-one there.
Some people can have fun without saying a word,
Some people can watch the flight of silk gulls for hours in the sky.
Some people tuck their hands into their pockets and watch the world,
Some people are content to turn up their collar and let the rain do its' worst,
Some people like to smoke menthol cigarettes in the moondark.
Some people are happy to sit on the steps of the Guildhall all night,
And watch the city sleep.
Not me of course, I'm completely normal.
Hopeful.
Secondly, I would like to apologise for being a boring git for so long and not posting anything. My creative wires have been cut by the advent of a lot of revision and househunting for next year.
But there are a few things I've come up with. I think that what was missing was the sense of time that I had back home, that I'm missing here. The sense of time to do things, to think things through and chase your own tail just for the fun of it. I can't do that here. I can't step back from things and assess them, can't take a day off, smoke a cigarette and watch the clouds, because I'm embroiled in my new life, totally. I love it though. I love being part of things. But its not good for poetry.
Actually, I've never attempted to seriously write a poem while smashed. I'll have to take a look into that. I hear there are some benefits to drinking Snakebite for five hours straight. LOL. And don't worry, I actually am laughing out loud as I think of this. I must look like a loon.
So as the title of this post is Southampton In The New Moon, ther must be a poem of the same title coming up, yes? Of course. Recently I longed for isolation, so at five minutes to midnight I left my room and wandered down along roads I'd never been down before. I can't remember which route I took, but in Southampton all roads lead to the sea, so I ended up outside of Southampton docks. I couldn't go down to the seafront because of the grumpy guard in the security booth, so I sat down in front of the Guildhall and wrote this. It may be of questionable quality seeing as it was nearly three o'clock in the morning when I penned it, but see what you think.
Some people like to dangle their feet over the precipice,
Some people are scared of the noises construction sites make
When there's no-one there.
Some people can have fun without saying a word,
Some people can watch the flight of silk gulls for hours in the sky.
Some people tuck their hands into their pockets and watch the world,
Some people are content to turn up their collar and let the rain do its' worst,
Some people like to smoke menthol cigarettes in the moondark.
Some people are happy to sit on the steps of the Guildhall all night,
And watch the city sleep.
Not me of course, I'm completely normal.
Hopeful.
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