Adrian Henri poem

Poem based on Adrian Henri cut up - written Dec 09 - need help editing!

In the morning I drove home

without windscreen wipers

in the rain.

It didn't matter,

I knew that motorway.

It's where I hid from you.

It got boring then,

you didn't look.

I chased you all round London

on red buses with thick gloves that slid

into my handbag

one by one.

I asked for you in that tight outdoors

where smokers squeeze, clubbing.

There was a girl at school who walked

with her neck high

and I used to walk behind her

to see her shoulder blades beat, a metronome.

Green cardigan, white collar blouse, and the

grace of old eras.

How dare you make eyes at me

with your girlfriend sitting by you.

My heart can't quite believe you're real.

All the chasing, chasing, and then I threw you

to the ground and you giggled and I held you.

A Christmas Cactus almost in bloom.

A coffee cup held like a lady.

Fingers move firmly on strings.

American lady falls.

Birds fly in thick dark formation

Entertaining weary eco-troops.

I eat the chocolate Father Christmas one

tooth-bite at a time, making you last.

Loneliness

Love is loneliness, his tone is bitter.

Love is frying chips forsaken in a bedsit.

I sit alone, longing to be needed.

I sit alone, angry that he didn't call.

Because I text him midway through a pomegranate

Thinking of his scratchy mullet growing without me.

When he phone rings I'm smug

And he backs off in fear.

Love is being sucked into my company forever.

Love is holding hands with everything already said.

chestnut tree

chestnut tree, so adolescent,

so soon knotted and knarred.

leaves tinged with brown,

even in the summer.

no fruit this year,

or the next.

barren, without clone to grow.

who will care as it creeps crisping toward death?

not me.

I have my own death to think of,

cared for by shrinks and social workers,

nurses, consultants and g.p.'s.

transfer

Sweetness moves from one place to another.

To placate the lack of a plate, hunger waits for dinner with a cup of coffee.

From field to field and back again, sheep eat the low leaves of the oak.

In certainty.

Haiku Again

Willow Tree Poem

The willow leaves are

still intact, this cold bright day,

nutant beauty brief.

Sage

The sage, contorted and curled,

Life dried steadily out of its sweet furry leaves

A corpse with a staggering smell

Lies hanging from its stems

Topsy-turvy, airing in cupboard space

This death, this mummification, arid.

All for my officinal needs, a gargle of

This cadaver will cure me, surely.

French Horn

I'm learning the French horn and I love it.

Walking up the semi-detached street and

Knocking on his middle class door.

He smiles a coy smile as young lads do,

When faced with a woman like me.

I've dressed to impress, my tits on show,

They jiggle as I play the US Anthem.

'Was that OK?' I ask, taking the

Horn from my lips with a kiss.

'Oh yes,' he says, 'Very good, very good.'

I smile and put the horn back to my lips.

He's a very good teacher.

I like his style.

And I like the house full of books and antique rugs.

I could live here with my horn tutor one day,

Once we bumped his parents off.

And I can hear his mother in the kitchen,

Banging pans and chatting to their pet.

She sniffs when she sees me.

I sniff back.

And horn tutor blushes to his blond roots,

When I tell him I want to learn love songs.

'How's my embouchure this evening?' I ask.

When I leave I'm frozen in my shortest skirt,

But thoughts of French kisses warm me,

As I carry my case back to the high rise and

Put on my nightie and play Frere Jacques very loud.

The Band Day

more iambic pentameter! Why I bother I don't know. Kind of hoping I'll get better at it at some point but not yet...

The weight I've put on lately makes me mad.

I cry my tears of rage and stamp my feet,

And pray for fever causing me to waste.

The shape I'm in will stop my career prospects,

As if I care: my stage fright ended that.

... By the way the title refers to the song titles I used as inspiration which were from the band, The Band. I'm getting into using song titles as inspiration. Got sick of objects in my bedroom.

haikus

some better than others but i'll post them all:

Came last in football

They won't pick me for the team.

Teenage angst allayed.

Just one second time

Or was it the third moment?

Pregnancy fear gone.

Haiku girl is in

Fear of everything, loud, small,

She's never sanguine.

Life is smaller than

The tapestry likes to say.

Squeeze in what you can.

Intimate means close.

Doesn't mean you gotta shag all

Night long, or does it?

patagonia

If not for you

I wouldn't think twice

About my voyage to Patagonia.

I'd be excited, so excited

Jumping up and over and over

Shouting

Something vague

About falling in love on holiday

Something vague

About salt plains, cacti, hot and cold.

Something vague

Sunrise, sunset

On a bus in Argentina

I'll think mainly of you.

Look at this, I'll think.

And in my frazzled mind

You'll agree to its beauty

Its strange colours and you'll

Lie on my neck.

Do something - quick.

Find the money

Find the passport

Do something drastic

Like I am

I'm going,

I'm going to Patagonia

You can join me I know.

Blue in green

I'll smile at the passing

Countryside

With its frightening

Difference and sameness.

You'll lie on my neck.

If you came, we'd probably argue anyway.

another plant poem

slight break but i'm back, hopefully every day... Here's another plant poem

Underneath the plant,

Surrounding the plant,

Laying about around my plant

Are various objects which add to

The beauty of the plant:

A tin whistle with a red mouthpiece,

A pretty much empty bottle of lavender,

A bracelet gemmed up in blue and white.

And of course Glitterman himself,

Who sits on a polystyrene bridge

His pink wool body leaning,

Legs wide open, arms outstretched,

In worship to the

Green and white, towering,

Strong and darned healthy plant.