Poem: Lovingly Degraded

I once heard someone say

to my friend

“I want to lovingly degrade you.”

And my friend replied,

calm and collected:

“I don’t know my own Father,

so that’s fine by me.”

And here I am again,

in Cambridge, wondering

which direction

promises this conversation,

or at least a cab,

a God,

a merciless mouth.

I walk.

It’s the potential I’m

in love with. The anticipation

of not knowing a soul,

or more importantly

a face.

What turns them on?

Attention (not affection) normally.

Is there a difference?

I certainly don’t care which.

But I don’t like being heartless.

I’m not good at it.

I quit.

I’m quite sure you’ll die 

a modern death,

although I’d like to see you

'happen'.

But you’re not as heavy as the books -

Or as happy.

Even with those heavy

black boots

In a calm procession of

Darling and Honey.

No matter how much money

they throw at us

I fear you’ll always be lovingly degraded.

And I’ll degrade myself.

I’ll be loving.

On behalf of you.

__________________________________

I keep starting new poems before I have time to finish previous ones. I'm literally drowning in half finished, terrible poetry. 

As a rule, I normally post one poem for every ten I write, but in this case, this is the only one I've finished, so I didn't have a lot of choice.

Deal with it.

Poem: Always

'Can I hug you one last time?'

you say

as I role my eyes, pretending I'm fine.

'I'm OK'.

You hug me anyway,

in the same way as always with my face hidden,

and your best side showing off to the world.

And in some ways

I'll miss that.

In some ways? Always.

'Can I hug you one last time?'

you say

as we try to ignore the pittance of things to pack.

'I'm OK'.

You hug me anyway

and I mumble how we need to hurry up

and you say nothing because you never listen.

And in some ways

I'll miss that.

In some ways? Always.

'Can I hug you one last time?'

you say

as we drink too much wine on the roof of this place.

'I'm OK'.

You hug me anyway

and say how you love my face and my hair and my smile,

but I'm not as good as you by miles.

And in some ways

I'll miss that.

In some ways? Always.

'Can I hug you one last time?'

I say

as the car pulls up and you grin my way.

'Always',

you say.

An even though you're arrogant 

and vain and drunk and insane

in some ways

I'll miss that.

In all ways. Always.

Poem: Left Unsaid

Now we are no longer
any trouble to each other

I can fill my mind, with the infinite list
of all the things that we did, and the important

things we missed.
For instance:

We did all the parties, all night felt the rush
in the air, we felt the feelings, but did I blush

at the sound of your name from my lips?
Or did I let it slip by

Silently
between sips.

And we walked in the rain at 7a.m.
the drugs worn off - a house of strangers again.

But I didn't take your picture as the light came through,
and only managed the memory for a day or two.

And we met everyday for two weeks
at half past 11 before work, on Castle Street,

and every time - always late, you hopped
round the corner

I had sickening butterfly's
as I waited before you.

And not once did I cry.
And I never described

my hearts unrest,
and although I had the words, I never confessed

to you where it hurt, and how much it hurt
at its worst.

And I said mean things and never meant them,
but also sweet nothings anyone could have mentioned,

because I was too busy laughing at our jokes
to provoke

any feelings that might lead to us actually speaking,
or, God forbid, disagreeing.

So now at the end, all the things left unsaid:
about the heart, where it hurts, and whatever lays ahead.

..........................................................................................

I thought I'd try and write a poem in rhyming couplets because I've been reading a lot of Geoffrey Chaucer recently and became a little obsessed with the form.
However, I did not appreciate how difficult it would be. The rhyming itself wasn't too hard because pretty much every poem I write has rhyming it. However, it was deviating from irregular rhyme to couplets that I found challenging. It's safe to say that I didn't really succeed in keeping to a strict structure, and it pretty much became like any of my other poems but in neat little lines. I'm not really sure if I have the patience to try again. Structure sucks.
I normally wouldn't have posted an 'experiment' like this one, but despite not liking the structure, I don't mind the poem itself. I'm still not completely happy with it, but I've been busy with Uni, and people on Tumblr thought I had died, so I thought I better post something!

How I write poems

I've had a lot of people asking me on here and on Tumblr and in real life how I write my poems, like, what is my process. In truth, I don't really have one. Most of the time I hear a line on TV or in a song that I like the sound of and the rest of the poem just follows in like a cascade of pathetic emotions.

I've only performed poetry once at an open mic event thing, and when people asked me afterwards what inspired me to write the poem, I replied with 'its all just whining'. As much as I love reading and writing poems, I can't help but think that most of it is just people moaning about their lives in flouncy language. But hey, everyone needs to vent in some way.

Anyway, I keep all my first drafts of my poems and they pretty much sum up my 'process'. It's just trial and error and a lot of scribbles. For example:

Poem: Embrace

Sometimes in our naivety

we sit and wait to grow.

Other times we run

head down, eyes closed

into the rush.

But run or wait it doesn't matter.

One day you'll round a corner

and your path won't be lit.

Stolen, misplaced,

blink and it's missing.

Your heart a memory, a limb, a promise, a person.

Your naivety has gone

and now your journey has changed.

The light of your path refracted,

leaves you pointed in a new direction.

Some won't approve,

Some will want the other you.

Some won't realise you have left at all.

But what has happened has happened,

and cannot be undone. 

We pay for our laughter.

We pay to weep - 

Knowledge is not cheap.

With each breath we inhale

we exhale

we inspire

we expire.

Every turn we encounter 

a new laugh, a new cry,

a new story, a new song.

Every conversation flows bitter

or sweet over the tongue.

And when you're born into loss

you grow from it.

When you experience loss later in life,

you grow towards it.

A slow journey to embrace.

An embrace that leaves you holding tight

the beauty wrapped in the grotesque.  

Poem: Touches

What did we do

to find ourselves here?

Our skin cold

and numb with

desperate restraint,

but lightly touching and

pushing, among freezing

cold cushions.

We're drowsy from wine

and you doze on one side -

building suspense -

as you mumble

in my ear - cracking jokes

at my expense.

Every exhale is a 

tired laugh, and we're

suddenly so close

and warm,

with every breath

absorbed.

All sleep is broken

as our bodies press, 

full length - 

shoulder blades to breast.

This is not sex

but we're locked

with your toes

to my instep.

We sink together

and slowly bite back

the chill:

The hard black frost

that only this can heal.

And everything we've ever

been taught to be - 

wrong or right is

forgotten

in our grand passion as we

imagine 

tomorrow's fight.

Where did we spend

last night?

How could we

answer that?

This place is still

seeping through the touches - 

continuous creation - 

but firmly in 

our clutches.

You turn and hold me

tightly, the strength 

of our bodies

set. The only

movement: The fighting

in our

chests.

And slowly we sleep.

And all

intervening thoughts are

deleted

from this place - 

All I know is the feel

of your secure, firm, safe embrace. 

I wrote this poem after reading 'A Marriage in the Dolomites' by D. Nurkse, which you can read here:

It made me think about love in a pretentious and soppy kind of way, hence the soppy, pretentiousness of what I've just written. It sort of seemed like a straight forward love poem, but in the end, I thought it said something very profound about consciousness - that amidst great happiness you can resent each other. I read it thinking that they were happy with each other, but they resented each other because they were excluded from alternative happiness. 

That's what my poem is about, but with a happier tone. Although they are trying not to be in love "desperate restraint"/"The fighting in our chests". They give in to each others love "wrong or right forgotten in our grand passion"/"intervening thoughts are deleted"