Creative Venture #28

The air is too thick here, thick with the light.
It's like the sky touches the earth and there's no room for us to move beneath it.
No-one here breathes, no-one here grows,
They just sink into the soil, putting down their roots, tangling their veins
Everything is still here, it's stuck and stiff,
It's too warm and too empty and too soft
Soft colours rounded shapes gentle voices slow blinks
Like a Monet left in a loft
Loft in a left hand shake.
The air tastes of soil and the soil tastes of death.

Creative Endeavour #27

I have a feeling in my tummy that is like hunger
But I have gorged myself on your orgy of flesh
A word which bites and savours
Gorging orgies
Everywhere I go.

I can’t be hungry because I have eaten and eaten,
I have tasted all the flavours and I am tired of them
I also have a feeling in my chest
It’s sortof tight
Sortof loose.

My body has all these sensations, I’m ravenous
I want to bite cut rip tear slice with my teeth
But I much as I keep on tasting
Nothing has flavour
Nothing to bite.

Creative Endeavour #26 - a reply

Someone left a comment telling me not to repeat words and use more punctuation in poems.
The result is now before you.
I’ll try to use various symbols (finding synonyms for the ‘p’ word feels difficult)!
Clarity’s evidently requisite…
…ellipsis’ may or may not be useful here.
Perhaps we should ascribe alliteration also.
Be this good poetry yet?!

(keyboard lacks interrobang)

Creative Venture #26

Gold teeth are falling now

From pastures of before

I knew in golden towns

Knew better than their law

Back to the wall I stood

Beside a man I almost was

And for all we knew we could

Have been forever lost

Turn me back to the pet I used to be

Council my breath

My back's to the wall and I'm lonely

I'm standing, counted. I am left.

My skin too white to last the night

I wanted to muddy yours

Still I can taste that pale light

And you know when it rains sometimes it pours

The sweetest lipless embrace I know

Was too much to allow

Bury yourself beneath the snow

For I am golden now.

Creative Venture #23

Having said that, here is another angry poem I wrote on the bus today.

I wish I was stupid. 

I wish I didn't invalidate every one of my feelings before I even had them,

That I didn't believe love was logistical and hate only a tool for the pack.

I wish I didn't see an animal when I looked at you,

I wish I didn't see more of an animal when I look at myself and I wish we were all animals just

Biting and sleeping and fucking.

I wish I had never read a book or heard a song that made me cry, 

I wish I had no eyes and no mind with which to see that which my eyes have

calculated and counted and commissioned 

for purpose.

I wish that flesh did not taste so fresh, nor blood

flow so freely the slut. Slut slut slut.

Blood like lies like slut.

I wish I could use words like never and always and believe them.

It's all logistical and I am so calm.

I wish I could flail and cry out and scream but I only how how to be calm.

It is logistical.

Creative Venture #22

I've been away for a while, working on plays. I'm exhausted and happy. Whilst I was in Edinburgh, I reckon I experienced just about every emotion under the sun, and I wrote this one day when I was angry. It's OK, I'm not angry any more.

I stand here on the edge of oblivion
And it kills me that I know I cannot fall
For I am chained here to the spot
Which is ever transient and moving
Moving and even the Northern Star is moving
The weighing scales are broken, there was too much to measure, we were too heavy or maybe we broke them on purpose deliberately deliberating the liberating of the libellous libraries that lies to our eyes to our minds to our hearts to our lips
And our lips. Are. Traitors.
What good has your mouth ever done for you?
I'd say cut it off but it is a gaping black and vacuous hole, and you cannot amputate that which is within you
And I am so angry
I am disgusted at the touch of every living creature but most of all horrified terrified sterilised by my own gentle and heinous touch.
A hundred people walk by me, a hundred hundred, maybe five thousand and I want to feed them, I want to force poison down their fat little throats, poison and pain and terror and everything they would be feeling i only they understood what was happening to them to me to you to us to tomorrow to your plans and your hands and the deeds you planned to be good.

If you can see Jesus Christ in toast, then I see me in coffee. I could put my hand through this stone wall, through this stone body I could punch and punch and punch it until the air shatters and I can't breathe and I am beginning to believe my own lies and what is truth?

Creative Venture #18

If I should cling to you in the night
Press my face into your chest in fear
Or in like which is not love, or in a closer friendship
If my breathing should alter or falter
If you should catch me tossing or hear me
Whimper
Then put your arms around me and
Make me feel I am safe
Wrap me in you and keep me inside
From the raging dragons.
Perhaps stroke my hair.
But do not read too much into it, whatever you do -
For I am only dreaming.

Creative Venture #16

Make me hate you
Strip me naked and beat me in the street
Leave me bruised and pulsing, convulsing
Make me real and make me kneel
Make me want to hit you back.

Yellow drapes and pale skin
I am pliant, I am anyone
How high?
You are no-one and that's the game.
One thank you sir.

No more dimensions please
Don't spoil the refraction
Be fiction and figurement
And I will be anything you want
For something I imagined.

Creative Venture #14

Remember that summer when it only rained?
And I was opening
And the old taste was a little different.
I was seeing people in a new light
And I saw myself in a new light.
I was everything I'd always wanted to be
Except I didn't want to be anything other than
To be.

Creative Venture #10

I like to walk places
To feel my feet, the ground beneath them
Holding the wind in the cup of my hand.
I like the quiet time, and the alone
The stolen purpose of my time.

I like to imagine the accents
Of people who I've never met because they're not real,
I like to imagine them imagining my accent,
And that I am not real
That I may just fall through the pavement as I walk
Foot stepping down down forever forever.

I like the grey angles of my city home
The morning quiet and the twightlight buzz
I like familiar cracks in the pavement
I like to imagine that the pavement
Likes the familiar cracks in my feet.

Creative Venture #7

Mostly it is all so vapid
And I am drowning in the beige
If I could scratch out your eyes, you would see it too.
If I could find the words to tell you, it would make you sick
But you are only sensible and calm and I think you are dying.