Hello sister friend that

Shouts at me.

You have a lion look.

A mouse!

A mouse! I am next to you,

Because I don’t want to be a lady or care to to understand.

But we laugh

And sing.

And sometimes you say silly things,

And I can roll my eyes then and be the best.

Look,

I like that your care is the

Sharp, sterile

Slap

Of a midwife.

Oh! If I could mother back I would,

But you march around with your nurse’s mane.

And I want…

I want to make you better but

I don’t know what to say for

I am unlearnt in your lover’s discourse;

My smell’s not Agent Provocateur.

And nothing,

Nothing

I could say would stop your mascara-ing

To the scream of the fire alarm.

(Burning dolls, ne-orr, ne-orr)

The same noise you covered my sleeping ears from.

Oh Lily! Am I really any use to you at all?

Sorry,

I don’t mean to be abrasive.

It’s just the way I am.

Harsh and unpleasant in manner;

Tending to rub and scrape.

I know. It’s ok.

But I’d rather be

Abreast;

Side by side,

Up to date with.

Abridged.

This wouldn’t happen to the other women here.

They would trickle,

Gently and

Not talk about it.

Don’t go in there if you know what’s good for you.

Don’t pull back the sheets!

It exploded beautifully this morning

And ran down my thighs in exciting ravines,

Dramatic against the

Black

And white.

I hope they don’t see them in the bath,

The sheets, soaking in the way my mother

Taught me:

Cold water,

Salt,

Oxy action.

At university they’ll know,

I’ll stand up and y back will show

and ruin everything,

Shame.

Nugget

For us that have

Been tired

By lives

Slow and

Still.

With bodies too sad and

Families too old to

Not be hard.

The news of you!

And how you’ve taken

Old things and made them

New and yours,

And how you will love us

With wide soft eyes

We have forgotten,

Is both welcome

And deserved.

This is for the 1st Birthday of Blackshaw New Writing Night.  I’ve performed poetry at one of these evenings before and it was really fun as well as being very useful as the audience has a chance to offer the performers feedback and critiques.

Here’s the Facebook event page.

Please come along. Yay!

This is not my sadness.

It is harder and more caging

Than my own;

I don’t know how to make it end.

Because the afternoon sun creeping

On to the page where I

Write and reminding me that

I am here and

Now and

Will always

Be that I have learnt to take

As my medicine,

Does nothing for

Your dark, solid mood

That I seem to have accepted as my own.

Unfamiliar sadness that isn’t strictly mine is quiet and cross…

And won’t whisper to me of

It’s depature date like my

Own friendly,

Juicy depression.

Oh to be lonely again!

I don’t know him,

I took him because

I love you, but

He is cross and unclear.

My woman doesn’t like him;

She wants to come back,

My tears are supposed to be hers  and

She likes them whipped

Away as I cry against

The wind.

She’s angry when they’re hot

And naked and smell like yours.

My lady doesn’t like you.

We had to take the boy because

We love you, but

He is bratty and outstays his welcome; he won’t

Tell us when he’s going to leave!

I’m tired,

She sees that

She just pops

In for tea.

We talk about my dad

(She knew him) and

Sometimes we discuss

Poetry.

But your boy is unfamiliar,

He hides his face!

To be honest he could be a man,

It’s getting that way.

He’s starting to but in,

He’s taking her place, but

He’s not mine and I don’t understand him.

He’s suffocating,

Hot and heavy and caging.

I don’t cry

on my own

anymore,

I cry with you in my arms

Naked and

In harmony.

Naked and united.

Naked and undivided.

Naked and cahooted.

Naked and

Burdened.

Piropo on International Woman’s Day

She, who is loud

And loyal and burpy,

Distorted her face

Away from the child

Who spoke like a man.

“Nice tits!”

And I, who’ve read of such things,

Said nothing

But a nervous laugh.

A nervous laugh

And a nervous life

To be scared of kids and

Their tits.

‘Words Without Thoughts Never to Heaven Go’

Loving you is lying,

In your bed and

Only smelling smoke.

I’m sleeping,

Always sleeping

In your clothes.

But

Oh

My

Love,

My life, tonight

Your words will go to heaven,

As mine remain,

Because

I can’t believe them.

We, who had been born by the sea,

Her with no artificial light,

Me with no beachtrips,

Recognised it straight away.

“How odd for London?”

And how kind.

That the calming breeze

Carried salt in the air

To dress the night and

Pacify us who weren’t from here.