Pantoum I drink this beer deeply at the barPantoum by ~Poet-in-progress
Casting round my eyes for spies and fiends
And closely watch the red and yellow cars
tying hard to work out what it all means.
Casting round my eyes for spies and fiends
I mutter at a couple as they kiss
Trying hard to work out what this code means
I drink again; but gain no bliss.
I mutter at a couple as they kiss
Sick with their lust, their filth, their smiles
I drink again; but gain no bliss.
But slowly fall headfirst onto the tiles.
Sick with their lust, their filth, their smiles
I drink this beer deeply at the bar.
But slowly fall headfirst onto the tiles
And clo
Odysseus and Calipso Odysseus & CalypsoOdysseus and Calipso by ~Poet-in-progress
The bed he made.
The night she stayed.
The place they lay;
The price he paid.
The thought he gave.
The pain she saved.
The path he paved
The feeling; grave.
He felt a knave,
not free but played.
She surfed the rave,
the love they made.
The bed she made.
The night he stayed.
The place they lay;
The price he payed.
Owed to a railcard I glide through Yorkshire, through Wakefield, through SheffieldOwed to a railcard by ~Poet-in-progress
And stare at the towns and the trees and the hills,
I shuffle myself on the carpeted seat
(I need the loo, and cramped be my feet).
'Tea, coffees chocolates' cries a thick northern brawl
The words are like treacle, warm and secure.
And just as I slowly begin to relax
the conductor comes round to conduct us at last.
I sit there quite smugly, aloof and secure,
I have my ticket, my ride is assured,
I lazily pluck my pass from its pouch
I was a jocular mouth pouting carefree boy lout.
'Ticket?' he says, his manner quite chirpy
'Reservation?, Railcard?' - then he go
The Belt Because I was starving I wore a belt.The Belt by ~Poet-in-progress
To keep my pantaloons from slipping, tipping down.
Its' leather creaked in my weathered hands
Brittle like corks from old champagne.
I wrapped it once, then twice around my aching girth
And pulled, hard, tight, fast while my stomach lurched.
With straining arms braced like chicken's wings I levered
And hauled it to its' hole.
Then stood. And endured. I felt its' bite.
I felt my pain, my stomach ripped and bled red stain.
And as I felt it strike and sit
I vomited up a manuscript
A scrap of paper wreathed in slime
Some words were writ in familiar hand
A fading unfamiliar line;
"Tis a
Sta.sh
You should read the rules first though xD
--
The differences in our reality make us the artists we are.