Feeling swallowed my work; clawing your way through its belly like you're Pinocchio and the big whale. Burnt out and bulldozed.
Always working
Tag: poet
Outside and warm [poem]
There's something to be said for sitting on rattan chairs and looking up at a tie-dyed sky. The same inky blue I saw in a dress earlier, the one I added to basket but never bought.
A year has passed and you’re back in my DMs [poem]
You used to make me mad with love, drunk on lust. And now you're sliding into my DMs, like nothing ever happened. This is a poem about realising you don't give a shit about the person who previously had a hold on you.
Is there a name for being bored but, at the same time, not wanting to do anything? [poem]
Boredom creeps... and the dirt-speckled screen is no company. Lockdown life is taking its toll.
The expectations we place on ourselves [poem]
Why don't you loosen the reins? A gentle tug to prompt purpley, sunburnt, sooty shackles to the ground. Why don't you lower the bar? Before it slices your head clean off.
Black Lives Matter [poem]
Social media is awash with colour and rage. Opening the app releases a tangle of feisty, hashtag-stuffed webs. Everybody's mouths are wide like venus fly traps, everybody's tongues are wagging more than usual.
Cafe de los reyes
Oh coffee cup Symbol of wealth, fragility, Can't get my kicks, can't start my work, Until I've sipped you, slurped you, talked dirty to you Oh wonderful crutch In my palm oh so much Once a day when the dawn is yawning And the desks are filling I'll dodge the queues Trek upstairs to abuse… Continue reading Cafe de los reyes
Friday TCR
And she sat up there Words like rose petals floating from mouth to floor And I'm just perched here in awe Having travelled an hour and a half door to door To listen to words that are honey-like Dripping into the mic Sweet and inspiring Forehead perspiring (don't all of ours) And I'm fearful for… Continue reading Friday TCR
When I realised I’d fallen
As we rolled past the river The monuments The gold-clad beasts Shaking, bathing in the glow Of the water's edge by Waterloo Your duvet lips spring to mind Permeate the creases of my brain Invade my thoughts with a pick axe Cutting down the others I'd been growing Like sweet nectar. I melt beneath them… Continue reading When I realised I’d fallen
The week after
The week after, I've been left with flaming wreckage. A plane engulfed by biting fire and yapping sparks has been laid at the foot of my bed like a weak old party balloon. "Is this what courting is?" I find myself saying. Sounding strangely like a grandmother with clotted cream hair and purple eyelids. Is… Continue reading The week after
