Friday Night Poems

A few from this week, mixed in subject matter.

One about self harming mirroring life, one about love, one about childhood, one about feeling like you can’t cope, one about enjoying small things as life is short and one about misogyny and the Pendle witches.

As you do.😂

Cant be arsed finding loads of stock images tonight. To tart each one up like drizzle on a fucking cake. Not been that kind of week, frankly.

So just have one picture. I took it last summer when I landed in a hot air balloon in a field near York. I love the patterns the disruption made. The messy hair of it. The bending drag of beauty. The detail.

Scab

.

Today, I picked a scab

Despite it having almost healed

Air had dried it, stemmed the tide

And there it sat

Lumpy purple crocodile

Same colour as the Raleigh

I had when I was five

.

Something made me disturb it

Not sure what

A wish for scarlet ribbon

Or rush of real feeling

Observe my own sabotage

From a fortress

.

I notice the lace of old scars

Lilac flaws that lap my flesh

Like tropical fish in dusky pink coves

Then there are the tawny crescent moons

Grazing on the silver ghosts of pennies

.

I think of all the times

I was punctured, injured

Uglied by others

And myself

The times blood surfaced me

A pooling raspberry alarm clock

Screaming to be heard

The way it peddled fast and hard

Rubies on a bicycle

Only to gather itself up

Like puckering lips

Blending back into skin

Unhurried banjos

Finding the way home again

Pages of corn submitting to wind

.

So many times,

I worked my fingers

As enemy soldiers

Destroying my own progress

Kept seeing the same red, raging rivers

Familiar dangers greeting me

Knocking me down like jolly farm dogs

Bounding towards my comfy slippers

Toppling

I heal, peel

Look for the lesson

Will I ever learn it?

Anyone’s guess

.

.

.

Coffee

.

For a few brief months, I know you loved me

Felt it bold as morning coffee

I bathed in clouds, I walked on air

Sunbeams nestled in my hair

The rush of passion like green shoots

Pink blossom pulsing for new fruit

The luck of ladybirds and bees

The poise of butterflies on breeze

Walking down the lane, I’d sing

Of all I hoped for, that first Spring

Make up songs of you and me

Our cliff top house beside the sea

Walks in the woods, breakfast in bed

Your chest a pillow for my head

Pressing flowers to save their summer

Staving off that first December

Now coffees’s cold, the chance has gone

My charm grew old, and you moved on

Funny, I stopped taking sugar

And every cup tastes strong and bitter

.

.

Elasticated Gingham

.

“I hate this dress. It itches me.”

“You’re wearing it for the school photo”

Four years old

Angel in blue gingham

I saw that picture for years

On my grandma’s shelf

Above the drawer

That housed her secret cigarettes

Pride of place

With all the other cousins

My laughing eyes

Glancing up, a sneak wave

From glossy fringe

But all I remember

Is tight rows of navy elastic

Digging into my chest

Squiggles of irritating cling

Peach skin whipping up

Meringues of hot bee broth

Fighting back the urge

To scratch myself stupid

Zig the zags

Rip the damned thing off

Yet there I sat

Composed, masking

Posing for some random

So adults could immortalise

My cheery cameo

In their brassy necklace of a life

.

I shouldn’t be here

.

If you’ve ever watched TV

With the sound slightly too low

Tried to make sense of a plot

Everyone else seems to get

Lip reading like a bitch

Then you’ll understand why

I shouldn’t be here

.

If you’ve ever shouted in a crowd

Had your yell drowned out

By music, motorbikes, seagulls

Noise you can’t possibly compete with

Then you’ll understand why

I shouldn’t be here.

.

If you’ve ever viewed a sunrise

Through a pane with a spidery crack

One that never fully shatters

Remaining damaged yet functional

Obstructing your vision of beauty

Hacking at your coral

Black claw on raspberry ripple

You’ll understand why

I shouldn’t be here

.

.

.

Carnival

.

Do things that make you feel alive

Scent stoves with cloves and strawberry jam

Snip a clump of laughing chives

Explore new land

Just down the road

Squat, breathe in the fertile soil

Level with puddles, see rainbow oil

Remove worn shoes, go squelch in mud

Steal glints from every puppy’s eyes

Then pin as brooches in your own

Stand naked in fierce rattling rain,

That lashes roofs, a metal chain

Crave stronger wind that makes you wish

Your Kansas house might spin to Oz

Lust for light that transforms dust

To falling shawls of playful gold

Have senses sliced by swords of sun

Oust rust with dazzle, from battling eyes

Firm your form with bounding walks

Unhindered talk that unlocks gates

Sing from the soul, a heartfelt call

For birds have words that touch us all

Keep hankering for cherry lips, hot chilli kisses

Eyes that dig you out of graves

Find streams that seek to hose your toes

With jets of pumping aqua rose

Weave mackerel clouds into your hair

Wear landing ladybirds as luck

Dive from burnt sienna rocks

Hang gingham tea towels on a line

Be serenaded by the flip and flop

Forget to flap

Pull rubber bands to fear the snap

Order something neon green

Roll frozen grapes around your mouth

Paste greying walls with treasure maps

Shake like a dog who left a lake

Stay hungry for the golden seeds

The four leafed clovers in the weeds

A carnival is passing through

It only passes once, through you

.

.

.

Pendle

.

There is a well in Pendle

That cannot wash way its red

It harbours dirty secrets

That failed to fester with the dead

It gurgles and it splutters

Submerges buoyant birds

Reminding me that every witch

Was killed on a man’s words

I hear the shrieks of women

Piled high as salty bones

The wailing children soon to be

Helpless orphans left alone

I walk through chilling woodland

Hurl this girl on to the hill

Channel my crone ancestors

For their strength lies in me still

My ears glistening with blisters

Weeping vile venom male song

It’s still happening, my sisters

The creeping, raping tongue

Cruelty snaps as jagged dogs

The hate that mates with love

Confusing every female heart

That thought it was enough

Accusations, pointing fingers

Plaster lips of she and her

The blame, the shame it has new names

The same misogyny’s still there