un-dropped & against the down

Posted in poetry with tags , , on August 17, 2017 by malartart

today someone told me I

looked like death

now I’ve never felt so alive

you-phoric

Posted in poetry with tags , , , on August 9, 2017 by malartart

blesses come in prides like

lions

nod to kids to calm with

wine

toddlers fall like drunken

villains

childish debris tips up and

debilitates

exaggerated/ over the top/ far too much/ more than enough/ ‘It’s complicated’/ she heard him say/ ‘it should never have turned out this way’/ articulating words/ with hands waving/ a neon question mark/ above his head/ so she finally gave in/ ‘I know I knew that I then saw what you said/ got high off being near the thoughts sitting in your head/ put my hands together as if in prayer/ with eyes closed I’m hopeful you’re still there/ my breath is erratic/ my hands tremble/ my heart beats like a steel drum/ with stained and unfortunate echoes/ then I finally open my eyes/ to see you’ve gone/ but I remain          you-phoric’

Ready Or Not

Posted in poetry with tags , on August 2, 2017 by malartart

She is a matador

He is a bull’s head resplendent

Red is a flag that thanks their ships

And tempts with a French kiss

To crash off shore and penetrate with anchors

Wolves Die Young

Posted in poetry with tags , , on July 27, 2017 by malartart

Sallie gardner at a gallop

           Fixed slits befit two or more views

Assonance prances close to the precipice

               Yuk is onomatopoeic

                           Sounds less twee R muchly such

              Flashing a dash that’s cuts no mustard

                              Tell all exposes bearded tresses

                                         Totem of memory forever forged

                                      Father of recorded motion

                I am Eadweard and I always frame my best days

There Will Be No Rage Upon This Page

Posted in poetry with tags , , on July 22, 2017 by malartart

not about

their insecurities or

points played fair

and not

not to do with the

victimising they continue

to solve or lash upon

the underwhelmed

but just me alone in the dark

back comfortably against

the wall and

morals unspoken

with well kempt patience in solitude

disarming no one as no one is here

but I

I and what I’ve learned

to be more complex than right

 

 

She’s Cut From Some Other Type of Cloth

Posted in poetry with tags , , on July 19, 2017 by malartart

Brought in the hatbox

Set it on the dresser where you brush your hopes

Helped plat your despair from two long faces

Span with care a bun from a hum drum of hair

Watched you clip in weaves of woe with frowning furls of curls

Whilst I chip away at what is so wrong with this shape you seek

Penny for your thoughts, you turn on a dime, and refuse me my pound of flesh

Aghast I am, taken quite aback, I put up the front of courage forsook

You pull, tease and tether and announce to the nether that I am to be cut out of the plot

Tightening the corset, heaving the breast, and begone before the sparrow knows not

But blinded by that shape, bewitched by the form, and out to sea from a mirage

I leave your best dress—recently pressed— upon the bed ready for when you return

Keeping the closet open, to get some much-needed air, the dusty dresses dance wild

As they are caught by the open window’s wind from a salty season in decline

The air that circulates the room heaves just like the pulse of a hurricane

Yet I stand here on guard for a year and some change

Hoping you’ll return to update fancies and change the clothes range

And wear something more appropriate, for now that winter has fallen

I demand you here trussed up and tied together into something much warmer

For I don’t want you to fall out of fashion

Or fall from grace

Or into another’s arms

Because then you’ll catch your death

If They Tell You to Straighten Out, Tell Them to Go to Hell

Posted in poetry with tags , , on July 17, 2017 by malartart

I daren’t cough

         Not with your cock in my mouth

I shall not covet my brother’s wife

                I will just vote their party out

This is not an apocalypse or a dystopia

           Growing from the ground

Its body parts rejuvenating with a subtle change of mind

        A fight’s a fight whether you’re wrong or right

Whether with fisticuffs or M16s

                 Black knuckles punch above their weight

Whilst spitting bullets go whistling by

                  This is the ear my neighbour slit

                 Because of no training and the DTs

         He takes another swig of Long Island Iced Tea

                Whilst wishing down a well for small mercies

           So, do not cover your bleeding lip with a neckerchief

Stop bending over backwards to accommodate their vision

               Just stand up firm, look at them in their eyes

And try and be straight with them if you can

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