16 sept. 2010

Oldies but goodies

Here is a selection of my older poems and ravings from the past year or so.

 A poem I wrote while I was working on A Grimm Tale, for the Fringe in 2008.

Strangely exciting, I find myself on a bed of roses. Prickly.
A man appears. A man. A wolf. A lover.
He bends down, picks me up, carries me home.
Lays me on a bed of fur. Fur all around. Within me without me. Fur.
Ever filling overwhelming feeling of falling ever forward.
I have no fear. Strange.
Fingers playing chords on my belly.
Playing scales between my legs. So soft.
Walking up and down my thighs. A virtuoso. I give in.
To what?
I give in.
Falling ever forward. Into love. Into life. Into the womb.
Healing my unborn soul. An adventure for two.
A war of bodies. A coming together. A binding bonding of souls.
Then peace. Bliss. My lover.
My lover folds his arms around me, tight. Tight. So tight. Too tight. I choke.
Let me go!
Let me go.
Get up get up get up.
No more. 


The only way
to be heard is to scream
The only time
to be seen is now
The only place
to be loved is here

I want to be heard
to be seen
to be loved

I want to scream

Counting sheep

The King was sitting in his tower, counting sheep.
He wasn't trying to sleep, he was counting the sheep his son would receive for his coming birthday.
The King had been sitting in his tower, counting his son's sheep
for the past ten years.
Hi son was dead, his sheep, eaten by the wolves.
There was nothing left of all the original glory of his kingdom.
Only his tower,
his throne,
and the sheep in his head.

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