Sunday, 20 November 2011

Bad Poetry


I am moving house (as you probably know) and this means a lot of packing. I have found a grand total of nine (9) half-full notebooks so far, some with stories in, some with rubbish drawings and ideas in, and one just seems to have shopping lists in. One had poetry in. I haven't written a poem in at least four years, and I'll be honest, I'm pretty terrible at it. However I thought I'd share one because I liked a couple of lines in it, and I thought you might like to see that I don't just write about adverts and organised noise. Sometimes I write about soppy love, like a dickhead.

It doesn't have a title, I'm not gonna make one up now as I can't remember what this was really about (or even who it was about, if anybody). I can remember writing it, I was on a train to Newcastle to see Justin Timberlake (YOU 'EARD) but I only remembered that after reading it. I remember looking out of the window as we went over a bridge and there was a really deep gully filled with green and thinking about how great all the textures looked. Then I wrote this and fell asleep. Cool story bro.

Your perceptive face, thank God
The warmth of your skin sets in
And soon my hands feel
Knuckle and palm.

In gaze I find new lines, eyes blink
Slow and trace cheekbone – jawline.
I know what you’re thinking.
It’s okay. Smile, hear, remember,
Telling stories in the past tense
Completely intent on staying awake
To be with me.

Forever thankful, I love you.
When we chased storms, remember?
When we chose our stars?
We hid from the night, warm, tight,
Lost in the world we owned.

Looks, touch, steady ribcage
Raise, fall, raise, fall
Raise I hold you tight.
You are asleep.

I wish you could tell me
What I already know.
Tell me again.

2 comments:

Simon Jenkin said...

This wasn't as awful as I thought it was going to be.

Also, this wasn't as awful as I hoped it would be...

Katie said...

hahahaha yeah. Thanks.

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