Poetry bah!

your head on my belly

its weight moves with my breath
separate and complete
strange animals on a bed
while the air speckles and crackles
my fingers in your tufts and curls of hair
I remember that moment of stillness
held in a point of calamity
I notice the curtains are badly hung
as clouds move across the window


if you like this
or this
or less related this

Love cats

In Abyssinia we met as cats
Watched soft rain plop
tails swishing beneath a Palladian.
In plague scourged London
we scurried havoc, I was the
flea on your black rat’s back.
You held a door for me in Tokyo.
Our silhouettes danced when Magi fires burned.
We knew each other before we had names,
time together is breathing.

You were the rock pool, sun warm,
a child of aeons past I paddled in.
But I will never be the first snowdrop in Spring.
And you will never be the burning,
of fingers reawakening from the cold.

Does love seek,
the devastation, of a smashed Faberge egg,
the twist, of a knife blade in the innards,
Or the lulling eternity of a shell housed sea?

Bad art

I like bad art.
I like bad poetry.

I promised you the moon in a box
I promised you the sun on a string
I swore the stars were jumping beans
and we stood still,
as we skipped, hand-in-hand,
our laughing heads thrown back.
Magpie conjurer
Of smoke and mirror pretty things
Flash baubles of easy tarnish
Are cheap, turn green
To be discarded.

The first two lines are a nod to Lorca, I studied Spanish in university.
The magpie conjurer I took because the colours are black and white like a magicians.  The words or the promises, are cheap or stolen, borrowed from convention, and that is why they easily broken or disregarded.  Then again the other party in the relationship is willingly complicit in the deception.  Maybe they were fooling each other?

It doesn't really workbut I don't know why because i'm a crap poet.