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4 Poems - Richard Atkinson

8/18/2014

1 Comment

 
Picture
at the flea market

hangover, dead-dog style, I sat, had a bacon butty and tea
watching someone buy some beautiful yellow flowers.
it almost made me cry.
later I saw a young girl with no arms
sit on the table
like an angry bored sculpture, cross-legged
behind a stall, selling nothing  in particular
not in the pursuit of money,
just as a way of passing time.
I really wanted to take her photograph,
but people would get  the wrong idea.
she had her arms inside her brightly-coloured anorak
and her glum ‘I'm so bored’ expression
was a sight to witness.



death shop  chat
 
went to shop for death today, asked what they had.
well...we are offering a special today
blink and you'll miss it death
 
it's half price, but be quick or you’ll miss it.
we have all the old favs, death by poison, sin, sinful death,
that's suicide, which is on the cheap side.
 
short and sweet, sweet and sour death,
but you’ll have to be drunk in  a  takeaway  for  that  one.
 
death in a breeze, bad wind  or  whilst  breaking wind.
death surrounded by loved ones,
that can be pricey as we might  need actors.
 
death from a great height, small height  or  no height at all.
death by socks, evil plastic  bags, coat hangers, oranges
or  blue  chairs coming at you, in  a  panic  haze.
 
death in hospital, but that can be pretty lonely,
and  they don’t bother  to feed you  if  you  are  very old.
 
heart attack death, that's if  you like surprises.
cancer death, but it can be nasty, long, drawn out.
death with the one you lurve  for  romantic Smiths fans!
death while singing hymns  during  a  confessional.
 
death in a car  or  on a bicycle  or  while reading a poem  out loud,
but it costs extra as we have to supply a  half  decent  poem.
 
death while taking  in   Bukowski, Monty  Python, Magnus  Mills, Nirvana, Joy  Division, Tindersticks  or  the  Sex  Pistols  and  Doestovsky.
 
death whilst doing the washing up  or  watching noel edmunds,
that  can  be  bloody nasty.
 
death whilst talking to a friend on the phone about what death means.
death on the toilet, reading a book about how death does not exist.
death whilst in the bath, if you would like a clean death.
death whilst dreaming of death, that's a favorite.
death whilst drunk or  sober, but you will probably wish you had been drunk  if  you  had  been  sober.
 
 
death with a dog or cat or with  a cat and  dog or  when  it’s  raining  them, but that's double.
 
death after  you  look at people  and their own sad lonliness,
like character’s  in  a  McCullers  novel.
 
death when there is a faint  birdy  mist,
and  you  can hear and  see them  twittering.
 
funny happy death, which is more expensive, takes lot’s of training.
death in war, cheapest we offer, you can even  get two for one.
 
death due  to malnutrition, but you would have to move  to third  world  or  be  in  poverty.
 
when  younger, all I thought off was really doing it  every day.
I told him I'd have a good think about it, just didn't think i was quite  ready for it yet.
 
he suggested I started saving up for it, get some
once  in  a  lifetime  training in for
 
our  death  final  ending  shindig  that  goes  on  forever
and  a  day.




big B flat minor talk
 
bird with crest, perched on tall grass beside
zephyr-swept clean reservoir, undulating.
 
sang a little and darted into undergrowth.
looking for something, anything
to make it tick, like you do.
 
Its reed mate came by, crest-less, as small as a
B flat minor
 
looking for its partner. pointed to where  she should go.
B flat minor didn't take a jot of notice,
looking at me like I was insane.
 
must  have  understood  humans  want to destroy things of beauty
hardly ever see, wanting only to attain  things, like we owned them,
god and everything, even B flat minor.
 
as though we never hit the exit sign lit up in smokey neon red
we were born to enter mostly half alive, dead.
 
had a chat with B flat, squeezing lips together
so  they quivered, vibrated, replying to her  twitterings.
 
every time she made two, I made two, and so on. we seemed to get along fine
even though I could not sing as well as she could.
 
tiptoed, on top of strong silent type, grass, shivering its nakedness in the snake breeze.
most intelligent conversation ever had. or will have.
 
B flat knew just about everything there was to know, secrets  we  had  forgotten!
as smacked lips together, squeezing out chit chat, a couple appeared
looking at me as if I had escaped from somewhere they hide the keys from you.
 
B flat pretended she didn't know me, the creep
disappeared, without so much as a thank you to find her   partner,
and I had no one to talk to, again.
 
but the zephyr's breath felt fine and good,
and I had some left,
even inside the inside.



black  lace
 
we  sat  opposite  each  other
do  you  believe  in  god  she  says
 
well  there  must  be  one
but  only  shows  himself when  drunk
and  at  end  of  tether  like  most  of the  time
and  has  a  sense of humour  and  pain
 
how  long  have  you  been  afflicted  she  says
hell , I  don't  know  I say, it's  always  happening  to  me
like  something  stuck  in the  head 
that  needs  to  come  out
 
do  you  think  you  can be  cured
she  says
 
well  hell  yes, there  must be  some  way  I  say
but  you always  seem  to  drink
when  the  affliction  hits  she  says
 
yes  I  say 
the  drink  seems  to  help it  come  out
 
like  a  waterfall  in  the spring
sided  by  stiff  moss
but  soft  to touch like  a woman’s  skin
smelling  like  a  brand  new  sepia  sandlewood
newspaper  you  have  not  read
but  know  already  what  it  says  inside
 
ok  ok  she  says  I get  the  picture
do  phrases  come  to  you  upon  sleeping 
she  says
 
yeh  that's the  worst  time
I  say
 
do  you  ever  get  images 
in  your  mind  she  says
yeh ,all  the  time  I  say
 
is  it  to  do  with authority  she  says
hell, everything’s  to  do  with authority I  say
 
you  don't  like  authority  she  says
hell , I  just  ignore  authority  I  say
 
how  did  you  feel  as a  kid  she  says
little , I  say
 
do  you  think  your affliction  comes  from  pain
she  says
 
yeh  drunk  pain, love  pain, grief  pain
maybe  they’re  the  same pain  I  say
 
I  mean  we  are  the only  animal  that  knows
it  will  die 
apart  from  elephants  I  say
 
has  it  to  do  with  conforming  she  says
yeh  conforming  stinks I  say
 
are  you  worried  about love  she  says
hell  yes  I  say love  is suffering
love  is  pain
 
love  is  dreaming  about the  same
person  every  night
 
even  though  you  have been  apart
for 24 years
 
always  dreaming  the  same type  of  dream
like  she  was  dead  and you  want  her  back
 
but  the  dream  keeps  on saying  the  same  thing
that  no  matter  how  much you  dream
the  love  is  a  spent force
between  the  two  of  us
while also  screaming
 
you  miss  her
like  you  will  miss  breathing
 
so  the  two  of  you were  close  she  says
for  eight years  we  were like  Bonnie  and  Clyde
on  a  crime  free  love   spree, inseparable  
like fish  and  chips with 
salt and  vinegar  I say
 
apart  from  when  she 
went  over to  Russia  I  say
 
so  what  happened  she  says
she  wasn't  happy  with  my affliction  I  say
so  she  realised  she  says
 
yeh,  but it  had  not  gone  fully  blown
by  that  time I  say
fully  blown  she  says
 
fully  blown I  say
so  I  let  her  go I  say
 
you  let  her  go  she  says
she  used  to  wear  these gloves
these  black  lacy  gloves  I say
 
black  lacy  gloves  she  says
yeh, I  say
1 Comment
Richard Atkinson
8/19/2014 08:27:21 am

nice init

Reply



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