Tag Archives: poem

LIKE

like

“Like” is like “nice”,

A word that’s like, not a word,

Like it’s unimpressive.

It’s like saying, “That Ming vase is nice”

When it’s like, “delicate” or “exquisite” .

Yes, it’s nice, but, it’s not like the constructive connective

traditionally practised.

It’s like there’s this void,

the little bit that,

like needs,

like

filling.

Like is like, nice

but like, how many likes do you need?

Like quite a few I suppose.

What are we without a like?

Like unpopular?  Like ugly?

Undeserving?  Unaccounted and like, unheard?

And well, there’s like, insecurity to think about

without at least like, one like or two.

Like, if you like my page, that’s nice,

Like my photo, like my comment; like I’m cool..

I like it!

Like it’s impressive

Like it’s filling my needs,

Without it, it’s like you don’t like me.

Like my face, like my selfie, like my pout tho’,

Like my breakfast, lunch or dinner

Like my music, like my song,

Like my opinion

Like my life

There might be something in it for you.

Like, aren’t I interesting too?

Maybe l’ll live with less

Less, is like, supposed to be more,

I won’t let like’s presence feature

I’ll just sit on the fence like

and watch likes spill through your door;

My likes are for similes not for smileys,

 

 

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White Noise by artist Erik Olofsen

White Noise by artist Erik Olofsen

Distant song

Ice cream van

Cyberman

Dalek

Metal Mickey.

Splintered shards

Fractured sound

Subliminal slurring

suggestively.

Fizzing light switch

Voltage crackle

Wizened squeal

Dentist drill.

Whining mosquito

Kamikaze war plane

Impatient kettle

whistling shrill.

Audible rewind

Reverb, wah wah

Violins scrape

Hot needles singe

Can you hear a pin drop?

Yeah! Thousands of them!

Mind your ear ‘oles,

Your tender drum skins.

© Anna Ghislena 2015


The Ring

boxing-ring

Round One is lost

There were no winners that time,

All that pre match fizz

But it fell flat out.

Complicated perhaps,

Left me unprepared,

I thought I could handle it

I thought I would dare

Buffed and polished

Adrenalin rushed

So pleased to know

It was you all along

Dancing the same dance,

Tuning into my song.

Yeah, its been quite a time

Since that first encounter

Since the first crime

And it was good

Until I didn’t know what I’d done,

My heart ripped open and fried in the sun

Inside and out

Scalded in shame

Blistered by pride

Bravely greased

secretly dressed

taken down by my Jekyll and Hyde.

But now Round Two looks good to go

You got back up

You said it was so

And its not like I’ve been waiting

No, I’ve been trying to forget

But the sting is still sweet upon my mouth

dangerous and pitiful

swollen, on fire,

another hook and the scar

will open itself.

© Anna Ghislena 2015


From the Lavvy with Love

engaged_toilet

Lollipop.  Perfume.
Hand in hand
face to face
door rattles, shut
Contours merge
in nightclub glow
greasy dim as candlelight
Kisses wide
such wolfish need
ravenous for new territory
Stinging taste
aching touch
fiery sweet and syrupy
Frigid tiles scorch fevered skin
heat radiates
salty wet
bleach fuses musky scent
hand-dryer drowns
urgent breath
Fingers braced
across gloss paint
blindly trace cacography
Backed up hard
on wisdom’s words
penned in fibres
scratched in verse
Exit Light Enter Shite
and
Every Hole’s A Goal
Will everything will be ok in the end..?
and
You just lost control

 

© Anna Ghislena 2015


Coda

coda sign

We defined our pitch; our consonance;

dancing pastoral duets of effortless dynamics

finely tuned by ear, in love,

by eye, in lust.

Time shifts the key.

Major.

Minor.

Major.

Minor,

right in the middle of our composition.

Major.

Minor.

Your dominant, my diminished;

harmonious phrases denied completion.

Dull monotony seeps under our melody,

bleeding a bruise of harsh discordance and

confused tones that have no beginning and no end.

All our strings vibrate, when only one is struck.

You refuse to greet our requiem;

I refuse to hear our elegy,

and we are nothing, but smashed chords.

© Anna Ghislena 2014


The Nosh Pit

Photographed by Meredith Phillips 2014

Photographed by Meredith Phillips 2014

Take one freshly packed festival fan

carrying a handful of wholesome oatcakes labelled “good intentions”.

Place in the sun to ripen

and baste regularly with warm lager for a couple of hours.

Remove from the heat when pink

and set aside to cool rapidly in cold cider.

Next, add nachos, chilli and chips

and stir gently with a little more of the cider.

Reserve two tablespoons of the mixture to pat flat

and layer decoratively, in portions, across the arena.

Next, mix cider and lager together with Jagermeister

and compliment with several hot sugared donuts.

Allow to simmer in the heat once again before placing with

three ready-made festival fans gently smoked in something wacky.

Next add spit roast chicken, noodles, a couple of sausages,

one giant Yorkshire pud with gravy and a further portion of chips,

taking care to spread some sun lotion onto any burnt areas, if not already done so.

Loosen the mixture with a large slug of lager, setting aside the cup to use for emergencies if the crowd becomes too thick.

Then, take all four fans and blend vigorously for about an hour.

Cool again in evening rain and white wine

and allow to marinade for six hours or overnight.

Garnish with a handful of crumbled wholesome oatcakes labelled “good intentions”.

 

 

© Anna Ghislena


Invalid

Cough syrup

Being an invalid for the last five weeks has almost rendered me invalid.  Like an out of date ticket or an expired warranty, I have achieved virtually nothing, not even a poem.

Should I be writing about achieving nothing?  Well, I feel that I should explain my prolonged silence on Facebook, Twitter and here, on my blog, but feeling guilty about it is an emotion I am trying, feebly, to knock on the head.

I think we all should.

Life’s busy isn’t it?  We forget sometimes how to take care of ourselves when our frantic day to day lifestyles demand every ounce of our energy.  We work hard, worry hard, put all our eggs in one basket, try to do one million and one things at once and play hard (if we can!).  Any other rock and roll mammas and dadas like me out there?  Well, our work never seems to be done – kids (ah but we love ’em) sap every last gram of goodness from our brains and bodies and the inevitable wake up call is the word INVALID.

Five weeks of invalidity is crap.  I’ve lived off soup and yoghurt, tried every shelf remedy under the sun, done more than my fair share of antibiotics, suffocated on my own plugs of green sputum, lost 5lbs, coughed my vocal cords to shreds and watched night TV repeatedly (poor old Michael Hutchence and bless those wildlife sanctuary vets) because I dreaded sleeping for split seconds at a time.

Sometimes people, it is good to do nothing, guilt free; just look after yourselves.  Promise me?

Writing this post proves that I am getting back to my old self again.  Yep, its therapeutic  ain’t it?  I might even listen to a bit of music… then again, here come the kids…


Piss Might Fly

festival crowd (2)

 Piss Might Fly

 Merry went to Sonisphere

to see her favourite bands.

She spied a flying pint of beer

which sprayed her hair and hands.

It was no beer, this was clear,

but toxic waste and human,

a frothy bevvie, she did fear,

brewed by a desperate fan.

The crowd then parted like the waves,

and Merry gained some extra space.

She couldn’t damn that reckless man,

he’d really made the perfect land!

The stage was clear and in her sight;

now she needn’t push or fight.

Thanks to the fan who’d relieved his gear

(At least it wasn’t from his rear!)

 

 

 

© Anna Ghislena 2014.


The Visit

Image by Darren Levine on Vimeo

Image by Darren Levine on Vimeo

You came in just before I woke,

I saw you straight away,

“Hello Nanna, it’s you”, I said

But you didn’t look my way.

“Hello Nanna, it’s me”, I said,

as gently as I could,

and reached my arms about you

to hold you where we stood.

A marshmallow cheek so soft against mine

And your hands warm and smooth

Despite all this time.

But too soon I was stirred

by a voice sharp and quick

and you must have heard

my consciousness kick.

With eyes wide open I shut you out.

©Anna Ghislena