Things I am not going to write about.

Unhappy Meal

When I have children of my own
I will take them to McDonalds
after funerals or a bollocking
for a bad report. I will take them
to the cinema to watch a film
about a war where everybody dies.
Hold open their eyes to process
the full horror of wastelands
strewn with dismembered corpses.
Scarred and snivelling, I will sit them
in the party room, force feed a nugget
or six and throw them, flailing
in the ball pool where they’ll weep.

In later life, they will thank me
for this abuse. It will give them an aversion
so they won’t be twenty something,
twenty stone and eating cheeseburgers
to cheer them up when no one loves them. 

Naked Truth

I want to lay you bare,
cover you in floral language
and allegory; make you beautiful.
But you’re writhing, words fall
from your hips or choke in my throat.
This is our naked truth.
I want to wrap you 
in a metaphor, a simile shroud
to hide your skin.
I try to dress it up, to glamourize;
fashion your phonetics for my purpose.
But there you are, laid bare 
and the letters
won’t stick. 

Theseus and Ariadne

You were almost gored
by the Minotaur before
I showed you the way.
Mistress of the Labyrinth
you followed my lead
planned to run with me.
Back in black, mourning
the loss of my memory.
Bloody miscarriage 
of conduct; betrayed.
So sew my lips together
with the golden thread
I spun for you, and leave me
sleeping in Naxos

to my Dionysus dreams.

Haiku

Friendliness is next
to Godliness. St Patrick
will not pray for you.

the-draft-blog:

Write something inspired by this amazing image. You can post it on your blog or if you like you can submit it straight to me.

The grey brick road

Pressed up against high windows
breaking bricks beneath stiletto heels; 
you will not find me here. 

Follow the grey brick road, walk the line, 
conform to my shattered gait, 
for a mile in these shoes. 

If patience is your virtue
then photograph me here, cracked
from pillar to post. 

(via the-draft-blog-deactivated20111)

Things I’m not going to write about.

I am not going to write anymore
about teenage dreams or anything else
clichéd and dull or full of whimsy and regret.
Get a life, get off facebook, get a real book,
read it, feed from it; eat at the altar of the greats.

State fact when I write, try not to re-enact
the whys and wherefores of the past.
Present myself at my best. Forget
to write about all the things I won’t
remember when I stop writing about them.