her smile ignited,
faltered, like a
fluorescent striplight
with a faulty connection,
stuttering,
then shorting out.
unsure
25 Friday Jul 2014
Posted in poetry
Monthly Archives: July 2014
after
15 Tuesday Jul 2014
I am not up to anything
I am staying in with my pain
I was just a change of scene for you
You are as heartless as a person alive can be
And I love you
To the loose threads of my soul
In the most secret corners of my heart
I love you as you laugh
Exactly as if nothing ever happened
I love you as you walk away
Exactly as before
star
10 Thursday Jul 2014
Posted in generation war, poetry, war
Tags
antisemitism, bashfulbadgersblog, blog, gold star, holocaust, National Poetry Writing Month, poem, poem in a white ribbed vest, yellow star
a six-pointed fabric gold star
pinned to your chest
you attached it yourself
how could you comprehend
it marked you out for death?
like the oversize white Xs
they paint on the trunks
of condemned trees
in suburban streets.
a line of numerals
on your forearm
reminds you of the time
you fell into a world of harm:
a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.
your cancelled future may have held a child
with no idea that that school badge of merit
that proud distinction
now coveted and craved
pressed onto the top
righthand corner of the page
once spelt extinction.
perhaps he can still remember
the unique and special
taste of the paste
on the tip of his tongue,
as he carefully moistened
its delicate reverse.
he may equate it with success,
a past perfumed with chalk dust,
promise and hopefulness.
but you too were once like this,
running in a playground
of levelled light-grey gravel,
invincible and breathless,
a coloured sash across your chest.
unafraid and innocent,
not knowing what it was then
not possible to know.
and now there is no unknowing it.
Image from Wikipedia, Antisemitism
recrimination
04 Friday Jul 2014
Tags
bashfulbadgersblog, blog, lovers, National Poetry Writing Month, poem, poem in a white ribbed vest
tim, with his
panic-stricken hands,
trying so hard to remember
something he’s forgotten.
she looks at him
with last night’s
eyes, sharp nails
in skin, come
to think of it.
