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Poetry |
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Wrong
By Michelle Dee
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Getting ready to go out for the first time in weeks
she selects her favourite jumper. She woke with a
cold and a shiver in her bones but she's going out all the same.
Hurry up, he shouts, Get a move on, impatience in his voice
Picking her way carefully down the stairs in kitten heels
She doesn't feel anything is wrong.
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There's a pub she knows, been to before just past the
market square. With dark stained furniture, loose covers and a heavy
wooden door. She will sit in the corner and nurse a drink
perhaps put a tune on or two.
Not here, he says, The new one, hey, bundling her along,
Walking past her cosy pub with regret, still
She doesn't feel anything is wrong.
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It's noisy when they enter, day-glo lights on the walls
Young men prop up the bar drinking like their lives depend on it.
Weaving a way through the crowd she sees two that he knows
Yo, Mick, he calls, Now then Stevie lad, grinning from ear to ear.
She sighs, rolls her eyes, looks to the ceiling but
She doesn't feel anything is wrong.
She knows Mick of old and his girlfriend Laura, wonder
where she is tonight. To save getting up twice she orders
a pint then spy's a seat near blue baize pool tables.
Play? he asks, Play winner if you like, surprisingly he is smiling
Maybe, after this drink, murmuring her reply
Still she doesn't feel anything is wrong.
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The night rolls on, the music blares out, the room gets hot and
stifling. She has another drink and starts to relax, playing pool
with the boys she lets out a laugh. Amazingly she's winning
right down to the black.
Bloody hell, he says, Beaten by a girl. missing a right sitter
Doubling the last ball she offers out her hand
She doesn't feel anything is wrong.
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Drinking her last she feels a little giddy she is quite glad not to be
walking alone. The boys leave with her amid shouts of lightweight
and loser playfully punching each other. Chatting they
take a short cut through the school field
Need a slash, he yells. Won't be a minute disappearing into the dark
Thinking boys will be boys she hurries towards the others.
She doesn't know anything is wrong.
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Two shapes loom out of the blackness, bearing down on her menacingly.
Scared, she takes a step back and falls heavily to the ground.
Accusations ring out as she is brutally kicked. Using her hands
she tries with desperation to protect her face.
Grab a finger, one yells Bend it right back Crack!
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Fists and boots rain down on her face. She tastes bitter blood
in her mouth. Her eyes already too blind to see the next
cavalcade of kicks. Each impact shakes her whole body
resounding through her like an iron hammer on a cold stone anvil.
Confused, disbelieving she cries out
What have I done, leave me alone please,
leave me alone. One last terrible kick
snaps back her head putting out her light.
She doesn't feel anything.
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Cold, damp grass on her face wakes her and nausea comes in waves
Her head feel heavy shaking gently shivering she tries painfully
to piece together, where she is, what has happened. Why ..
Y'alright he says I had no choice, staring but not for long
Words don't come but tears will do
Did you know anything was wrong?
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Copyright © Shelly D. January 2004
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Poetry - Journeyman By Patrick Henry
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His learning class sank down the pits so deep as hell
Anyone expects from graft being a penance in the earth
To cut out coal black as mortal sin which burns
To fire steam force and make that world power work.
He lit out from there to war abroad: the tender flame
Of raw youth blown out close by where his chance survived..
Read more...
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Poetry - Hangin' Around & The You and Me Poem
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By Jane Foster
In gangs we trawled the wet streets, alive with possibilities,
The smell of fresh rain and freedom in our noses.
How come they always say that we didn't have much,
When so much open space was ours?
Read more...
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Poetry - Me and Jimbob, Lonesome Wail, and
Always that way By The Lazyswede
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Me & Jimbob out with the hound dog walking through them woods
Didn't see no sign of turkey all the time
Just a possum and a skunk
Then we heard a rustling in the pine trees
Thought our luck had changed
To our surprise before our eyes
A grizzly a running came ..
Read more...
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Poetry - The Egotist By Cilla
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Tell me I'm great
Tell me I'm good
If you were a real friend
I'm sure that you would.
And why not be friends?
You're so good for me
But only when you tell
What I want to see ..
Read more...
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Poetry - Equal Amongst Giants (Edinburgh Literature Festival) and Night Driving in American Werewolf Country.
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by Oz Hardwick
I paid my money, listened attentively,
clapped politely, filed out slowly,
stood (vaguely embarrassed), waited in line
with book at the ready to meet The Author.
I asked him to sign my favourite chapter,
Read more...
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Poetry - Girls (for Rebecca and Ellen) and Pilot
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By Nigel Walker
Girls, girls
slow down !
I don't know what to write.
It will take one hundred hours
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just to say how I feel about
the sound of your feet on the stairs.
Each morning you are a fresh oyster prised.
The crash of tsunami. The prow of a hunting ship.
Read more...
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Poetry - Thoroughly Post-Modern Millie & Conspiracy
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By Jane Foster
I'm thoroughly post-modern Millie.
I'm having such a ball.
I've got 15 personas
But no-one loves them all..
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I'm thoroughly post-modern Millie.
I've eaten all the men.
I swallowed all life gave me
And threw it up again.
Read more...
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Poetry - The Seventies and Back Burner Men By Jane Foster
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The Seventies were great.
You could bounce on your space hopper.
It was OK to ask a girl
To come sit on your Chopper.
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A man had just walked on the moon.
The Beatles had just split.
Together they were beautiful
But separate they were shit.
Read more...
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by Lee Cassanell
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I could not be more obvious,
It echoes from my eyes,
I'm always semi conscious,
I can't help telling lies.
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My father was a butcher,
My mother easy meat,
I strolled the streets of childhood,
With sandals on my feet.
Read more...
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By Darren Sant
Excited young faces,
Stick thin legs and untied laces,
Breathlessly chasing the ball,
Youngsters large and small.
Read more...
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Poetry - "Chemical Love" and "Digit-ull Shitty"
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By Rich Mills
I double dropped before I went in,
Being searched by the doorman put my head-in-a-spin.
I pays me money and am through the door,
Head starts to bob, soon drawn to the dance-floor.
Then through throbbing heart and a tribal beat,
Two pairs of dilated rolling eyes briefly meet.
Read more...
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Poetry - A thing of dreams & The only mark I wear (for you)
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By Jason Karlson
Many a night a knight will rescue you
But that’s not me my love
I am his proud white stead below
Speed you from the darkness with
Love written across my flank
And every mile I run
Read more...
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