May 2012
0 posts
NAPOWRIMO #30 - I Knew - Sian S. Rathore
THAT’S ALL, FOLKS. I knew the breath of the Autumn’s spite and the merry blue of the early sky and I knew in the course of my morning rights and the falling of you and your dying eyes and I knew in the sense of a shivering son that the worst was done and we nurtured a boy who was shaking with every thought in his head like a knowing of death like a book so misread like a love gone to...
NAPOWRIMO #29 - Sweets - Sian S. Rathore
my love liked sweets
he called me “shugs”
he tasted iron rich, sick
sugars from their roots
and from their tips
he loved the deep, rich
bother; with his head
between my southern
tips, unwell, un-right,
but mad enough to
kiss and kill that child
yes my love, he liked
sweets. he called me
“shugs”, he fucked my
life.
NAPOWRIMO #28 - Reach - Sian S. Rathore
the hole feels numberless
the height seems limitless, I
could climb the stairs (not
wanting them to end) and reach
my final point:
you.
asking my name.
asking my problems.
asking my adress.
asking if I liked it last time.
April 2012
30 posts
NAPOWRIMO #27 - Whatever You're Doing Now - DON'T...
“Paradise is for the blessed. Not for the sex obsessed” This poem is based on my favourite film ever, “If….” by Lindsay Anderson. . . .
Like a motherless child
I was very impressed
Everything I’d saved
I blew on a courtship
Where did you come from,
Honey?
Like a motherless child
We kept writing poems
For one another
Everything I’d saved
Like...
NAPOWRIMO #26 Elegy of Beauty (How I Love You) -...
Would it go unnoticed now if I shouted a name and left it Ringing around the room? I feel I’d be left fading into the heaviness of incense-smoked air, pressing me into insignificance, whilst we still covet unattainable beauty, golden ratios; there’s no such thing as a divine proportion, because the more concise the angle between an eye and a lip the greater the horror, the more sedately it...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #25 - Cento for You - Sian S....
At corners, dressed or naked, with lips taste
To help us comprehend the magnitude
Time that my eye ached, my heart shook, why.
We hear so much about what love feels like.
Sex on the bathroom’s cold marble counter was best
A woman is something for a night. . . . . .
Song For Connie - Bill Berkson
In The Museum of Lost Objects - Rebecca Lindenberg
Create Desire - Karen Volkman
I...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #24 - You Are a Beautiful Outlaw
this plush inviting toy
is much this fox in song, in
skin, this living thing subsists, is
coition big, obvious in thoughts of
kissing, flings, its goings-on, thinking
my gist of skin, it sinks, lining, is bit.
if living this is difficult in infinity’s long
illusion; this is vision, this is truth, this is
my pitch to you, to you, to you
kiss this, stick up, cling to jolly things
...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #23 - The Crucifixion - Sian S....
Inspired by Three Figures at the Base of Crucifixion by Francis Bacon.
the crucified discriminates inside me
i reside, and create the crucifixion
without a chance. i don’t believe
around the twisted bodies, how they
misuse me and I misuse them
and root for the envy in the blood of
them and they address me. and now
the viewer parades the crucified
watch it slide inside us all,...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #22 Fall Down and Lie Still - Sian...
brutalist and hard
arches scoring; when
will the concrete starve
me? The racing motorway
Persecutes the clay I live on; leaps
and heavy concrete slabs stand upright
for crisis in dead horse, and yet, The north
lusts for me.
NAPOWRIMO DAY #21 - A Hay(an)ku for You - Sian S....
Still the work of Sian S. Rathore, but accidentally blogged on her personal blog! okfinewhateverigetit:
welcomed;
sent home
we’re celebrating you
living,
as you
sigh you aren’t
hurried
a rush
you mightn’t understand
panic
we sickened
a new regime
sleepy
you; comatose
awakened to reality
“beginnings”
another one
and you said:
“desperate
times call
for desperate measures.”
NAPOWRIMO DAY #20 - Glinting Very Dimly - Sian S.... →
Still the work of Sian S. Rathore, but accidentally blogged on her personal blog! okfinewhateverigetit:
This poem is about how I felt this weekend eating out with the delightful @chrispople, and my experience of Manchester when with an outsider.
we go walking down tar lane
catching urban fish from careful stance
orange-skinned fat-free flesh-poor trout
with puckering lips
and withered...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #19 - Passage Under Sky - Sian S....
The opposite of Passage Under Water by Robert Duncan.
we have returned in planes beneath the sky at dawn
found, and the slim gorges open pockets of love within us.
The planes are brought close together, and we are together again
above the predictable sea, content, shining brightly with coral.
.
rise up the oars, my enemies, and remember now
our hate like a warmth around us
blurring the...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #18 - Lullaby to Myself - Sian S....
Sleep just isn’t coming:
I’m wrestling with a fever
the cool, white cloud of numbing
the desperate non-believer
I’m wrestling with a fever
I burn under the cover
the desperate non-believer
I am missing my other.
I burn under the cover
my dreams are made of patterns
I am missing my other
A sleep that never happens
my dreams are made of patterns
I start to...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #17 - I Guess That's Why - Sian S....
He said he bought a new suit so that he could
Be presentable to God. The blush on my cheeks
Only spoke of decadence, and he dressed in a
Dark suit; before the mirror, crumbling and distressing
Himself. Brummell sneaks behind him, a ghost
From 1840; he sets, I introduce an insulted rage
Next to the new peripheral: his mirror is an impossible
tranquility: he drinks grapefruit to mock me,
...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #16 - My Sweet Tooth - Sian S....
My baby blue is a new star
and I have not yet grown up
with his latex fingers in my
mouth he asked me if i have
a sweet tooth
and i put my hands in my
trousers. In my pocket I
covet a quarter bag of
blue millions, I have yet
to grow up.
NAPOWRIMO DAY #15 - Exorcising the Mirror - Sian...
This is my homage to Rosemarie Waldrop’s Inserting the Mirror. Outside a conditioned response peers the mirror. It bends against the wall a contentious winner and explodes in a wicked stance and stations his welcome reflection: a purple lip attacks a narrative style and the mirror waves the starter. His reflection stumbles inside the mirror and spins outside the guest.
NAPOWRIMO DAY #14 - Suspended Animation; a Sonnet...
Morning: the white room’s glare that strains your eyes the blackness of your sleep, the talking walls retreat and then return; suspend, then fall you; unaware of chaos, first arise to hushed tones gently muttering your name I sold myself on the idea of you And now I fear we’re painting ourselves blue The calm, red sleep you gave after we came. And home, our beds are empty, and cold sheets ...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #13 - An Exercise in Ghazal - Sian...
I am wired with careful thoughts, it is distressing Seeing your dead face grey dull, it’s distressing Your intentions scare me deep to some black core When sticky tar and blackened blood implores For sweetness, I remember you undressing And now I’m shallow fraught with second guessing I give my life; I pray for you to fight from dressing I’m wired with thoughts of you; it is distressing ...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #12 - You Are The Heart - Sian S....
Thought I’d follow the prompt today. Last year during Napowrimo I did something really similar, I took a Tristan Tzara poem in the English translation and rewrote that completely phonetically, so now that it’s a prompt for this year, it feels oddly familiar and nicely comforting. What a great way to stretch the imagination :) I have translated phonetically “Kleine Aster” by...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #11 - On Fleetwood Beach - Sian S....
In these shingled sandy beaches, summer comes in cool sand beige and gritty as if caught in old glass bottles the grey sea laps about thinking of clearer climes he was there with us, and I couldn’t then know what I would miss. from the pools forming ‘round the shingles a glint shocks my mother’s eyes, she retreats into her would-be husband’s grasp, shielding the glare away with his arms I...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #10 - Blackberries - Sian S. Rathore
nobody in the lane and nothing, nothing but blackberries bursting underneath his skin It was the start of spring a poisoned bear lies struggling no more time to breathe it seemed sirens that wound through each street were screaming out his name shooting rabbits strayed from a neighbour’s garden watching the freesia free their hearts in the summer heat drank gin on the decking and got...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #9 - The Ring Around - Sian S....
What happened in the space of ten minutes? It can’t have been more. What do we not know, what flood washed over the minutes since your birth, what unknown force breeds itself inside your head? Like fire, and doors too long since battled before crumbling into bitter ash? What made every second so still in time that you couldn’t want to pass them; why didn’t you write, why didn’t you read...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #8 - You'll Forget - Sian S. Rathore
now’s not the time to cry this was always going to happen either yesterday or tomorrow or three years down the line eyelids fluttering like pretend sleep, like the wings of moths and now’s not the time to be angry, either yesterday or tomorrow, you soon won’t remember. it can sometimes take months they say but soon you will remember how you flung open those doors and made loud...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #7 - Red Falls Into Deeper Red -...
red was like a roman red that lacked distress, when deeper red inflamed, concealed under her dress, when red falls into deeper red, he drinks a glass to burning aspect in her eyes and red walks in to deeper red; red walks into verse instead.
red fell into deeper red around a rash and patronises flesh beneath a tailored shirt, the red fell into deeper red under a scarf and deeper red was purple...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #6 - There Is An Elephant in the...
There is a hot wire of conversation in this room. The room would rather not be part of this. The elephant attempts to communicate Details of my affair. He speaks throughout the room. The elephant rocks and a monochrome Distress falls. The elephant is swaying his trunk And suddenly he is all we see. My lover checks my temperature. There is an elephant in the room. And words are...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #5 - The First Day of Adult Life -...
The prompt today was “the first”, so I thought I’d write about recently when I realised I was a proper adult, despite having lived away from my family for years. Enjoy: — someone gave life the upper hand. life sustains me over a vacuum cleaner and washing machine instructions and my defeated hands grasp with life and life cashes me in, it knows my adult worth, so I...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #4 - Some Thoughts I Had Today
We leap upon the signed shot beside every lasting virtue. The decay sweeps behind our home. I denote a transported housewife. I establish your printed theme. You flame me, next our parodies A revealed focus stumbles. You count into me. I volunteer beneath you. Outside, you pulse me. You are the skipping record next to a keen bouquet. Why can’t the ribbons weather our moving, prominent...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #3, Sian S. Rathore - "Instead"
Today i wished i would be assassinated
I wanted to be run over by a bus or a tram or an atrticulated lorry i wanted to stand on the pavement
Considering my suicide
But i stood on in the middle of the road
And if he doesn’t kill me
When will they realise that all girls my age plan their endings
I get off the bus and want to say: please check on me please call some crisis helpline people...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #2 - "absolute and always" - Sian...
i already don’t like your middle name so i pretend the “a” stands for “absolute” or “always” let’s call it a year ago. i make shapes on the table with a droplet of spilled brandy and you chase the aura only you see around me with your argent eyes and then to the marble steps where sea-glass twinkled up their introduction, a tumbling upwards stairway...
NAPOWRIMO DAY #1
Well well well, National Poetry month is upon us again and our very own Siân S. Rathore (that’s me talking about myself in the third person) is giving it another whirl after actually managing to finish last year. So here is poem one, the first of many.
—
My mind went into some sort of sixties dream in which I was a shangri-la.
I have a terrible headache and the television said...
